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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32428-8.txt b/32428-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b36b62 --- /dev/null +++ b/32428-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10431 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Brightener, by C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Brightener + +Author: C. N. Williamson + A. M. Williamson + +Illustrator: Walter De Maris + +Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32428] +[Last updated: January 26, 2014] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHTENER *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE BRIGHTENER + + BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON + + FRONTISPIECE BY WALTER DE MARIS + + +GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY +1921 + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY +C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION +INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY AINSLEE's MAGAZINE CO., NEW YORK AND GREAT BRITAIN. +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +[Illustration: "A SLIGHT SOUND ATTRACTED OUR ATTENTION TO THE HISTORIC +STAIRWAY"] + + + + +PREFACE + +_To the Kind People Who Read Our Books:_ + + +I want to explain to you, in case it may interest you a little, why it +is that I want to keep the "firm name" (as we used to call it) of "C. N. +& A. M. Williamson," although my husband has gone out of this world. + +It is because I feel very strongly that he helps me with the work even +more than he was able to do in this world. I always had his advice, and +when we took motor tours he gave me his notes to use as well as my own. +But now there is far more help than that. I cannot explain in words: I +can only feel. And because of that feeling, I could not bear to have the +"C. N." disappear from the title page. + +Dear People who may read this, I hope that you will wish to see the +initials "C. N." with those of + +A. M. WILLIAMSON + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK I. THE YACHT + + I. DOWN AND OUT + + II. UP AND IN + + III. THUNDERBOLT SIX + + IV. THE BLACK THING IN THE SEA + + V. WHAT I FOUND IN MY CABIN + + VI. THE WOMAN OF THE PAST + + VII. THE SECRET BEHIND THE SILENCE + + VIII. THE GREAT SURPRISE + + IX. THE GAME OF BLUFF + + +BOOK II. THE HOUSE WITH THE TWISTED CHIMNEY + + I. THE SHELL-SHOCK MAN + + II. THE ADVERTISEMENT + + III. THE LETTER WITH THE PURPLE SEAL + + IV. THE TANGLED WEB + + V. THE KNITTING WOMAN OF DUN MOAT + + VI. THE LIGHTNING STROKE + + VII. THE RED BAIZE DOOR + + VIII. "WHEN IN DOUBT, PLAY A TRUMP" + + IX. THE RAT TRAP + + +BOOK III. THE DARK VEIL + + I. THE GIRL WITH THE LETTER + + II. THE HERMIT + + III. THE CHAIR AT THE SAVOY + + IV. THE SPIRIT OF JUNE + + V. THE BARGAIN + + VI. THE LAST SÉANCE + + +BOOK IV. THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BRANDRETH + + I. THE MAN IN THE CUSHIONED CHAIR + + II. MRS. BRANDRETH + + III. THE CONDITION SHE MADE + + IV. THE OLD LOVE STORY + + V. THE MAN WITH THE BRILLIANT EYES + + VI. THE PICTURES + + VII. SIR BEVERLEY'S IMPRESSIONS + + VIII. WHILE WE WAITED + + IX. THE GOOD NEWS + + X. THE CLIMAX + + XI. WHAT GABY TOLD + + XII. THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE + + XIII. MRS. BRANDRETH'S STORY + + + + +THE BRIGHTENER + + + + +BOOK I + +THE YACHT + + + + +CHAPTER I + +DOWN AND OUT + + +"I wonder who will tell her," I heard somebody say, just outside the +arbour. + +The somebody was a woman; and the somebody else who answered was a man. +"Glad it won't be me!" he replied, ungrammatically. + +I didn't know who these somebodies were, and I didn't much care. For the +first instant the one thing I did care about was, that they should +remain outside my arbour, instead of finding their way in. Then, the +next words waked my interest. They sounded mysterious, and I loved +mysteries--_then_. + +"It's an awful thing to happen--a double blow, in the same moment!" +exclaimed the woman. + +They had come to a standstill, close to the arbour; but there was hope +that they mightn't discover it, because it wasn't an ordinary arbour. It +was really a deep, sweet-scented hollow scooped out of an immense _arbor +vitæ_ tree, camouflaged to look like its sister trees in a group beside +the path. The hollow contained an old marble seat, on which I was +sitting, but the low entrance could only be reached by one who knew of +its existence, passing between those other trees. + +I felt suddenly rather curious about the person struck by a "double +blow," for a "fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind"; and at that +moment I was a sort of modern, female Damocles myself. In fact, I had +got the Marchese d'Ardini to bring me away from the ball-room to hide in +this secret arbour of his old Roman garden, because my mood was out of +tune for dancing. I hadn't wished to come to the ball, but Grandmother +had insisted. Now I had made an excuse of wanting an ice, to get rid of +my dear old friend the Marchese for a few minutes. + +"She couldn't have cared about the poor chap," said the man in a hard +voice, with a slight American accent, "or she wouldn't be here +to-night." + +My heart missed a beat. + +"They say," explained the woman, "that her grandmother practically +forced her to marry the prince, and arranged it at a time when he'd have +to go back to the Front an hour after the wedding, so they shouldn't be +_really_ married, if anything happened to him. I don't know whether +that's true or not!" + +But I knew! I knew that it was true, because they were talking about me. +In an instant--before I'd decided whether to rush out or sit still--I +knew something more. + +"_You_ ought to be well informed, though," the woman's voice continued. +"You're a distant cousin, aren't you?" + +"'Distant' is the word! About forty-fourth cousin, four times removed," +the man laughed with frank bitterness. (No wonder, as he'd +unsuccessfully claimed the right to our family estate, to hitch on to +his silly old, dug-up title!) Not only did I know, now, of whom they +were talking, but I knew one of those who talked: a red-headed giant of +a man I'd seen to-night for the first time, though he had annoyed +Grandmother and me from a distance, for years. In fact, we'd left home +and taken up the Red Cross industry in Rome, because of him. Indirectly +it was his fault that I was married, since, if it hadn't been for him, I +shouldn't have come to Italy or met Prince di Miramare. I did not stop, +however, to think of all this. It just flashed through my subconscious +mind, while I asked myself, "What has happened to Paolo? Has he been +killed, or only wounded? And what do the brutes mean by a 'double +blow'?" + +I had no longer the impulse to rush out. I waited, with hushed breath. I +didn't care whether it were nice or not to eavesdrop. All I thought of +was my intense desire to hear what those two would say next. + +"Like grandmother, like grand-daughter, I suppose," went on the +ex-cowboy baronet, James Courtenaye. "A hard-hearted lot my only +surviving female relatives seem to be! Her husband at the Front, liable +to die at any minute; her grandmother dying at home, and our fair young +Princess dances gaily to celebrate a small Italian victory!" + +"You forget what's happened to-night, Sir Jim, when you speak of your +'_surviving_' female relatives," said the woman. + +"By George, yes! I've got but one left now. And I expect, from what I +hear, I shall be called upon to support her!" + +Then Grandmother was dead!--wonderful, indomitable Grandmother, who, +only three hours ago, had said, "You _must_ go to this dance, Elizabeth. +I wish it!" Grandmother, whose last words had been, "You are worthy to +be what I've made you: a Princess. You are exactly what I was at your +age." + +Poor, magnificent Grandmother! She had often told me that she was the +greatest beauty of her day. She had sent me away from her to-night, so +that she might die alone. Or--had the news of the _other_ blow come +while I was gone, and killed her? + +Dazedly I stumbled to my feet, and in a second I should have pushed past +the pair; but, just at this moment, footsteps came hurrying along the +path. Those two moved out of the way with some murmured words I didn't +catch: and then, the Marchese was with me again. I saw his plump figure +silhouetted on the silvered blue dusk of moonlight. He had brought no +ice! He flung out empty hands in a despairing gesture which told that he +also _knew_. + +"My dear child--my poor little Princess----" he began in Italian; but I +cut him short. + +"I've heard some people talking. Grandmother is dead. And--Paolo?" + +"His plane crashed. It was instant death--not painful. Alas, the +telegram came to your hotel, and the Signora, your grandmother, opened +it. Her maid found it in her hand. The brave spirit had fled! Mr. +Carstairs, her solicitor, and his kind American wife came here at once. +How fortunate was the business which brought him to Rome just now, +looking after your interests! A search-party was seeking me, while I +sought a mere ice! And now the Carstairs wait to take you to your hotel. +I cannot leave our guests, or I would go with you, too." + +He got me back to the old palazzo by a side door, and guided me to a +quiet room where the Carstairs sat. They were not alone. An American +friend of the ex-cowboy was with them--(another self-made millionaire, +but a _much_ better made one, of the name of Roger Fane)--and with him a +school friend of mine he was in love with, Lady Shelagh Leigh. Shelagh +ran to me with her arms out, but I pushed her aside. A darling girl, and +I wouldn't have done it for the world, if I had been myself! + +She shrank away, hurt; and vaguely I was conscious that the dark man +with the tragic eyes--Roger Fane--was coaxing her out of the room. Then +I forgot them both as I turned to the Carstairs for news. I little +guessed how soon and strangely my life and Shelagh's and Roger Fane's +would twine together in a Gordian knot of trouble! + +I don't remember much of what followed, except that a taxi rushed +us--the Carstairs and me--to the Grand Hotel, as fast as it could go +through streets filled with crowds shouting over one of those October +victories. Mrs. Carstairs--a mouse of a woman in person, a benevolent +Machiavelli in brain--held my hand gently, and said nothing, while her +clever old husband tried to cheer me with words. Afterward I learned +that she spent those minutes in mapping out my whole future! + +You see, _she_ knew what I didn't know at the time: that I hadn't enough +money in the world to pay for Grandmother's funeral, not to mention our +hotel bills! + + * * * * * + +A clock, when you come to think of it, is a fortunate animal. + +When it runs down, it can just comfortably stop. No one expects it to do +anything else. No one accuses it of weakness or lack of backbone because +it doesn't struggle nobly to go on ticking and striking. It is not +sternly commanded to wind itself. Unless somebody takes that trouble off +its hands, it stays stopped. Whereas, if a girl or a young, able-bodied +woman runs down (that is, comes suddenly to the end of everything, +including resources), she mayn't give up ticking for a single second. +_She_ must wind herself, and this is really quite as difficult for her +to do as for a clock, unless she is abnormally instructed and +accomplished. + +I am neither. The principal things I know how to do are, to look pretty, +and be nice to people, so that when they are with me they feel purry and +pleasant. With this stock-in-trade I had a perfectly gorgeous time in +life, until--Fate stuck a finger into my mechanism and upset the working +of my pendulum. + +I ought to have realized that the gorgeousness would some time come to a +bad and sudden end. But I was trained to put off what wasn't delightful +to do or think of to-day, until to-morrow; because to-morrow could take +care of itself and droves of shorn lambs as well. + +Grandmother and I had been pals since I was five, when my father (her +son) and my mother quietly died of diphtheria, and left me--her +namesake--to her. We lived at adorable Courtenaye Abbey on the +Devonshire Coast, where furniture, portraits, silver, and china fit for +a museum were common, every-day objects to my childish eyes. None of +these things could be sold--or the Abbey--for they were all heirlooms +(of _our_ branch of the Courtenayes, not the Americanized ex-cowboy's +insignificant branch, be it understood!). But the place could be let, +with everything in it; and when Mr. Carstairs was first engaged to +unravel Grandmother's financial tangles, he implored her permission to +find a tenant. That was before the war, when I was seventeen; and +Grandmother refused. + +"What," she cried (I was in the room, all ears), "would you have me +advertise the fact that we're reduced to beggary, just as the time has +come to present Elizabeth? I'll do nothing of the kind. You must stave +off the smash. That's your business. Then Elizabeth will marry a title +with money, or an American millionaire or someone, and prevent it from +_ever_ coming." + +This thrilled me, and I felt like a Joan of Arc out to save her family, +not by capturing a foe, but a husband. + +Mr. Carstairs did stave off the smash, Heaven or its opposite alone +knows how, and Grandmother spent about half a future millionaire +husband's possible income in taking a town house, with a train of +servants; renting a Rolls-Royce, and buying for us both the most divine +clothes imaginable. I was long and leggy, and thin as a young colt; but +my face was all right, because it was a replica of Grandmother's at +seventeen. My eyes and dimples were said to be Something to Dream About, +even then (I often dreamed of them myself, after much flattery at +balls!), and already my yellow-brown braids measured off at a yard and a +half. Besides, I had Grandmother's Early Manner (as one says of an +artist: and really she _was_ one), so, naturally, I received proposals: +_lots_ of proposals. But--they were the wrong lots! + +All the good-looking young men who wanted to marry me had never a penny +to do it on. All the rich ones were so old and appalling that even +Grandmother hadn't the heart to order me to the altar. So there it +_was_! Then Jim Courtenaye came over from America, where, after an +adventurous life (or worse), he'd made pots of money by hook or by +crook, probably the latter. He stirred up, from the mud of the past, a +trumpery baronetcy bestowed by stodgy King George the Third upon an +ancestor in that younger, less important branch of the Courtenayes. Also +did he strive expensively to prove a right to Courtenaye Abbey as well, +though not one of _his_ Courtenayes had ever put a nose inside it and I +was the next heir, after Grandmother. He didn't fight (he kindly +explained to Mr. Carstairs) to snatch the property out of our mouths. If +he got it, we might go on living there till the end of our days. All he +wanted was to _own_ the place, and have the right to keep it up +decently, as we'd never been able to do. + +Well, he had to be satisfied with his title and without the Abbey; which +was luck for us. But there our luck ended. Not only did the war break +out before I had a single proposal worth accepting, but an awful thing +happened at the Abbey. + +Grandmother had to keep on the rented town house, for patriotic motives, +no matter _what_ the expense, because she had turned it into an +_ouvroir_ for the making of hospital supplies. She directed the work +herself, and I and Shelagh Leigh (Shelagh was just out of the schoolroom +then) and lots of other girls slaved seven hours a day. Suddenly, just +when we'd had a big "hurry order" for pneumonia jackets, there was a +shortage of material. But Grandmother wasn't a woman to be conquered by +shortages! She remembered a hundred yards of bargain stuff she'd bought +to be used for new dust-sheets at the Abbey; and as all the servants but +two were discharged when we left for town, the sheets had never been +made up. + +_She_ could not be spared for a day, but I could. By this time I was +nineteen, and felt fifty in wisdom, as all girls do, since the war. +Grandmother was old-fashioned in some ways, but new-fashioned in others, +so she ordered me off to Courtenaye Abbey by myself to unlock the room +where the bundle had been put. Train service was not good, and I would +have to stay the night; but she wired to old Barlow and his wife--once +lodge-keepers, now trusted guardians of the house. She told Mrs. Barlow +(a pretty old Devonshire Thing, like peaches and cream, called by me +"Barley") to get my old room ready; and Barlow was to meet me at the +train. At the last moment, however, Shelagh Leigh decided to go with me; +and if we had guessed it, this was to turn out one of the most important +decisions of her life. Barlow met us, of course; and how he had changed +since last I'd seen his comfortable face! I expected him to be charmed +with the sight of me, if not of Shelagh, for I was always a favourite +with Barl and Barley; but the poor man was absent-minded and queer. When +a stuffy station-cab from Courtenaye Coombe had rattled us to the +shut-up Abbey, I went at once to the housekeeper's room and had a +heart-to-heart talk with the Barlows. It seemed that the police had been +to the house and "run all through it," because of reports that lights +had flashed from the upper windows out to sea at night--"_signals to +submarines_!" + +Nothing suspicious was found, however, and the police made it clear that +they considered the Barlows themselves above reproach. Good people, they +were, with twin nephews from Australia fighting in the war! Indeed, an +inspector had actually apologized for the visit, saying that the police +had pooh-poohed the reports at first. They had paid no attention until +"the story was all over the village"; and there are not enough miles +between Courtenaye Abbey and Plymouth Dockyard for even the rankest +rumours to be disregarded long. + +Barley was convinced that one of our ghosts had been waked up by the +war--the ghost of a young girl burned to death, who now and then rushes +like a column of fire through the front rooms of the second floor in the +west wing; but the old pet hoped I wouldn't let this idea of hers keep +me awake. The ghost of a nice English young lady was preferable in her +opinion to a German spy in the flesh! I agreed, but I was not keen on +seeing either. My nerves had been jumpy since the last air-raid over +London, consequently I lay awake hour after hour, though Shelagh was in +Grandmother's room adjoining mine, with the door ajar between. + +When I did sleep, I must have slept heavily. I dreamed that I was a +prisoner on a German submarine, and that signals from Courtenaye Abbey +flashed straight into my face. They flashed so brightly that they set me +on fire; and with the knowledge that, if I couldn't escape at once, I +should become a Family Ghost, I wrenched myself awake with a start. + +Yes, I _was_ awake; though what I saw was so astonishing that I thought +it must be another nightmare. There really was a strong light pouring +into my eyes. What it came from I don't know to this day, but probably +an electric torch. Anyhow, the ray was so powerful that, though directed +upon my face, it faintly lit another face close to mine, as I suddenly +sat up in bed. + +Instantly that face drew back, and then--as if on a second thought, +after a surprise--out went the light. By contrast, the darkness was +black as a bath of ink, though I'd pulled back the curtains before going +to bed, and the sky was sequined with stars. But on my retina was +photographed a pale, illumined circle with a face looking out of +it--looking straight at me. You know how quickly these light-pictures +begin to fade, but, before this dimmed I had time to verify my first +waking impression. + +The face was a woman's face--beautiful and hideous at the same time, +like Medusa. It was young, yet old. It had deep-set, long eyes that +slanted slightly up to the corners. It was thin and hollow-cheeked, with +a pointed chin cleft in the middle; and was framed with bright auburn +hair of a curiously _unreal_ colour. + +When the blackness closed in, and I heard in the dark scrambling sounds +like a rat running amok in the wainscot, I gave a cry. In my horror and +bewilderment I wasn't sure yet whether I were awake or asleep; but +someone answered. Dazed as I was, I recognized Shelagh's sweet young +voice, and at the same instant her electric bed-lamp was switched on in +the next room. "Coming!--coming!" she cried, and appeared in the +doorway, her hair gold against the light. + +By this time I had the sense to switch on my own lamp, and, comforted by +it and my pal's presence, I told Shelagh in a few words what had +happened. "Why, how weird! I dreamed the same dream!" she broke in. "At +least, I dreamed about a light, and a face." + +Hastily we compared notes, and realized that Shelagh had not dreamed: +that the woman of mystery had visited us both; only, she had gone to +Shelagh first, and had not been scared away as by me, because Shelagh +hadn't thoroughly waked up. + +We decided that our vision was no ghost, but that, for once, rumour was +right. In some amazing way a spy had concealed herself in the rambling +old Abbey (the house has several secret rooms of which we know; and +there might be others, long forgotten), and probably she had been +signalling until warned of danger by that visit from the police. We +resolved to rise at daybreak, and walk to Courtenay Coombe to let the +police know what had happened to us; but, as it turned out, a great deal +more was to happen before dawn. + +We felt pretty sure that the spy would cease her activities for the +night, after the shock of finding our rooms occupied. Still it would be +cowardly--we thought--to lie in bed. We slipped on dressing-gowns, +therefore, and with candles (only our wing was furnished with electric +light, for which dear Grandmother had never paid) we descended +fearsomely to the Barlows' quarters. Having roused the old couple and +got them to put on some clothes, a search-party of four perambulated the +house. So far as we could see, however, the place was innocent of spies; +and at length we crept into bed again. + +We didn't mean or expect to sleep, of course, but we must all have +"dropped off," otherwise we should have smelt the smoke long before we +did smell it. As it was, the great hall slowly burned until Barlow's +usual getting-up hour. Shelagh and I knew nothing until Barl came +pounding at my door. Then the stinging of our nostrils and eyelids was a +fire alarm! + +It's wonderful how quickly you can do things when you have to! Ten +minutes later I was running as fast as I could go to the village, and +might have earned a prize for a two-mile sprint if I hadn't raced alone. +By the time the fire-engines reached the Abbey it was too late to save a +whole side of the glorious old "linen fold" panelling of the hall. The +celebrated staircase was injured, too, and several suits of historic +armour, as well as a number of antique weapons. + +Fortunately the portraits were all in the picture gallery, and the fire +was stopped before it had swept beyond the hall. Where it had started +was soon learned, but "_how_" remained a mystery, for shavings and +oil-tins had apparently been stuffed behind the panelling. The theory of +the police was, that the spy (no one doubted the spy's existence now!) +had seen that the "game was up," since the place would be strictly +watched from that night on. Out of sheer spite, the female Hun had +attempted to burn down the famous old house before she lost her chance; +or had perhaps already made preparations to destroy it when her other +work should be ended. + +There was a hue and cry over the county in pursuit of the fugitive, +which echoed as far as London; but the woman had escaped, and not even a +trace of her was found. + +Grandmother openly claimed that HER inspiration in sending for some +dust-sheets had not only saved the Abbey, but England. It was most +agreeable to bask in self-respect and the praise of friends. When, +however, we were bombarded by newspaper men, who took revenge for +Grandmother's snubs by publishing interviews with Sir "Jim" (by this +time Major Courtenaye, D. S. O., M. C., unluckily at home with a +"Blighty" wound), the haughty lady lost her temper. + +It was bad enough, she complained, to have the Abbey turned prematurely +into a ruin, but for That Fellow to proclaim that it wouldn't have +happened had _he_ been the owner was _too_ much! The democratic and +socialist papers ("rags," according to Grandmother) stood up for the +self-made cowboy baronet, and blamed the great lady who had "thrown away +in selfish extravagance" what should have paid the upkeep of an historic +monument. This, to a woman who directed the most patriotic _ouvroir_ in +London! And to pile Ossa on Pelion, our Grosvenor Square landlord was +cad enough to tell his friends (who told theirs, etc., etc.) that he had +never received his rent! Which statement, by the way, was all the more +of a libel because it was true. + +Now you understand how Sir James Courtenaye was responsible for driving +us to Italy, and indirectly bringing about my marriage; for Grandmother +wiped the dust of Grosvenor Square from our feet with Italian passports, +and swept me off to new activities in Rome. + +Here was Mr. Carstairs' moment to say, "I told you so! If only you had +left the Abbey when I advised you that it was best, all would have been +well. Now, with the central hall in ruins, nobody would be found dead in +the place, not even a munition millionaire." But being a particularly +kind man he said nothing of the sort. He merely implored Grandmother to +live economically in Rome: and of course (being Grandmother!) she did +nothing of the sort. + +We lived at the most expensive hotel, and whenever we had any money, +gave it to the Croce Rossa, running up bills for ourselves. But we mixed +much joy with a little charity, and my descriptive letters to Shelagh +were so attractive that she persuaded Mr. and Mrs. Pollen, her guardians +(uncle and aunt; sickening snobs!), to bring her to Rome; pretext, Red +Cross work, which covered so much frivolling in the war! Then, not long +after, the cowboy's friend, Roger Fane, appeared on the scene, in the +American Expeditionary Force; a thrilling, handsome, and mysteriously +tragic person. James Courtenaye also turned up, having been ordered to +the Italian Front; but Grandmother and I contrived never to meet him. +And when our financial affairs began to rumble like an earthquake, Mr. +Carstairs decided to see Grandmother in person. + +It was when she received his telegram, "Coming at once," that she +decided I must accept Prince di Miramare. She had wanted an Englishman +for me; but a Prince is a Prince, and though Paolo was far from rich at +the moment, he had the prospect of an immediate million--liras, alas! +not pounds. An enormously rich Greek offered him that sum for the +fourteenth-century Castello di Miramare on a mountain all its own, some +miles from Rome. In consideration of a large sum paid to Paolo's younger +brother Carlo, the two Miramare princes would break the entail; and this +quick solution of our difficulties was to be a surprise for Mr. +Carstairs. + +Paolo and I were married as hastily as such matters can be arranged +abroad, between persons of different nations; and it was true (as those +cynics outside the arbour said) that my soldier prince went back to the +Front an hour after the wedding. It was just after we were safely +spliced that Grandmother ceased to fight a temperature of a hundred and +three, and gave up to an attack of 'flu. She gave up quite quietly, for +she thought that, whatever happened, I would be rich, because she had +browbeaten lazy, unbusinesslike Paolo into making a will in my favour. +The one flaw in this calculation was, his concealing from her the fact +that the entail was not yet legally broken. No contract between him and +the Greek could be signed while the entail existed; therefore Paolo's +will gave me only his personal possessions. These were not much; for I +doubt if even the poor boy's uniforms were paid for. But I am thankful +that Grandmother died without realizing her failure; and I hope that her +spirit was far away before the ex-cowboy began making overtures. + +If it had not been for Mrs. Carstairs' inspiration, I don't know what +would have become of me! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +UP AND IN + + +You may remember what Jim Courtenaye said in the garden: that he would +probably have to support me. + +Well, he dared to offer, through Mr. Carstairs, to do that very thing, +"for the family's sake." At least, he proposed to pay off all our debts +and allow me an income of four hundred a year, if it turned out that my +inheritance from Paolo was nil. + +When Mr. Carstairs passed on the offer to me, as he was bound to do, I +said what I felt dear Grandmother would have wished me to say: "I'll see +him d--d first!" And I added, "I hope you'll repeat that to the +_Person_." + +I think from later developments that Mr. Carstairs cannot have repeated +my reply verbatim. But I have not yet quite come to the part about those +developments. After the funeral, when I knew the worst about the entail, +and that Paolo's brother Carlo was breaking it wholly for his _own_ +benefit, and not at all for mine, Mrs. Carstairs asked sympathetically +if I had thought what I should like to do. + +"Like to do?" I echoed, bitterly. "I should like to go home to the dear +old Abbey, and restore the place as it ought to be restored, and have +plenty of money, without lifting a finger to get it. What I _must_ do is +a different question." + +"Well, then, my dear, supposing we put it in that brutal way. Have you +thought--er----" + +"I've done nothing except think. But I've been brought up with about as +much earning capacity as a mechanical doll. The only thing I have the +slightest talent for being, is--a detective!" + +"Good gracious!" was Mrs. Carstairs' comment on that. + +"I've felt ever since spy night at the Abbey that I had it in me to make +a good detective," I modestly explained. + +"'Princess di Miramare, Private Detective,' would be a distinctly +original sign-board over an office door," the old lady reflected. "But I +believe _I've_ evolved something more practical, considering your +name--and your age--(twenty-one, isn't it?)--and your _looks_. Not that +detective talent mayn't come in handy even in the profession I'm going +to suggest. Very likely it will--among other things. It's a profession +that'll call for all the talents you can get hold of." + +"Do you by chance mean marriage?" I inquired, coldly. "I've never been a +wife. But I suppose I _am_ a sort of widow." + +"If you weren't a sort of widow you couldn't cope with the profession +I've--er--invented. You wouldn't be independent enough." + +"Invented? Then you _don't_ mean marriage! And not even the stage. I +warn you that I solemnly promised Grandmother never to go on the stage." + +"I know, my child. She mentioned that to Henry--my husband--when they +were discussing your future, before you both left London. My idea is +_much_ more original than marriage, or even the stage. It popped into my +mind the night Mrs. Courtenaye died, while we were in a taxi between the +Palazzo Ardini and this hotel. I said to myself, 'Dear Elizabeth shall +be a Brightener!'" + +"A Brightener?" I repeated, with a vague vision of polishing windows or +brasses. "I don't----" + +"You wouldn't! I told you I'd invented the profession expressly for you. +Now I'm going to tell you what it is. I felt that you'd not care to be a +tame companion, even to the most gilded millionairess, or a social +secretary to a----" + +"Horror!--no, I couldn't be a tame anything." + +"That's why brightening is your line. A Brightener couldn't _be_ a +Brightener and tame. She must be brilliant--winged--soaring above the +plane of those she brightens; expensive, to make herself appreciated; +capable of taking the lead in social direction. Why, my dear, people +will fight to get you--pay any price to secure you! _Now_ do you +understand?" + +I didn't. So she explained. After that dazzling preface, the explanation +seemed rather an anti-climax. Still, I saw that there might be something +in the plan--if it could be worked. And Mrs. Carstairs guaranteed to +work it. + +My widowhood (save the mark!) qualified me to become a chaperon. And my +Princesshood would make me a gilded one. Chaperonage, at its best, might +be amusing. But chaperonage was far from the whole destiny of a +Brightener. A Brightener need not confine herself to female society, as +a mere Companion must. A young woman, even though a widow and a +Princess, could not "companion" a person of the opposite sex, even if he +were a _hundred_. But she might, from a discreet distance, be his +Brightener. That is, she might brighten a lonely man's life without +tarnishing her own reputation. + +"After all," Mrs. Carstairs went on, "in spite of what's said against +him, Man _is_ a Fellow Being. If a cat may look at a King, Man may look +at a Princess. And unless he's in her set, he can be made to pay for the +privilege. Think of a lonely button or boot-maker! What would he give +for the honour of invitations to tea, with introductions and social +advice, from the popular Princess di Miramare? He might have a wife or +daughters, or both, who needed a leg up. _They_ would come extra! He +might be a widower--in fact, I've caught the first widower for you +already. But unluckily you can't use him yet." + +"Ugh!" I shuddered. "Sounds as if he were a fish--wriggling on a hook +till I'm ready to tear it out of his gills!" + +"He is a fish--a big fish. In fact, I may as well break it to you that +he is Roger Fane." + +"Good heavens!" I cried. "It would take more electricity than I'm fitted +with to brighten his tragic and mysterious gloom!" + +"Not at all. In fact, you are the only one who can brighten it." + +"What are you driving at? He's dead in love with Shelagh Leigh." + +"That's just _it_. As things are, he has no hope of marrying Shelagh. +She likes him, as you probably know better than I do, for you're her +best pal, although she's a year or so younger than you----" + +"Two years." + +"Well, as I was going to say, in many ways she's a child compared to +you. She's as beautiful as one of those cut-off cherubs in the +prayer-books, and as old-fashioned as an early Victorian sampler. These +blonde Dreams with naturally waving golden hair and rosebud mouths, and +eyes big as half-crowns, _have_ that drawback, as I've discovered since +I came to live in England. In _my_ country we don't grow early Victorian +buds. You know perfectly well that those detestable snobs, the Pollens, +don't think Fane good enough for Shelagh in spite of his money. Money's +the _one_ nice thing they've got themselves, which they can pass on to +Shelagh. Probably they forced the wretched Miss Pollen, who was the male +snob's sister, to marry the old Marquis of Leigh just as they wish to +_compel_ Shelagh to marry some other wreck of his sort--and die young, +as her mother did. The girl's a dear--a perfect _lamb_!--but lambs can't +stand up against lions. They generally lie down inside them. But with +_you_ at the helm, the Pollen lions could be forced----" + +"Not if they knew it!" I cut in. + +"They wouldn't know it. Did _you_ know that you were being forced to +marry that poor young prince of yours?" + +"I wasn't forced. I was persuaded." + +"We won't argue the point! Anyhow, the subject doesn't press. The scheme +I have in my head for you to launch Fane on the social sea (the _sea_ in +every sense of the word, as you'll learn by and by) can't come off till +you're out of your deepest mourning. I'll find you a quieter line of +goods to begin on than the Fane-Leigh business if you agree to take up +Brightening. The question is, _do_ you agree?" + +"I do," I said more earnestly than I had said "I will" as I stood at +Paolo's side in church. For life hadn't been very earnest then. Now it +was. + +"Good!" exclaimed Mrs. Carstairs. "Then that's _that_! The next thing is +to furnish you a charming flat in the same house with us. You must have +a background of your own." + +"You forget--I haven't a farthing!" I fiercely reminded her. "But Mr. +Carstairs won't forget! I've made him too much trouble. The best +Brightening won't run to _half_ a Background in Berkeley Square." + +"Wait," Mrs. Carstairs calmed me. "I haven't finished the whole +proposition yet. In America, when we run up a sky-scraper, we don't +begin at the bottom, in any old, commonplace way. We stick a few steel +girders into the earth; then we start at the top and work down. That's +what I've been doing with my plan. It's perfect. Only you've got to +support it with something." + +"What is it you're trying to break to me?" I demanded. + +The dear old lady swallowed heavily. (It must be something pretty awful +if it daunted _her_!) + +"You like Roger Fane," she began. + +"Yes, I admire him. He's handsome and interesting, though a little too +mysterious and tragic to live with for my taste." + +"He's not mysterious at all!" she defended Fane. "His tragedy--for there +_was_ a tragedy!--is no secret in America. I often met him before the +war, when I ran over to pay visits in New York, though he was far from +being in the Four Hundred. But at the moment I've no more to say about +Roger Fane. I've been using him for a handle to brandish a friend of his +in front of your eyes." + +My blood grew hot. "_Not_ the ex-cowboy?" + +"That's no way to speak of Sir James Courtenaye." + +"Then _he's_ what you want to break to me?" + +"I want--I mean, I'm _requested_!--to inform you of a way he proposes +out of the woods for you--at least, the darkest part of the woods." + +"I told Mr. Carstairs I'd see James Courtenaye d--d rather than----" + +"_This_ is a different affair entirely. You must listen, my dear, unless +I'm to wash my hands of you! What I have to describe is the foundation +for the Brightening." + +I swallowed some more of Grandmother's expressions which occurred to me, +and listened. + +Sir James Courtenaye's second proposition was not an offer of charity. +He suggested that I let Courtenaye Abbey to him for a term of years, for +the sum of one thousand five hundred pounds per annum, the first three +years to be paid in advance. (This clause, Mrs. Carstairs hinted, would +enable me to dole out crumbs here and there for the quieting of +Grandmother's creditors.) Sir James's intention was, not to use the +Abbey as a residence, but to make of it a show place for the public +during the term of his lease. In order to do this, the hall must be +restored and the once-famous gardens beautified. This expense he would +undertake, carrying the work quickly to completion, and would reimburse +himself by means of the fees--a shilling a head--charged for viewing the +house and its historic treasures. + +When I had heard all this, I hesitated what to answer, thinking of +Grandmother, and wondering what she would have said had she been in my +shoes. But as this thought flitted into my mind, it was followed by +another. One of Grandmother's few old-fashioned fads was her style of +shoe: pattern 1875. The shoes I stood in, at this moment, were pattern +1918. In _my_ shoes Grandmother would simply scream! And I wouldn't be +at my best in hers. This was the parable which commonsense put to me, +and Mrs. Carstairs cleverly offering no word of advice, I paused no +longer than five minutes before I snapped out, "Yes! The horrid brute +can have the darling place till I get rich." + +"How sweet of you to consent so _graciously_, darling!" purred Mrs. +Carstairs. Then we both laughed. After which I fell into her arms, and +cried. + +For fear I might change my mind, Mr. Carstairs got me to sign some +dull-looking documents that very day, and the oddness of their being all +ready to hand didn't strike me till the ink was dry. + +"Henry had them prepared because he knew how _sensible_ you are at +heart--I mean _at head_," his wife explained. "Indeed, it is a +compliment to your intelligence." + +Anyhow, it gave me a wherewithal to throw sops to a whole Zooful of +Cerberuses, and still keep enough to take that flat in the Carstairs' +house in Berkeley Square. Of course to do all this meant leaving Italy +for good and going back to England. But there was little to hold me in +Rome. My inheritance from my husband-of-an-hour could be packed in a +suitcase! Shelagh and her snobs travelled with us. And as soon as they +were demobilized, Roger Fane and James Courtenaye followed, if not us, +at least in our direction. + +I don't think that Aladdin's Lamp builders "had anything on" Sir Jim's +(as he himself said), judging by the way the restorations simply flew. +From what I heard of the sums he spent, it would take the shillings of +all England and America as sightseers to put him in pocket. But as Mr. +Carstairs pointed out, that was _his_ business. + +Mine was to gird my loins at Lucille's and Redfern's, in order to become +a Brightener. For my pendulum was ticking regularly now. I was no longer +down and out. I was up and in. Elizabeth, Princess di Miramare, was +spoiling for her first job. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THUNDERBOLT SIX + + +Looking back through my twenty-one-and-three-quarter years, I divide my +life, up to date, into thunderbolts. + + Thunderbolt One: Death of my Father and Mother. + + Thunderbolt Two: Spy Night at the Abbey. + + Thunderbolt Three: My Marriage to Paolo di Miramare. + + Thunderbolt Four: The "Double Blow." + + Thunderbolt Five: Beggary! + +Which brings me along the road to Thunderbolt Six. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Percy-Hogge was, and is, exactly what you would think from her +name; which is why I don't care to dwell at length on the few months I +spent brightening her at Bath. It was bad enough _living_ them! + +Now, if I were a Hogge instead of a Courtenaye, plus Miramare, I would +_be_ one, plain, unadulterated, and unadorned. _She_ adulterated her +Hogg with an "e," and adorned it with a "Percy," her late husband's +Christian name. He being in heaven or somewhere, the hyphen couldn't +hurt him; and with it, and his money, _and_ Me, she began at Bath the +attempt to live down the past of a mere margarine-making Hogg. Whole +bunches of Grandmother's friends were in the Bath zone just then, which +is why I chose it, and they were so touched by my widow's weeds that +they were charming to Mrs. P.-H. in order to please me. As most of +them--though stuffy--were titled, and there were two Marchionesses and +one Duchess, the result for Mrs. Percy-Hogge was brilliant. She, who had +never before known any one above a knight-ess, was in Paradise. She had +taken a fine old Georgian house, furnished from basement to attic by +Mallet, and had launched invitations for a dinner-party "to meet the +Dowager-Duchess of Stoke," when--bang fell Thunderbolt Six! + +Naturally it fell on me, not her, as thunderbolts have no affinity for +Hoggs. It fell in the shape of a telegram from Mrs. Carstairs. + +She wired: + + Come London immediately, for consultation. Terrible theft at Abbey. + Barlows drugged and bound by burglars. Both prostrated. Affair + serious. Let me know train. Will meet. Love. + + CAROLINE CARSTAIRS. + +I wired in return that I would catch the first train, and caught it. The +old lady kept her word also, and met me. Before her car had whirled us +to Berkeley Square I had got the whole story out of her; which was well, +as an ordeal awaited me, and I needed time to camouflage my feelings. + +I had been sent for in haste because the news of the burglary was not to +leak into the papers until, as Mrs. Carstairs expressed it, "those most +concerned had come to some sort of understanding." "You see," she added, +"this isn't an ordinary theft. There are wheels within wheels, and the +insurance people will kick up a row rather than pay. That's why we must +talk everything over; you, and Sir James, and Henry--and Henry is never +_quite_ complete without me, so I intend to be in the offing." + +I knew she wouldn't stay there; but that was a detail! + +The robbery had taken place the night before, and Sir James himself had +been the one to discover it. Complication number one (as you'll see in a +minute). + +He, being now "demobbed" and a man of leisure, instead of reopening his +flat in town, had taken up quarters at Courtenaye Coombe to superintend +the repairs at the Abbey. His ex-cowboy habits being energetic, he +usually walked the two miles from the village, and appeared on the scene +ahead of the workmen. + +This morning he arrived before seven o'clock, and went, according to +custom, to beg a cup of coffee from Mrs. Barlow. She and her husband +occupied the bedroom and sitting room which had been the housekeeper's; +but at that hour the two were invariably in the kitchen. Sir Jim let +himself in with his key, and marched straight to that part of the house. +He was surprised to find the kitchen shutters closed and the range +fireless. Suspecting something wrong, he went to the bedroom door and +knocked. He got no answer; but a second, harder rap produced a muffled +moan. The door was not locked. He opened it, and was horrified at what +he saw: Mrs. Barlow, on the bed, gagged and bound; her husband in the +same condition, but lying on the floor; and the atmosphere of the closed +room heavy with the fumes of chloroform. + +It was Mrs. Barlow who managed to answer the knock with a moan. Barlow +was deeper under the spell of the drug than she, and--it appeared +afterward--in a more serious condition of collapse. + +The old couple had no story to tell, for they recalled nothing of what +had happened. They had made the rounds of the house as usual at night, +and had then gone to bed. Barlow did not wake from his stupor until the +village doctor came to revive him with stimulants, and Mrs. Barlow's +first gleam of consciousness was when she dimly heard Sir James +knocking. She strove to call out, felt aware of illness, realized with +terror that her mouth was distended with a gag, and struggled to utter +the faint groan which reached his ears. + +As soon as Sir Jim had attended to the sufferers, he hurried out, and, +finding that the workmen had arrived, rushed one of them back to +Courtenaye Coombe for the doctor and the village nurse. The moment he +(Sir Jim) was free to do so, he started on a voyage of discovery round +the house, and soon learned that a big haul had been brought off. The +things taken were small in size but in value immense, and circumstantial +evidence suggested that the thief or thieves knew precisely what they +wanted as well as where to get it. + +In the picture gallery a portrait of King Charles I (given by himself to +a General Courtenaye of the day) had been cleverly cut out of its frame, +also a sketch of the Long Water at Hampton Court, painted and signed by +King Charles. The green drawing room was deprived of its chief treasure, +a quaint sampler embroidered by the hand of Mary Queen of Scots for her +"faithful John Courtenaye." From the Chinese boudoir a Buddha of the +Ming period was gone, and a jewel box of marvellous red lacquer +presented by Li Hung Chang to my grandmother. The silver cabinet in the +oak dining room had been broken open, and a teapot, sugar bowl, and +cream-jug, given by Queen Anne to an ancestress, were absent. The China +cabinet in the same room was bared of a set of green-and-gold coffee +cups presented by Napoleon I to a French great-great-grandmother of +mine; and from the big dining hall adjoining, a Gobelin panel, woven for +the Empress Josephine, after the wedding picture by David, had vanished. + +A few _bibelots_ were missing also, here and there; snuff boxes of Beau +Nash and Beau Brummel; miniatures, old paste brooches and buckles +reminiscent of Courtenaye beauties; and a fat watch that had belonged to +George IV. + +"All my pet things!" I mourned. + +"Don't say that to any one except me," advised Mrs. Carstairs. "My dear, +_bits of a letter torn into tiny pieces--a letter from you--were found +in the Chinese Room_, and the Insurance people will be hatefully +inquisitive!" + +"You don't mean to insinuate that they'll suspect me?" I blazed at her. + +"Not of stealing the things with your own hands; and if they did, you +could easily prove an alibi, I suppose. Still, they're bound to follow +up every clue, and bits of paper with your writing on them, apparently +dropped by the thieves, _do_ form a tempting clue. You can't help +admitting it." + +I did not admit it in the least, for at first glance I couldn't see +where the "temptation" lay to steal one's own belongings. But Mrs. +Carstairs soon made me see. Though the things were mine in a way, in +another way they were not mine. Being heirlooms, I could not profit by +them financially, in the open. Yet if I could cause them to disappear, +without being detected, I should receive the insurance money with one +hand, and rake in with the other a large bribe from some supposititious +purchaser. + +"On the contrary, why shouldn't our brave Bart be suspected of precisely +the same fraud, and more of it?" I inquired. "If I could steal the +things, so could he. If they're my pets, they may be his. And he was on +the spot, with a lot of workmen in his pay! Surely such circumstantial +evidence against him weighs more heavily in the scales than a mere scrap +of paper against me? I've written Sir Jim once or twice, by the way, on +business about the Abbey since I've been in Bath. All he'd have to do +would be to tear a letter up small enough, so it couldn't be pieced +together and make sense----" + +"Nobody's weighing anything in scales against either of you--yet," +soothed Mrs. Carstairs, "unless you're doing it against each other! But +we don't know what may happen. That's why it seemed best for you and Sir +James to come together and exchange blows--I mean, _views_!--at once. He +called my husband up by long-distance telephone early this morning, told +him what had happened, and had a pow-wow on ways and means. They decided +not to inform the police, but to save publicity and engage a private +detective. In fact, Sir J---- asked Henry to send a good man to the +Abbey by the quickest train. He went--the man, I mean, not Henry; and +the head of his firm ought to arrive at our flat in a few minutes now, +to meet you and Sir James." + +"Sir James! Even a galloping cowboy can't be in London and Devonshire at +the same moment." + +"Oh, I forgot to mention, he must have travelled up by _your_ train. I +suppose you didn't see him?" + +"I did not!" + +"He was probably in a smoking carriage. Well, anyhow, he'll soon be with +us." + +"Stop the taxi!" I broke in; and stopped it myself by tapping on the +window behind the chauffeur. + +"Good heavens! what's the matter?" gasped my companion. + +"Nothing. I want to inquire the name of that firm of private detectives +Sir James Courtenaye got Mr. Carstairs to engage." + +"Pemberton. You must have seen it advertised. But why stop the taxi to +ask that?" + +"I stopped the taxi to get out, and let you run home alone while I find +another cab to take me to another detective. You see, I didn't want to +go to the same firm." + +"Isn't one firm of detectives enough at one time, on one job?" + +"It isn't one job. You're the shrewdest woman I know. You _must_ see +that James Courtenaye has engaged _his_ detective to spy upon me--to dog +my footsteps--to discover if I suddenly blossom out into untold +magnificence on ill-got gains. I intend to turn the tables on him, and +when I come back to your flat, it will be in the company of my very own +little pet detective." + +Mrs. Carstairs broke into adjurations and arguments. According to her, I +misjudged my cousin's motives; and if I brought a detective, it would be +an insult. But I checked her by explaining that my man would not give +himself away--he would pose as a friend of mine. I would select a +suitable person for the part. With that I jumped out of the taxi, and +the dear old lady was too wise to argue. She drove sadly home, and I +went into the nearest shop which looked likely to own a directory. In +that volume I found another firm of detectives with an equally +celebrated name. I taxied to their office, explained something of my +business, and picked out a person who might pass for a pal of a +(socialist) princess. He and I then repaired to Berkeley Square, and Sir +James and the Pemberton person (also Mr. Carstairs) had not been waiting +_much_ more than half an hour when we arrived. + +I don't know what my "forty-fourth cousin four times removed" thought +about my dashing in with a strange Mr. Smith who apparently had nothing +to do with the case. And I didn't care. No, not even if he imagined the +square-jawed bull-dog creature to be a choice specimen of my circle at +Bath. In any case, my Mr. Smith was a dream compared with his Pemberton. +As to himself, however--Sir Jim--I had to acknowledge that he was far +from insignificant in personality. If there were to be any battle of +wits or manners between us, I couldn't afford to despise him. + +When I had met him before, I was too utterly overwhelmed to study, or +even to notice him much, except to see that he was a big, red-headed +fellow, who loomed unnaturally large when viewed against the light. Now +I classified him as resembling a more-than-life-size statue--done in +pale bronze--of a Red Indian, or a soldier of Ancient Rome. The only +flaws in the statue were the red hair and the fiery blackness of the +eyes. + +My Mr. Smith, as I have explained, wasn't posing as a detective, but he +was engaged to stop, look, listen, for all he was worth, and tell me his +impressions afterward--just as, no doubt, Mr. Pemberton was to tell Sir +James _his_. + +We talked over the robbery in conclave; we amateurs suggesting theories, +the professionals committing themselves to nothing so premature. Why, it +was too early to form judgments, since the detective on the spot had not +yet been able to report upon fingerprints or other clues! The sole +decision arrived at, and agreed to by all, was to keep the affair among +ourselves for the present. This could be managed if none but private +detectives were employed and the police not brought into the case. When +the meeting broke up and I was able to question Mr. Smith, I was +disappointed in him. I had hoped and expected (having led up to it by +hints) that he would say: "Sir James Courtenaye is in this." On the +contrary, he tactlessly advised me to "put that idea out of my head. +There was nothing in it." (I hope he meant the idea, not the head!) + +"I should say, speaking in the air," he remarked, "that the caretakers +are the guilty parties, or at least have had some hand in the business. +Though of course I might change my mind if I were on the spot." + +I assured him fiercely that any one possessed of a mind at all would +change it at sight of dear old Barl and Barley. Nothing on earth would +make me believe anything against them. Why, if they didn't have +Almost-Haloes and Wings, Sir James and the insurance people would have +objected to them as guardians. The very fact that they had been kept on +without a word of protest from any one, when Courtenaye Abbey was let to +Sir James was, I argued, the best of testimonials to the Barlows' +character. Nevertheless, my orders were that Mr. Smith should go to +Devonshire and take a room at the Courtenaye Arms, dressed and painted +to represent a landscape artist. "The Abbey is to be opened to the +public in a few days, in spite of the best small show-things being +lost," I reminded him, from what we had heard Sir Jim say. "You can see +the Barlows, and judge of them. But what is _much_ more important, +you'll also see Sir James Courtenaye, who lodges in the inn, and can +judge of _him_. In my opinion he has revenged himself for losing his +suit to grab the Abbey and everything in it, by taking what he could lay +his hands on without being suspected." + +"But you do suspect him?" said Mr. Smith. + +"For that matter, so does he suspect me," I retorted. + +"You _think_ so," the detective amended. + +"Don't you?" + +"No, Princess, I do not." + +"What _do_ you think, then? Or don't you think _anything_?" + +"I do think something." He tried to justify his earning capacity. + +"What, if I may ask?" + +He--a Smith, a mere Smith!--dared to grin. + +"Of course you may ask, Princess," he replied. "But it's too early yet +for me to answer your question in fairness to myself. About the theft I +have not formed a firm theory, but I have about Sir James Courtenaye. I +would not have ventured even to mention it, however, if you had not +drawn me out, for it is indirectly concerned with the case." + +"Directly or indirectly, I wish to know it," I insisted. "And as you're +in my employ, I think I have the right." + +"Very well, madam, you shall know it--later," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE BLACK THING IN THE SEA + + +I went back to Bath, and Mrs. Percy-Hogge; but I no longer felt that I +was enjoying a rest cure. Right or wrong, I had the impression of being +_watched_. I was sure that Sir James Courtenaye had put detectives "on +my track," in the hope that I might be caught communicating with my +hired bravos or the wicked receiver of my stolen goods. In other days +when a man stared or turned to gaze after me, I had attributed the +attention to my looks; now I jumped to the conviction that he was a +detective. And in fact, I began to jump at anything--or nothing. + +It was vain for Mrs. Carstairs (who ran down to Bath, after I'd written +her a wild letter) to guarantee that even an enemy--(which she vowed Sir +James _wasn't_!)--could rake up no shred of evidence against me, with +the exception of the torn letter. She couldn't deny that, materially +speaking, it _would_ be a "good haul" for me to sell the heirlooms, and +obtain also the insurance money. But then, I hadn't done it, and nobody +could accuse me of doing it, because no one knew the things were gone. +Oh, well, _yes_! Some detectives knew; and the poor old Barlows had +bitter cause to know. A few others, too, including Sir James Courtenaye. +None of them _counted_, however, because none of them would talk. + +Mrs. Carstairs said it was absurd of me to imagine that Sir James was +having me watched. But imagination and not advice had the upper hand of +my nerves; and, seeing this, she prescribed a change of air. + +"I meant Mrs. Percy-Hogge only for a stop-gap," she explained. "You've +squeezed her into Society now; and for yourself, you've come to the time +when you can lighten your mourning. I've waited for that, to start you +on your new job. You'll go what my cook calls 'balmy on the crumpet' if +you keep fancying every queer human being you meet in Milsom Street a +detective on your track. The best thing for you is, not to _have_ a +track! And the way to manage that, is to be at _sea_." + +I was at sea--figuratively--till Mrs. Carstairs explained more. She +recalled to my mind what she had said in our first chat about +Brightening: how she had suggested my "taking the helm," to steer Roger +Fane into the Social Sea. + +"I think I mentioned then that I referred to the sea, in the literal +sense of the word," she went on. "I promised to tell you what I meant, +when the right moment came, and now it has come. I haven't been idle +meanwhile, I assure you, for I like Roger Fane as much as _you_ like +Shelagh Leigh. And between us two, we'll marry them over the Pollens' +snobby heads." + +In short, Mr. Carstairs had a client who had a yacht at Plymouth. The +client's name was Lord Verrington. The yacht's name was _Naiad_, and +Lord Verrington wished to let her for an absurdly large sum. Roger Fane +didn't mind paying this sum. It was the right time of year for a +yachting trip. If I would lend éclat to such a trip by Brightening it, +the Pollens would permit their precious Shelagh to go. Mr. Pollen (whom +Grandmother had refused to know) would even join the party himself. +Indeed, no one would refuse if asked by me, and the Pollens would be so +dazzled by Roger Fane's sudden social success that their consent to the +engagement was a foregone conclusion. + +I snapped at the chance of escape. To be sure, it was a temporary +escape, as the guests were invited for a week only; still, lots of +things may happen in a week. Why look beyond seven perfectly good days? +Besides, I was to be given a huge "bonus" for my services, enough to pay +the rent of my expensive flat for a year. But I wasn't entirely selfish +in accepting. I've never half described to you the odd, reserved charm +of that mysterious millionaire, Roger Fane, whose one fault was his +close friendship with Sir James Courtenaye. And for his sake, as well as +dear little Shelagh's, I would gladly have done all I could to bring the +two together. + +Knowing that titles impressed the Pollens, I secured several: one earl +with countess attached (legally, at all events), a pretty sister of the +latter; a bachelor marquis, and ditto viscount. These, with Shelagh, +myself, Roger Fane, and Mr. Pollen, would constitute the party, should +all accept. + +They all did, partly for me, perhaps, and partly for each other, but +largely from curiosity, as the _Naiad_ had the reputation of being the +most luxuriously appointed small steam yacht in British waters, (She had +been "interned" in Spain during the war!) Also, Roger had secured as +_chef_ a famous Frenchman, just demobilized. Altogether, the prospect +offered attractions. The start was to be made from Plymouth on a summer +afternoon. We were to cruise along the coast, and eventually make for +Jersey and Guernsey, where none of the party had ever been. My things +were packed, and I was ready to take a morning train for Plymouth--a +train by which all those of us in town would travel--when a letter +arrived for me. It was from Mrs. Barlow, announcing the sudden death of +her husband, from heart failure. He had never recovered the shock of the +robbery, or the heavy dose of chloroform which the thieves had +administered. And this, Barley added, as if in reproach, was not all +Barlow had been forced to endure. It had been a cruel blow to find +himself supplanted as guardian at the Abbey. The excuse for thus +superseding him and his wife was, of course, the state of their health +after the ordeal through which they had passed. Nevertheless, Barlow +felt (said his wife) that they were no longer trusted. They had loved +the lodge, which was home to them in old days; but they had been +promoted from lodge-keeping to caretaking, and it was humiliating to be +sent back while strangers usurped their place at the Abbey. This +grievance (in Barley's opinion) had killed her husband. As for her, she +would follow him into the grave, were it not for the loving care of +Barlow's nephews from Australia, the brave twin soldier boys she had +often mentioned to me. They were with her now, and would take her to the +old family home close to Dudworth Cove, which the boys had bought back +from the late owner. Barlow's body would go with them, and be buried in +the graveyard where generations of Barlows slept. + +It was a blow to hear of the old man's death, and to learn that I was +blamed for heartlessness by Barley. Of course I had nothing to do with +the affair. The Barlows were not really suspected, and had in truth been +removed for their own health's sake to the lodge where their possessions +were. The new caretakers had been engaged by Sir James, in consultation, +I believed, with the insurance people: and my secret conviction was, +that they had been supplied by Pemberton's Agency of Private Detectives. +My impulse was to rush to the Abbey and comfort Mrs. Barlow, even at the +risk of meeting my tenant engaged in the same task. But to do this would +have meant delaying the trip, and disappointing everyone, most of all +Shelagh and Roger Fane; so, advised by Mrs. Carstairs, I sent a telegram +instead, picked up Shelagh and her uncle, and took the Plymouth train. +This was the easier to do, because the wonderful old lady offered to go +herself to the Abbey on a mission of consolation. She promised to send a +telegram to our first port, saying how Barley was, and everything else I +wished to know. + +Shelagh was so happy, so excited, that I was glad I'd listened to reason +and kept the tryst. Never had I seen her as pretty as she looked on that +journey to Devon: her eyes blue stars, her cheeks pink roses. But when +the skies began to darken her eyes darkened, too. Had she been a +barometer she could not have responded more sensitively to the storm; +for a storm we had, cats and dogs pelting down on the roof of the train. + +"I was sure something horrid would happen!" she whispered. "It was too +good to be true that Roger and I should have a whole, heavenly week +together on board a yacht. Now we shall have to wait till the weather +clears. Or else be sea-sick. I don't know which is worse!" + +Roger met us, in torrents of rain and gusts of wind, at Plymouth. But +things were not so black as they looked. He had engaged rooms for +everyone, and a private salon for us all, at the best hotel. We would +stay the night and have a dance, with a band of our own. By the next day +the sea would have calmed down enough to please the worst of sailors, +and we would start. Perhaps we could even get off in the morning. + +This prophecy was rather too optimistic, for we didn't get off till +afternoon; but by that time the water was flat as a floor, and one was +tempted to forget there had ever been a storm. We were not to forget it +for long, alas! Brief as it had been, that storm was to leave its +lasting influence upon our fate: Roger Fane's, Shelagh Leigh's, and +mine. + +By four-thirty, the day after the downpour, we had all come on board the +lovely _Naiad_, had "settled" into our cabins, and were on deck--the +girls in white serge or linen, the men in flannels--ready for tea. + +If it had arrived, and we had been looking into our tea cups instead of +at the seascape, the whole of Roger Fane's and Shelagh's life might have +been different--mine, too, perhaps! But as it was, Shelagh and Roger +were leaning on the rail together, and her gaze was fixed upon the blue +water, because somehow she couldn't meet Roger's just then. What he had +said to her I don't know; but more to avoid giving an answer than +because she was wildly interested, the girl exclaimed: "What can that +dark thing be, drifting--and bobbing up and down in the waves? I suppose +it couldn't be a dead _shark_?" + +"Hardly in these waters," said Roger Fane. "Besides, a dead shark floats +wrong side up, and his wrong side is white. This thing looks black." + +In ordinary circumstances I wouldn't have broken in on a _tête-à-tête_, +but others were extricating themselves from their deck chairs, so I +thought there was no harm in my being the first. + +"More like a coffin than a shark," I said, with my elbows beside +Shelagh's on the rail. + +At that the whole party hurled itself in our direction, and the nearer +the _Naiad_ brought us to the floating object, the more like a coffin it +became to our eyes. At last it was so much like, that Roger decided to +stop the yacht and examine the thing, which might even be an odd-shaped +small boat, overturned. He went off, therefore, to speak with the +captain, leaving us in quite a state of excitement. + +Almost before we'd thought the order given, the _Naiad_ slowed down, and +came to rest like a great Lohengrin swan in the clear azure wavelets. A +boat was quickly lowered, and we saw that Roger himself accompanied the +two rowers. + +A few moments before he had looked so happy, so at peace with the world, +that the tragic shadow in his eyes had actually vanished. His whole +expression and bearing had been different, and he had seemed years +younger--almost boyish, in his dark, shy, reserved way. But as he went +down in the boat, he was again the Roger Fane I had known and wondered +about. + +"If he's superstitious, this will seem a bad omen," I thought. "That is, +if the thing _does_ turn out to be a coffin." + +None of us remembered the tea we'd been pining for, though a white-clad +steward was hovering with trays of cakes, cream, and strawberries. We +could do nothing but hang over the rail and watch the _Naiad's_ boat. We +saw it reach the Thing, in whose neighbourhood it paused with lifted +oars, while a discussion went on between Roger and the rowers. +Apparently they argued, with due respect, against the carrying out of +some order or suggestion. He was not a man to be disobeyed, however. +After a moment or two, the work of taking the black thing in tow was +begun. + +We were very near now, and could plainly see all that went on. Coffin or +not, the mysterious object was a long, narrow box of some sort (the +men's reluctance to pick it up pretty well proved _what_ sort, to my +mind), and curiously enough a rope was tied round it. There appeared to +be a lump of knots on top, and a loose end trailing like seaweed, which +made the task of taking the derelict in tow an easy one. To this broken +rope Roger deftly attached the rope carried in the boat, and it was not +long before the rescue party started to return. + +"Is it a coffin or a treasure chest?" girls and men eagerly called down +to Roger. Everyone screamed some question--except Shelagh and me. We +were silent, and Shelagh's colour had faded. She edged closer to me, +until our shoulders touched. Hers felt cold to my warm flesh. + +"Why, you're shivering, dear!" I said. "You're not _afraid_ of that +wretched thing--whatever it is?" + +"We both _know_ what it is, without telling, don't we?" she replied, in +a half whisper. "I'm not _afraid_ of it, of course. But--it's awful that +we should come across a coffin floating in the sea, on our first day +out. I feel as if it meant bad luck for Roger and me. How can they all +squeal and chatter so? I suppose Roger is bound to bring the dreadful +thing on board. It wouldn't be decent not to. But I wish he needn't." + +I rather wished the same, partly because I knew how superstitious +sailors were about such matters, and how they would hate to have a +coffin--presumably containing a dead body--on board the _Naiad_. It +really wasn't a gay yachting companion! However, I tried to cheer +Shelagh. It would take more than this to bring her bad luck _now_, I +said, when things had gone so far; and she might have more trust in me, +whom she had lately named her _mascotte_. + +All the men frankly desired to see the _trouvaille_ at close quarters, +and most of the women wanted a peep, though they weren't brutally open +about it. If there had been any doubt, it would have vanished as the +Thing was being hauled on board by grave-faced, suddenly sullen sailors. +It was a "sure enough" coffin, and--it seemed--an unusually large one! + +It had to be placed on deck, for the moment, but Roger had the dark +shape instantly covered with tarpaulins; and an appeal from his clouded +eyes made me suggest adjourning indoors for tea. We could have it in the +saloon, which was decorated like a boudoir, and full of lilies and +roses--Shelagh's favourite flowers. + +"Let's not talk any more about the business!" Roger exclaimed, when +Shelagh's uncle seemed inclined to mix the subject with food. "I wish it +hadn't happened, as the men are foolishly upset. But it can't be helped, +and we must do our best. The--er--it sha'n't stop on deck. That would be +to keep Jonah under our eyes. I've thought of a place where we can +ignore it till to-morrow, when we'll land it as early as we can at St. +Heliers. I'm afraid the local authorities will want to tie us up in a +lot of red tape. But the worst will be to catechize us as if we were +witnesses in court. Meanwhile, let's forget the whole affair." + +"Righto!" promptly exclaimed all three of the younger guests; but Mr. +Pollen was not thus to be deprived of his morbid morsel. + +"Certainly," he agreed. "But before the subject is shelved, _where_ is +the 'place' you speak of? I mean, where is the coffin to rest throughout +the night?" + +Roger gave a grim laugh, and looked obstinate. "I'll tell you this +much," he said. "None of you'll have it for a near neighbour, so none of +you need worry." + +After that, even Mr. Pollen could not persist. We disposed of an +enormous tea, after the excitement, and then some of us played bridge. +When we separated, however, to pace the deck--two by two, for a +"constitutional" before dinner--one could see by the absorbed expression +on faces, and guess by the low-toned voices, what each pair discussed. + +My companion, Lord Glencathra, thought that Somebody must have died on +Some Ship, and been thrown overboard. But I argued that this could +hardly be, because--surely--bodies buried at sea were not put into +coffins, were they? I had heard that the custom was to sew them up in +sailcloth or something, and weight them well. Besides, there was the +broken rope tied round the coffin, which seemed to show that it had been +tethered, and got loose--in the storm, perhaps. How did Lord Glencathra +account for that fact? He couldn't account for it. Nor could any one +else. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +WHAT I FOUND IN MY CABIN + + +I did all I could to make dinner a lively meal, and with iced Pommery of +a particularly good year as my aide-de-camp, superficially at least I +succeeded. But whenever there was an instant's lull in the conversation, +I felt that everyone was asking him or herself, "_Where_ is the coffin?" + +The plan had been to have a little moonlight fox-trotting and jazzing on +deck; but with that Black Thing hidden somewhere on board, we confined +ourselves to more bridge and star-gazing, according to taste. I, as +professional Brightener, nobly kept Mr. Pollen out of everybody's way by +annexing him for a stroll. This deserved the name of a double +brightening act, for I brightened the lives of his fellow guests by +saving them from him; and I brightened his by encouraging him to talk of +Well-Connected People. + +"Who _was_ she before she married Lord Thingum-bob?" ... or, "Yes, she +was Miss So-and-So, a cousin of the Duke of Dinkum," might have been +heard issuing sapiently from our lips, had any one been mentally +destitute enough to eavesdrop. But I had my reward. Dear little Shelagh +Leigh and Roger Fane seemed to have cheered each other. I left them +standing together, elbows on the rail, as they had stood before the +affair of the afternoon. The moonlight was shining full upon Shelagh's +bright hair and pearl-white face, as she looked up, eager-eyed, at +Roger; and _he_ looked--at least, his _back_ looked!--as if there were +nobody on land or sea except one Girl. + +Having lured Mr. Pollen to make a fourth at a bridge table where the +players were too polite to kill him, I ventured to vanish. There being +no one on board with whom I wished to flirt, my one desire after two +hard hours of Brightening was to curl up in my cabin with a nice book. I +quite looked forward to the moment for shutting myself cosily in, for +the cabin was a delicious pink-and-white nest--the biggest room on +board, as a tribute to my princesshood. + +Hardly had I opened the door, however, when my dream-bubble broke. A +very odd and repellent odour greeted me, and seemed almost to push me +back across the threshold. I held my ground, however, and sniffed with +curiosity and disgust. + +Somebody had been at my perfume--my expensive pet perfume, made +especially for me in Rome (one drop exquisite; two, oppressive), and +must have spilt the lot. But worse than this, the heavy fragrance was +mingled with a reek of stale brandy. + +Anger flashed in me, like a match set to gun-cotton. Some impertinent +person had sneaked into my stateroom and played a stupid practical joke. +Or, if not that, one of the pleasantly prim, immaculate women (a cross +between the stewardess and ladies'-maid type) engaged to hook up our +frocks and make up our cabins, was secretly a confirmed--_ROTTER_! + +I switched on the light, shut the door smartly without locking it, and +flung a furious glance around. The creature had actually dared to place +a brandy bottle conspicuously upon my dressing table, among gold-handled +brushes and silver gilt boxes, and, as a crowning impertinence, had left +a tumbler beside the bottle, a quarter full of strong-smelling brown +stuff. Close by lay my lovely crystal flask of "Campagna Violets," +empty. I could get no more anywhere, and it had cost five pounds! I +could hardly breathe in the room. Oh, evidently a stewardess must have +gone stark mad, or else some practical joker had waited to play the +_coup_ until the stewardesses were in bed! + +As I thought this, my eyes as well as my nostrils warned me of something +strange. The rose-coloured silk curtains which, when I went to dinner, +had been gracefully looped back at head and foot of my pretty bed (a +real bed, not a mere berth!) were now closely drawn with a secretive +air. This made me imagine that it was a practical joke I had to deal +with, and my fancy flew to all sorts of weird surprises, any one of +which I might find hidden behind the draperies. + +I trust that I have a sense of humour, and I can laugh at a jest against +myself as well as any woman, perhaps better than most. But to-night I +was in no mood to laugh at jests, and I wondered how anybody had the +heart (not to mention the _cheek_!) to perpetrate one after the shock we +had experienced. Besides, I couldn't think of a person likely to play a +trick on me. Certainly my host wouldn't do so. Shelagh, my best and most +intimate pal, was far too gentle and sensitive-minded. As for the other +guests, none were of the noisy, bounding type who take liberties even +with distant acquaintances, for fun. + +All this ran through my mind, as a cinema "cut-in" flashes across the +screen; and it wasn't until I'd passed in review the characters of my +fellow guests that I summoned courage to pull back the bed-curtains. +When I did so, I gave a jerk that slipped them along the rod as far as +they would go. And then--I saw the last thing in the world I could have +pictured. + +A woman, fully dressed, was stretched on the pink silk coverlet fast +asleep, her head deep sunk in the embroidered pillow. + +It was all I could do to keep back a cry--for this was no woman I had +seen on board, not even a drunken or sleep-walking stewardess. Yet her +face was not strange to me. That was the most horrible, the most +mysterious part! There was no mistake, for the face was impossible to +forget. As I stared, almost believing that I dreamed, another scene rose +between my eyes and the dainty little cabin of the _Naiad_. + +It also was a scene in a dream. I knew it was a dream, but it was +torturingly vivid. I was a prisoner on a German submarine, in war-time, +and signals from my own old home--Courtenaye Abbey--flashed into my +eyes. They flashed so brightly that they set me on fire. I wakened from +the nightmare with a start. A strong light dazzled me, and, striking my +face, lit up another face as well. Just for an instant I saw it; then +the revealing ray died into darkness. But on my retina was photographed +those features, in a pale, illumined circle. + +A second sufficed to bring back to my brain this old dream and the +waking reality which followed, that night at the Abbey, long ago--the +night which Shelagh and I called "Spy Night." For here, in my cabin on +the yacht _Naiad_, on the crushed pillow of my bed, was that face. + +As I realized this, without benefit of any doubt, a faint sickness swept +over me. It was partly horror of the past; partly physical disgust of +the brandy-reek--stronger than ever now--hanging like an unseen canopy +over the bed; and partly cold fear of a terrifying Presence. + +There she lay, sunk in drugged and drunken sleep, the Woman of Mystery, +in whose existence no one but Shelagh and I had ever quite believed: the +woman who had visited us in our sleep, and who--almost certainly--had +fired the Abbey, hoping that we and the Barlows might suffocate in our +beds. + +The face was just the same as it had been then: "beautiful and hideous +at the same time, like Medusa," I had described it; only now it was +older, and though still beautiful, somehow _ravaged_. The hair still +glowed with the vivid auburn colour which I had thought "unreal +looking"; but now it was tumbled and unkempt. Loose locks strayed over +the dainty pillow, and at the bottom of the bed, pushed tightly against +the footboard by a pair of untidy, high-heeled shoes, was a dusty black +toque half covered with a very thick motor-veil of gray tissue. There +was a gray cloak, too, in a tumbled mass on the pink coverlet, and a +pair of soiled gloves. Everything about the sleeper was sordid and +repulsive, a shuddering contrast to the exquisite freshness of the bed +and room--everything, that is, except the face. Its half-wrecked beauty +was still supreme, and even in the ruin drink or drugs had wrought, it +forced admiration. + +"_A German spy_--here in my cabin--on board Roger Fane's yacht!" I said +the words slowly in my mind, not with my tongue. Not a sound, not the +faintest whisper, passed my lips. Yet suddenly the long, dark lashes on +bruise-blue lids began to quiver. It was as if my _thought_ had shaken +the woman by the shoulder, and roused what was left of her soul. + +I should have liked to dash out of the room and with a shriek bring +everyone on board to my cabin. But I stood motionless, concentrating my +gaze on those trembling eyelids. Something inside me seemed to say: +"Don't be a coward, Elizabeth Courtenaye!" It was exactly like +Grandmother's voice. I had a conviction that _she_ wanted me to see this +thing through as a Courtenaye should, shirking no responsibility, and +solving the mystery of past and present without bleating for help. + +The fringed lids parted, shut, quivered again, and flashed wide open. A +pair of pale eyes stared into mine--wicked eyes, cruel eyes, green as a +cat's. Like a cat, too, the creature gathered herself together as if for +a spring. Her muscles rippled and jerked. She sat up, and in chilled +surprise I thought I saw recognition in her stare. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE WOMAN OF THE PAST + + +"Oh, you've come at last!" she rasped, in a harsh, throaty voice +roughened by drink. "I know you. I----" + +"And I know you!" I cut her short, to show that I was not cowed. + +Sitting up in bed, hugging her knees, she started at my words so that +the springs shook. Whatever it was she had meant to say, she forgot it +for the moment, and challenged me: "That's a lie!" she snapped. "You +_don't_ know me yet--but you soon will." + +"I've known you since you came into my room at Courtenaye Abbey the +night you tried to burn down the house," I said. "You were spying for +the Germans in the war. Heaven knows all the harm you may have done. I +can't imagine for whom you're spying now. Anyhow, you can't frighten me +again. The war's over, but I'll have you arrested for what you did when +it was on." + +The woman scowled and laughed, more Medusa-like than ever. I really felt +as if she might turn me to stone. But she shouldn't guess her power. + +"Pooh!" she said, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "You won't want to +arrest me when you hear who I am, Lady Shelagh Leigh!" + +"Lady Shelagh Leigh!" It was on my lips to cry, "I'm not Shelagh Leigh!" +But I stopped in time. The less I let her find out about me, and the +more I could find out about her before rousing the yacht, the better. I +spoke not a word, but waited for her to go on--which she did in a few +seconds. + +"That makes you sit up, doesn't it?" she sneered. "That hits you where +you _live_! Why did you think I chose your cabin? I didn't select it by +chance. I confess I was taken back at your remembering. I thought I +hadn't given you time for much study of my features that other night. +But it doesn't matter. You can't do anything to me. I'll soon prove +_that_! But I had a good look at _you_, there in your friend's old +Devonshire rat-trap. I knew who you both were. It was easy to find out! +And the other day, when I heard that Lady Shelagh Leigh was likely to +marry Roger Fane, I said to myself, 'Gosh! One of the girls I saw at the +darned old Abbey!'" + +"Oh, you said _that_ to yourself!" I echoed. And, though my knees +failed, I kept to my feet. To stand towering above the squatting figure +on the bed seemed to give me moral as well as physical advantage. "How +did you know, pray, which girl I was?" + +"I knew, 'pray,'" she mocked, "because you've got the best room on this +yacht. Roger'd be sure to give that to his best girl. Which is how I'm +sure you're not Elizabeth Courtenaye." + +"How clever you are!" I said. + +"Yes--I'm clever--when I'm not a fool. Don't think, anyhow, that you can +beat me in a battle of brains. I've come on board this boat to succeed, +and I _will_ succeed in one of two ways, I don't care a hang which. But +nothing on God's earth can hold me back from one or the other--least of +all, can _you_. Why, you can ask any question you please, and I'll +answer. I'll tell the truth, too--for the more I say, and the more +you're shocked, the more helpless you are--do you see?" + +"No, I don't see," I drew her on. + +"Don't you guess yet who I am?" + +"I've guessed what you _were_--a German spy." + +"That's ancient history. One must live--and one must have money--plenty +of money. I must! And I've had it. But it's gone from me--like most good +things. Now I must have more--a lot more. Or else I must die. I don't +care which. But _others_ will care. I'll make them." + +Looking at her, I doubted if she had the power; though she must have had +it in lost days of gorgeous youth. Yet again I remained silent. I saw +that she was leading up to something in particular, and I let her go on. + +"You're not much of a guesser," she said, "so I'll introduce myself. +Lady-who-thinks-she's-going-to-marry Roger Fane, let me make known to +you the lady who _has_ married him--Mrs. Fane, _née_ Linda Lehmann. I've +changed my name since, more than once. At present I'm Katherine Nelson. +But Linda Lehmann is the name that matters to Roger. You're nothing in +looks, by the by, to what _I_ was at your age. _Nothing!_" + +If my knees had been weak before, they now felt as if struck with a +mallet! She might be lying, but something within me was horribly sure +that she spoke the truth. I'd never heard full details of Roger Fane's +"tragedy," but Mrs. Carstairs had dropped a few hints which, without +asking questions, I'd patched together. I had gleaned that he'd married +(when almost a boy) an actress much older than himself; and that, till +her sudden and violent death after many years--nine or ten at least--his +life had been a martyrdom. How the woman contrived to be alive I +couldn't see. But such things happened--to people one didn't know! The +worst of it was that _I did_ know Roger Fane, and liked him. Besides, I +loved Shelagh, whose happiness was bound up with Roger's. It seemed as +if I couldn't bear to have those two torn apart by this cruel +creature--this drunkard--this _spy_! Yet--what could I do? + +At the moment I could think of nothing useful, because, if she was +Roger's wife, her boast was justified: for his sake and Shelagh's she +mustn't be handed over to the police, to answer for any political crime +I might prove against her--or even for trying to burn down the Abbey. +Oh, this business was beyond what I bargained for when I engaged to +"brighten" the trip on board the _Naiad_! Still, all the spirit in me +rallied to work for Roger Fane--even to work out his salvation if that +could be. And I was glad I'd let the woman believe I was Shelagh Leigh. + +"Roger's wife died five years ago, just before the war began," I said. +"She was killed in a railway accident--an awful one, where she and a +company of actors she was travelling with were burned to death." + +The creature laughed. "Have you never been to a movie show, and seen how +easy it is to die in a railway accident?--to _stay_ dead to those you're +tired of, and to be alive in some other part of this old world, where +you think there's more fun going on? It's been done on the screen a +hundred times--and off it, too. I was sick to death of Roger. I'd never +have married a stick like him--always preaching!--if I hadn't been down +and out. When I met him, it was in a beastly one-horse town where I was +stranded. The show had chucked me--gone off and left me without a cent. +I was sick--too big a dose of dope, if you want to know. But _Roger_ +didn't know--you can bet. Not then! I took jolly good care to toe the +mark, till he'd married me all right. He _was_ a sucker! I suppose he +was twenty-two and over, but Peter Pan wasn't in it with him in some +ways. He kept me off the stage--and tried to keep me off everything else +worth doing for five years. Then I left him, for my health and looks had +come back, and I got a fair part in a play on tour. There I met a +countryman of mine--oh! don't be encouraged to hope! I never gave Roger +any cause to divorce me; and if I had, I'd have done it so he couldn't +prove a thing!" + +"When you say the man was your countryman, I suppose you mean a German," +I said. + +"Well, yes," she replied, with the flaunting frankness she affected in +these revelations. "German-American he was. I'm German by birth, and +grew up in America. I've been back often and long since then. But this +man had a scheme. He wanted me to go into it with him. I didn't see my +way at first though there was big money, so he left the show before the +accident. When I found myself alive and kicking among the dead that day, +however, I saw my chance. I left a ring and a few things to identify me +with a woman who was killed, and I lit out. It was in the dead of night, +so luck was on my side for once. I wrote my friend, and it wasn't long +before I was at work with him for the German Government. The Abbey +affair was after he'd got out of England and into Germany through +Switzerland. He was a sailor, and had been given command of a big new +submarine. If it hadn't been for the row you and your pal kicked up, +we--he on the water and I on land--might have brought off one of the big +stunts of the war. You tore it--after I'd been mewed up in the old +rat-warren for a week, and everything was working just right! I wish to +goodness the whole house had burned, and I did wish _you'd_ burned with +it. But I don't know if to-night isn't going to pay me--and you--just as +well. There's a lot owing from you to me. I haven't told you all yet. My +friend's submarine was caught, and he went down with her. I blame that +to you. If I hadn't failed him with the signals, he might be alive now." + +"I was more patriotic than I knew!" I flung back. "As you're so +confidential, tell me how you got into the Abbey, and where you hid." + +She shook her dyed and tousled head. "That's where I draw the line," she +said. "I've told you what I have told to please myself, not you. You +can't profit by a word of it. That's where my fun comes in! If I split +about the Abbey, you might profit somehow--or your friend the Courtenaye +girl would. I want to punish her, too." + +I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps in that case you won't care to explain +how you came on board the _Naiad_?" + +"I don't mind that," the ex-spy made concession. "I went out of England +after the Abbey affair--friends helped me away--and I worked in New York +till things grew too hot. Then I came over as a Red Cross nurse, got +into France, and stopped till the other day. I'd be there still if I +hadn't picked up a weekly London gossip-rag, and seen a paragraph about +a certain rumoured engagement! You can guess _whose_! It called +Roger--_my_ Roger, mind you!--a 'millionaire.' He never was poor, even +in my day; he'd made a lucky strike before we met, with an invention. I +said to myself: 'Linda, my girl, 'twould be tempting Providence to lie +low and let another woman spend his money.' I started as soon as I +could, but missed him in London, and hurried on to Plymouth. If it +hadn't been for that bally storm I shouldn't have caught him up! The +yacht would have sailed. As it was, before you came on board this +afternoon I presented myself, thickly veiled. I had a card from a London +newspaper, and an old card of Roger's which was among a few things of +his I'd kept for emergencies. I can copy his handwriting well enough not +be suspected, except by an intimate friend of his, so I scribbled on the +card an order to view the yacht. I got on all right, and wandered about +with a notebook and a stylo. I soon found the right place to hide--in +the storeroom, behind some barrels. But I had to make everyone who'd +seen me think I'd gone on shore. That was easy! I told a sailor fellow +by the gang plank I was going, and said I'd mislaid an envelope in which +I'd slipped a tip for him and another man. I thought I'd left it on a +table in the dining saloon, and he'd better look for it, or it might be +picked up by somebody. He went before I could say 'knife!' and the +envelope really _was_ there, so he didn't have to hurry back. Two +minutes later I was in the storeroom, and no one the wiser. Lord! but I +got the jumps waiting for the stewardesses to be safe in bed before I +could creep out to pay your cabin a call!" + +"So, to cure the 'jumps' you annexed a whole bottle of brandy," I said. + +"I did--for that and another reason you may find out by and by. But I'm +hanged if you're not a cool hand, for a young girl who has just heard +her lover's a married man. I thought by this time you'd be in +hysterics." + +"Girls of _my_ generation don't have hysterics," I taunted her. By the +dyed hair and vestiges of rouge and powder which streaked the battered +face I guessed that a sneer at her age would sting like a wasp. I wanted +to rouse the woman's temper. If she lost her head, she might show her +hand! + +"You'll have worse than hysterics, you fool, before I finish," she +snapped. "I'm going to make Roger Fane acknowledge me as his wife and +give me everything I want--money, and motor cars, and pearls--and, best +of all, a _position in society_. I'm tired of being a free lance." + +"He won't do it!" I cried. + +"He'll have to--when he hears what will happen if he doesn't. If I can't +live a life worth living, I'll die. Roger Fane will go off this yacht +under arrest as my murderer." + +"You deserve that he should kill you, but he will not," I said. + +"He'll _hang_ for killing me, anyhow. You see, the more _motive_ he has +to destroy me, the more impossible for him--or you--to prove his +innocence. Do you think I'd have told you all this, if any one was +likely to believe such a cock-and-bull story as the truth would sound to +a jury? But I'm through now! I've said what I came to say. I'm ready to +act. Do you want a row, or will you go quietly to the door of Roger's +cabin (he must be there by this time) and tell him that his wife, Linda +Lehmann, is waiting for him in your stateroom? _That_'ll fetch him!" + +I had no doubt it would. My only doubt was what to do! But if I refused, +the woman was sure to keep her word, and rouse the yacht by screams. +That would be the worst thing possible for Shelagh and Roger. I decided +to go, and break to him the news with merciful swiftness. + +If I could, I would have turned a key upon the creature, but the doors +of the _Naiad's_ cabins were furnished only with bolts. My one hope, +that she'd keep to my room, owed itself to the fact that she was too +drunk to move comfortably, and that, despite her bluff, the best trump +she had was quiet diplomacy with Roger. + +Softly I closed the door, and tiptoed to his, three staterooms distant +from mine. My tap was so light that, if he had gone to sleep, I should +have had to knock again. But he opened the door at once. He was fully +dressed, and had a book in his hand. + +"Something has happened," I whispered in answer to his amazed look. "Let +me come in and explain. I can't talk out here." + +He stood aside in silence, and I stepped in. Then I motioned him to shut +the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE SECRET BEHIND THE SILENCE + + +This was the first time I'd seen Roger's cabin, and I had no eyes now +for its charm of decoration; but I saw that it was large, and divided by +a curtained arch into a bedroom and a tiny yet complete study fitted +with bookshelves and a desk. + +"You're pale as death!" He lowered his voice cautiously. "Sit down in +this chair." As he spoke he led me through the bedroom part of the cabin +to the study, and there I sank gratefully into the depths of a big +chair, where, no doubt, he had sat reading under the light of a shaded +lamp. + +"Now what is it?" he asked, bending over me. As I stammered out my +story, for a few seconds I forgot the fear of being followed. Our backs +were turned to the door. But I had not got far in the tale when I felt +that _she_ had come into the room. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw +her--a shabby, sinister figure--hanging on to the curtain that draped +the archway. + +Roger's start and stifled exclamation proved that, whatever else she +might be, the woman was no imposter. + +"You devil!" he gasped. + +"Your wife!" she retorted. + +"Hush," I whispered. "For every sake let's keep this quiet!" + +"_I'll_ be quiet for my own sake, if he accepts my terms," said the +woman. "If not, the whole yacht----" + +"Be silent!" Roger commanded. "Princess, I've got to see this through. +You'd better go now, and leave me alone with her." + +He was right. My presence would hinder rather than help. I saw the +greenish eyes dart from his face to mine when he called me "Princess"; +but she must have fancied it a pet name, for no question flashed from +her lips as I tiptoed across the room. + +When I got back to my own quarters, I noticed at once that the brandy +bottle and the tumbler which had accompanied it were gone from my +dressing table. Nor were they to be found in the cabin. The woman must +have taken them to Roger's room, and placed them somewhere before I saw +her. "Disgusting!" I murmured, for my thought was that the debased +wretch had clung lovingly to the drink. Even though I'd sharpened my +wits to search all her motives, I failed over that simple-seeming act. + +"Oh, poor Roger!" I said to myself. "And poor Shelagh!" + +I sat miserably on the window seat (for the rumpled bed was now +abhorrent), and wondered what would happen next. But I had not long to +wait. A few moments passed--how many I don't know--and the crystalline +silence of the gliding _Naiad_ was splintered by a scream. + +'Scream' is the word one must use for a cry of pain or fear. Yet it +isn't the right word for the sound that snatched me to my feet. It was +not shrill, it was not loud. What might have ended in a shriek subsided +to a choked breath, a gurgle. My heart's pounding seemed louder as I +listened. My ears expected a following cry, but it did not come. Two or +three doors gently opened, that was all. Again dead silence fell; and I +felt in it that others listened, fearing to speak lest the sound had +been no more than a moan in a dream. Presently the doors closed again, +each listener afraid of disturbing a neighbour. And even I, who knew the +secret behind the silence, prayed that the choked scream might have come +when it did as a mere coincidence. Someone might really have had +nightmare! + +As time passed, I almost persuaded myself that it was so, and that, at +worst, there would be no crime to mark this night with crimson on the +calendar. But the next quarter hour was the _deadest_ time I'd ever +known. I felt like one entombed alive, praying to be liberated from a +vault. Then, at last--when those who'd waked slept again--came a faint +knock at my door. + +I flew to slip back the bolt, and pulled Roger Fane into the room. One +would not have believed a face so brown could bleach so white! + +For an instant we stared into each other's eyes. When I could speak, I +stammered a question--I don't know what, and I don't think he +understood. But the spell broke. + +"You _heard_?" he faltered. + +"The cry? Yes. It was----" + +"She's dead." + +"_Dead!_ You killed her?" + +"My God, no! But if you think that, what will--_others_ think?" + +"If you had killed her, you couldn't be blamed," I tried to encourage +him. "Only----" + +"Didn't she make some threat to you? I hoped she had. She told me----" + +"Yes, there was something--I hardly remember what. It was like +drunkenness. She said--I think--that if you wouldn't take her back, +you'd be arrested--as her murderer." + +"That was it--her ultimatum. She must have been mad. I offered a big +allowance, if she'd go away and not make a scandal. I'd have to give up +Shelagh, of course, but I wanted to save my poor little love from +gossip. That devil would have no compromise. It should be all or +nothing. I must swear to acknowledge her as my wife on board this +yacht--to-morrow morning--before Shelagh--before you all. If I wouldn't +promise that, she'd kill herself at once, in a way to throw the guilt on +me. She'd do it so that I couldn't clear myself or be cleared. I +wouldn't promise, of course. I hoped, anyhow, that she was bluffing. But +I didn't know her! When nothing would change me, she showed a tiny phial +she had in her hand, and said she'd drink the stuff in it before I could +touch her. It was prussic acid, she told me--and already she'd poured +enough to kill ten men into a tumbler she'd stolen from my cabin on +purpose. She'd mixed the poison with brandy from the storeroom. Even if +I threw the tumbler through the porthole, mine would be missing. There's +one to match each room, you see. A small detail, but important. + +"'Now will you promise?' she repeated. I couldn't--for I should not have +kept my word. She looked at me a second. I saw in her eyes that she was +going to do the thing, and I jumped at her--but I was too late. She +nearly drained the phial. And she'd hardly flung it away before she was +dead--with an awful, twisted face--and that cry. If I hadn't caught her, +she'd have fallen with a crash. This is the end of things for me." + +"Oh, no--don't say that!" I begged. + +"What else is there to say? There she lies, dead in my cabin. There's +prussic acid on the floor--and the phial broken. The room reeks of +bitter almonds. No one but you will believe I didn't kill her--perhaps +not even Shelagh. Just because the woman made my past life horrible--and +I had a chance of happiness--the temptation would be irresistible." + +"Let me think. Do let me think!" I persisted. "Surely there's a way out +of the trap." + +"I don't _see_ one," said Roger. "Throwing a body overboard is the +obvious thing. But it would be worse than----" + +"Wait!" I cut him short. "I've thought of another thing--_not_ obvious. +But it's hard to do--and hateful. The only help I could lend you is--a +hint. The rest would depend on yourself. If you were strong +enough--brave enough--it might give you Shelagh." + +"I'm strong enough for anything with the remotest hope of Shelagh, +and--I trust--brave enough, too. Tell me your plan." + +I had to draw a long breath before I could answer. I needed air! "You're +right." I said. "To give the body to the sea would make things worse. +You couldn't be sure it would not be found, and the woman traced by the +police. If they discovered who she was--that she'd been your wife--you +would be suspected even if nothing were proved through those who saw a +veiled woman come on board." + +"That's what I meant. Yet you must see that even with your testimony, my +innocence can't be proved if the story of this night has to be told." + +"I do see. You might not be proved guilty, but you'd be under a cloud. +Shelagh would still want to marry you. But she's very young, and easy to +break as a butterfly. The Pollens----" + +"I wouldn't accept such a sacrifice even if they'd let her make it. Yet +you speak of hope!----" + +"I do--a desperate hope. Can you open that coffin you brought on board +to-day, take out--whatever is in it--and--and----" + +"My God!" + +"I warned you the plan was terrible. I hardly thought you would----" + +"I would--for Shelagh. But you don't understand. That coffin will be +opened by the police at St. Heliers to-morrow, and----" + +"I do understand. It's you who do not. Everyone on board knows that the +coffin was floating in the sea--that we came on it by accident. You +could have had nothing to do with its being where it was. If you had, +you wouldn't have taken it on board! The body found in that coffin +to-morrow won't be associated with you. _She_--must have altered +horribly since old days. And she has changed her name many times. The +initials on her linen won't be L.L. There'll be a nine-days' wonder over +the mystery. But _you_ won't be concerned in it. As for what's in the +coffin now, _that_ can safely be given to the sea. Whatever it may be, +and whenever or wherever it's found, it won't be connected with the name +of Roger Fane. If there's the name of the maker on the coffin, it must +come off. Oh, don't think I do not realize the full horror of the thing. +I do! But between two evils one must choose the less, if it hurts no +one. It seems to me it is so with this. Why should Shelagh's life and +yours be spoiled by a cruel woman--a criminal--whose last act was to try +to ruin the man she'd injured, sinned against for years? As for--_the +other_--the unknown one--if the spirit can see, surely it would be glad +to help in such a cause? What you would have to do, you'd do reverently. +There must be tarpaulin on board, or canvas coverings that wouldn't be +looked for, or missed. There must be a screw-driver--and things like +that. The great danger is, if the coffin's in plain sight anywhere, and +a man on watch----" + +"There's no danger of that kind. The coffin is in the bathroom adjoining +my cabin." + +"Then--doesn't it seem that Fate bade you put it there?" + +For a moment Roger covered his face with his hands. I saw him shudder. +But he flung back his head and looked me in the eyes. "I'll go on +obeying Fate's orders," he said. + +Without another word between us, he left me. The door shut, and I sat +staring at it, as if I could see beyond. + +I had spoken only the truth. There was no sin against living or dead in +what I had urged Roger to do. Yet the bare thought of it was so grim +that I felt like an up-to-date Lady Macbeth. + +I had forgotten to beg that he would come back and tell of his success +or--failure. But I was sure he would come, sooner or later, whatever +happened, and I sat quite still--waiting. I kept my eyes on the door, to +see the handle turn, or gazed at my little travelling clock to watch the +dragging moments. I longed for news. Yet I was glad when time went on +without a sign. The quick coming back of Roger would have meant that he +had failed--that all hope was ended. + +Twenty minutes; thirty; forty; fifty, passed, seeming endless. But when +with the sixtieth minute came the faint tap I awaited, down sank my +heart. Roger could not have finished his double task in an hour! + +I dashed to the door, and the light from my cabin showed the man's face, +ashy pale. Yet I did not read despair on it. + +Without a word I dragged him into the room once more; and only when the +door was closed did I dare to whisper "_Well?_" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE GREAT SURPRISE + + +"_There was no body in the coffin_," Roger said. + +"Empty?" I gasped. + +"Not empty. No. There was something there. Will you come to my cabin and +see what it was? Don't look frightened. There's nothing to alarm you. +And--Princess, the rest of the plan you gave me has been--_carried out_. +Thanks to your woman's wit, I believe that my future and Shelagh's is +clear. And, before Heaven, my conscience is clear, too." + +"Oh, Roger, it's thanks to your own courage more than to me. Is--is all +_safe_?" + +"The coffin--isn't empty now. It is fastened up, just as it was. The +broken rope is round it again. It's covered with the tarpaulin as +before. No one outside the secret would guess it had been disturbed. +There's no maker's mark to trace it by. I owe more than my life--I owe +my very _soul_--to you. For I haven't much fear of what may come at St. +Heliers to-morrow or after." + +"Nor I. Oh, I am _thankful_, for Shelagh's sake even more than yours, if +possible. Her heart would have broken. Now she need never know." + +"She must know--and choose. I shall tell her--everything I did. Only I +need not bring you into it." + +"If you tell her about yourself, you must tell her about me," I said. +"I'd like to be with you when you speak to her--if you think you must +speak." + +"I'm sure I must. If all goes well to-morrow, she can marry me without +fear of scandal--if she's willing to marry me, after what I've done +to-night." + +"She will be. And she shall hear from me that this woman who killed +herself and our spy of the Abbey were one. As for to-morrow--all _must_ +go well! But--the thing you found--in the coffin. You'll have to dispose +of it somehow." + +"It's for _you_ to decide about that--I think." + +"For me? What can it have to do with me?" + +"You'll see--in my cabin. If you'll trust me and come." + +I went with him, my heart pounding as I entered the room. It seemed as +if some visible trace of tragedy must remain. But there was nothing. All +was in order. The brandy bottle had disappeared--into the sea, no doubt. +The tumbler so cleverly taken from this cabin was clean, and in its +place. There were no bits of broken glass from the phial to be seen. And +the odour of bitter almonds with which the place had reeked was no +longer very strong. The salt breeze blowing through two wide-open +portholes would kill it before dawn. + +"But where is the _thing_?" I asked. + +"In the study," Roger answered. He motioned me to pass through the +curtained archway, as I had passed before; and there I had to cover my +lips with my hand to press back a cry. The desk, the big chair I had sat +in, and a sofa were covered with objects familiar to me as my own face +in a looking-glass. There was Queen Anne's silver tea-service and +Napoleon's green-and-gold coffee cups. There were Li Hung Chang's box of +red lacquer and the wondrous Buddha; there were the snuff-boxes, the +miniatures, the buckles and brooches; the fat watch of George the +Fourth; half unrolled lay Charles the First's portrait and sketch, and +the Gobelin panel which had been the Empress Josephine's. In fact, all +the treasures stolen from Courtenaye Abbey! Here they were in Roger +Fane's cabin on board the _Naiad_, and they had come out of a coffin +found floating in the sea! + + * * * * * + +When I could think at all, I tried to think the puzzle out, and I tried +to do it alone, for Roger was in no state to bend his mind to trifles. +But, in his almost pathetic gratitude, he wished to help me; and when we +had locked up the things in three drawers of his desk, we sat together +discussing theories. Something must be planned, something settled, +before day! + +It was Roger who unfolded the whole affair before my eyes, unfolded it +so clearly that I could not doubt he was right. My trust--everyone's +trust--in the Barlows had been misplaced. They were the guilty ones! If +they had not organized the plot, they had helped to carry it through as +nobody else could have carried it through. + +I told Roger of the two demobilized nephews about whom--if he had +heard--he had forgotten. I explained that they were twin sons of a +brother of old Barlow's, who had taken them to Australia years ago when +they were children. Vaguely I recalled that, when I was very young, +Barlow had worried over news from Australia: his nephews had been in +trouble of some sort. I fancied they had got in with a bad set. But that +was ancient history! The twins had evidently "made good." They had +fought in the war, and had done well. They must have saved money, or +they could not have bought the old house on the Dorset coast which had +belonged to the Barlows for generations. It was at this point, however, +that Roger stopped me. _Had_ the boys "saved" money, or--had they got it +in a way less meritorious? Had they needed, for pressing reasons of +their own, to possess that place on the coast? The very question called +up a picture--no, a series of pictures--before my eyes. I saw, or Roger +made me see, almost against my will, how the scheme might have been +worked--_must_ have been worked!--from beginning to end; and how at last +it had most strangely failed. Again, the Fate that had sailed on the +Storm! For an hour we talked, and made our plan almost as intricately as +the thieves or their backers had made theirs. Then, as dawn paled the +sky framed by the open portholes, I slipped off to my own cabin. I did +not go to bed (I could not, where _she_ had lain!) and I didn't sleep. +But I curled up on the long window seat, with cushions under my head, +and thought. I thought of a thousand things: of Roger's plan and mine, +of how I could return the heirlooms yet keep the secret; of what Sir Jim +would say when he learned of their reappearance; and, above all, I +thought of what our discovery in the coffin would mean for Roger Fane. + +Yes, that was far more important to him even than to me! For the fact +that the coffin had been the property of thieves meant that no claim +would ever be made to it. The mystery of its present occupant would +therefore remain a mystery till the end of time, and--Roger was safe! + +The next day we reached St. Heliers, after a quick voyage through blue, +untroubled waters; and there we came in for all the red tape that Roger +had foreseen, if not more. But how inoffensive, even pleasing, is red +tape to a man saved from handcuffs and a prison cell! + +The body of an unknown woman in a coffin picked up at sea gave the +chance for a dramatic "story" to flash over the wires from Jersey to +London; and the evident fact that death had been caused by poison added +an extra thrill. Every soul on board the _Naiad_ was questioned, down to +the _chef's_ assistant; but the same tale was told by all. The coffin +had first been sighted at a good distance, and mistaken for a dead shark +or a small, overturned boat. The whole party were agreed that it must be +brought on board, though no one had wanted it for a travelling +companion, and the sailors especially had objected. (Now, by the way, +they were revelling in reflected glory. They would not have missed this +experience for the world!) I quaked inwardly, fearing that someone might +mention the veiled female journalist who had arrived before the start, +with an order to view the _Naiad_. But so completely was her departure +from the yacht taken for granted, that none who had seen her recalled +the incident. + +There was no suspicion of Roger Fane, nor of any one else on board, for +there was no reason to suppose that any of us had been acquainted with +the dead. + +The description wired to London was of "a woman unknown; probable age +between forty and fifty; hair dyed auburn; features distorted by effect +of poison; hands well shaped, badly kept; figure medium; black serge +dress; underclothing plain and much torn, without initials or +laundry-marks; no shoes." + +It was unlikely that landlords or chance acquaintances should identify +the woman newly arrived from France with the woman picked up in a coffin +at sea. And the gray-veiled motor toque, the gray cloak worn by the +"journalist," and even the battered boots, with high, broken heels, were +safely hidden with the heirlooms from the Abbey. + +All through the week of our trip the three drawers in Roger's desk +remained locked, the little Yale key hanging on Roger's key ring. And +all that week (there was no excuse to make for home before the appointed +time) our Plan had to lie in abeyance. I was impatient. Roger was not. +With Shelagh by his side--and very often in his arms--the incentive for +haste was all mine. But I was happy in their happiness, wondering only +whether Roger would not be tempting Providence if he told the truth to +Shelagh. + +Nothing, however, would move the man from his resolution. The one point +he would yield was to postpone the confession (if "confession" is a fair +word) until the last day, in order not to disturb Shelagh's pleasure in +the trip. She was to hear the story the night before we landed; and I +begged once more that I might be present to help plead his cause. But +Roger wanted no help. And he wanted Shelagh to decide for herself. He +would state the case plainly, for and against. Hearing him, the girl +would know what was for her own happiness. + +"At worst I shall have these wonderful days with her to remember," he +said to me. "Nothing can rob me of them. And they are a thousand times +the best of my life so far." + +I believed that, equally, nothing could rob him of Shelagh! But--I +wasn't quite sure. And the difference between just "believing" and being +"quite sure" is the difference between mental peace and mental storm. I +had gone through so much with Roger, and for him, that by this time I +loved the man as I might love a brother--a dear and somewhat trying +brother. As for Shelagh, I would have given one of my favourite fingers +or toes to buy her happiness. Consequently, the hour of revelation was a +bad hour for me. + +I knew that, till it was over, I should be incapable of Brightening. +Lest I should be called upon in any such capacity, therefore, I went to +bed after dinner with an official headache. + +"Now he must be telling her," I groaned to my pillow. + +"Now he must have told!" + +"Now she must be making up her mind!" + +"Now it must be _made_ up. She'll be giving her answer. And if it's +'no,' he won't by a word or look plead his own cause. _Hang_ the fool! +And bless him!" + +Then followed a blank interval when I couldn't at all guess what might +be happening. I no longer speculated on the chances. My brain became a +blank. And my pillow was a furnace. + +I was striving in vain to read a book whose pages I scarcely saw, and +whose name I've forgotten, when a tap came at the door. Shelagh Leigh +burst in before I could answer. + +"Oh, _Elizabeth_!" she gasped, and fell into my arms. + +I held the girl tight for an instant, her beating heart against mine. +Then I inquired: "What does 'Oh, Elizabeth!' mean precisely?" + +"It means, of course, that I'm going to marry poor, darling Roger as +soon as I possibly can, to comfort him all the rest of his life. And +that you'll be my 'Matron of Honour,' American fashion," she explained. +"Roger is a hero, and you are a heroine." + +"No, a Brightener," I corrected. But Shelagh didn't understand. And it +didn't matter that she did not. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE GAME OF BLUFF + + +When the trip finished where it had begun, instead of travelling up to +London with most of my friends, I stopped behind in Plymouth. If any one +fancied I was going to Courtenaye Abbey to wail at the shrine of lost +treasures, why, I had never said (in words) that such was my intention. +In fact, it was not. + +What I did, as soon as backs were turned, was to make straight for +Dudworth Cove, on the rocky Dorset Coast. I went by motor car with Roger +Fane as chauffeur; and by aid of a road map and a few questions we drove +to the old farmhouse which the Barlow boys had lately bought. + +Of course it was possible that Mrs. Barlow and the two Australian +nephews had departed in haste, after their loss. They might or might not +have read in the papers about the coffin containing the body of a woman +picked up at sea by a yacht. Probably they had read of it, since the +word "coffin" at the head of a column would be apt to catch their guilty +eyes. But even so, they would hardly expect that this coffin, containing +a corpse, and a certain other coffin, with very different contents, were +one and the same. In any case, they need not greatly fear suspicion +falling upon them, and Roger and I thought they would remain at the farm +engaged in eager, secret search. As for Barlow, for whom the coffin had +doubtless been made, he, too, might be there; or he might have left the +Abbey at night, about the time of his "death," to wait in some +agreed-upon hiding place. + +The house was visible from the road; rather a nice old house, built of +stone, with a lichened roof and friendly windows. It had a lived-in air, +and a thin wreath of smoke floated above the kitchen chimney. There were +two gates, and both were padlocked, so the car had to stop in the road. +I refused Roger's companionship, however. The fact that he was close by +and knew where I was seemed sufficient safeguard. I climbed over the +fence with no more ado than in pre-flapper days, and walked across the +weedy grass to the house. No one answered a knock at the front door, so +I went to the back, and caught "Barley" feeding a group of chickens. + +The treacherous old thing was in deep mourning, with a widow's cap, and +her dress of black bombazine (or some equally awful stuff) was pinned up +under a big apron. At sight of me she jumped, and almost dropped a pan +of meal; but even the most innocent person is entitled to jump! She +recovered herself quickly, and called up the ghost of a welcoming +smile--such a smile as may decently decorate the face of a newly made +widow. + +"Why, Miss--Princess!" she exclaimed. "This is a surprise. If anything +could make me happy in my sad affliction it would be a visit from you. +My nephews are out fishing--they're very fond of fishing, poor +boys!--but come in and let me give you a cup of tea." + +"I will come in," I said, "because I must have a talk with you, but I +don't want tea. And, really, Mrs. Barlow, I wonder you have the _cheek_ +to speak of your 'sad affliction.'" + +By this time I was already over the threshold, and in the kitchen, for +she had stood aside for me to pass. Just inside the door I turned on +her, and saw the old face--once so freshly apple-cheeked--flush darkly, +then fade to yellow. Her eyes stared into mine, wavered, and dropped; +but no tears came. + +"'Cheek?'" she repeated, as if reproving slang. "Miss--Princess--I don't +know what you mean." + +"I think you know very well," I said, "because you have _no_ 'sad +affliction.' Your husband is as much alive as I am. The only loss you've +suffered is the loss of the coffin in which he _wasn't_ buried!" + +The woman dropped, like a jelly out of its mould, into a kitchen chair. +"My Heavens! Miss Elizabeth, you don't know what you're saying!" she +gasped, dry-lipped. + +"I know quite well," I caught her up. "And to show that I know, I'm +going to reconstruct the whole plot." (This was bluff. But it was part +of the Plan). "Barlow's nephews were expert thieves. They'd served a +term for stealing at home, in Australia. They spent a short leave at +Courtenaye Coombe, and you showed them over the Abbey. Then and there +they got an idea. They bribed you and Barlow to help them carry it out +and give them a letter of mine to tear into bits and turn suspicion on +me. Probably they worked with rubber gloves and shoes--as you know the +detectives have found no fingermarks or footprints. Every man is said to +have his price. You two had yours! Just how much more than others you +knew about old secret 'hidie-holes' in the Abbey I can't tell, but I'm +sure you did know more than any of us. There was always the lodge, too, +which was the same as your own, and full of your things! I'm practically +certain there's a secret way to it, through the cellars. Ah, I thought +so!" (As her face changed.) "Trusted as you were, a burglary in the +night was easy as falling off a log--and all that binding and gagging +business. The trouble was to get the stolen things out of the +country--let's say to Australia, where Barlow's nephews could count upon +a receiver, or a buyer, maybe some old associate of their pre-prison +days. Among you all, you hit on quite a clever plan. Only a dear, kind +creature like you, respected by everyone, could have hypnotized even old +Doctor Pyne into believing Barlow was dead--no matter _what_ strong drug +you used! You wouldn't let any one come near the body afterward. You +loved your husband so much you would do everything for him yourself--in +death as in life. How pathetic--how estimable! And then you and the two +'boys' brought the coffin here, to have it buried in the old cemetery, +with generations of other respectable Barlows. The night after the +funeral the twins dug it up, as neatly as they dug trenches in France, +and left the case underground as a precaution. Perhaps Barlow's 'ghost' +watched the work. But that's of no importance. What was of importance +was the next step. They took the coffin to a nice convenient cave +(that's what made this house worth buying back, isn't it?) and tethered +the thing there to wait an appointed hour. At that hour a boat would +quietly appear, and bear it away to a smart little sailing ship. +Then--ho! for Australia or some place where heirlooms from this country +can be disposed of without talk or trouble. I would bet that Barlow is +on that ship now, and you meant to join him, instead of waiting for a +better world. But there came the storm, and a record wave or two ran +into the cave. Alas for the schemes of mice and men--and Barlow's!" + +Not once did she interrupt. I doubt if the woman could have uttered a +word had she dared; for the game of Bluff was new to her. She believed +that by sleuth-hound cunning I had tracked her down, following each move +from the first, and biding my time to strike until all proofs (the +coffin and its contents) were within my grasp. By the time I had paused +for lack of breath, the old face was sickly white, like candle-grease, +and the remembrance of affection was so keen that I could not help +pitying the creature. "You realize," I said, "everything is known. Not +only do _I_ know, but others. And we have all the stolen things in our +possession. I've come here to offer you a chance of saving +yourselves--though it's compounding a felony or something, I suppose! We +can put you in the way of replacing the heirlooms in the night, just as +they were taken away--by that secret passage you know. If you try to +play us false, and hope to get the things back, we won't have mercy a +second time. We shall find Barlow before you can warn him. And as for +his nephews----" + +"Yes! _What_ about his nephews?" broke in a rough voice. + +I started (only a statue could have resisted that start!) and turning my +head I saw a tall young man close behind me, in the doorway by which I'd +entered. Whether or not Mrs. Barlow had seen him, I don't know. She did +not venture to speak, but a glance showed me a gleam of malicious relief +in the eyes I had once thought limpid as a brook. If she'd ever felt any +fondness for me, it was gone. She hated and feared me with a deadly +fear. The thought shot through my brain that she would willingly sit +still and see me murdered, if she and her husband could be saved from +open shame by my disappearance. + +The man in the doorway was sunburned to a lobster-red, and had features +like those of some gargoyle. He must have been eavesdropping long enough +to gather a good deal of information, for there was fury in his eyes, +and deadly decision in the set of his big jaw. + +Where was Roger Fane? I wondered. Without Roger I was lost, and my fate +might never be known. Suddenly I was icily afraid--for something might +have happened to Roger. But at that same frozen instant a very strange +thing happened to me. _My thoughts flew to Sir James Courtenaye!_ I had +always disliked him--or fancied so. But he was so strong--such a giant +of a man! What a wonderful champion he would be now! What _hash_ he +would make of the Barlow twins! Quickly I controlled myself. This was +the moment when the game of Bluff (which had served me well so far) +might be my one weapon of defence. + +"As for Barlow's nephews," I echoed, with false calmness, "theirs is the +principal guilt, and theirs ought to be the heaviest punishment." + +The Crimson Gargoyle shut the door, deliberately, with a horrid, +purposeful kind of deliberation, and with a stride or two came close to +me. I stepped back, but he followed, towering above me with the air of a +big bullying boy out to scare the life from a little one. To give him +stare for stare I had to look straight up, my chin raised, and the +threatening eyes, the great red face, seemed to fill the world--as a +cat's face and eyes must seem to a hypnotized mouse. + +I shook myself free from the hypnotic grip. Yet I would not let my gaze +waver. Grandmother wouldn't, and no Courtenaye should! + +"Who is going to punish us?" barked the Gargoyle. + +"The police," I barked back. And almost I could have laughed at the +difference in size and voice. I was so like a slim young Borzoi yapping +at the nose of a bloodhound. + +"Rot!" snorted the big fellow. "Damn rot!" (and I thought I heard a +faint chuckle from the chair). "If the police were on to us, you +wouldn't be here. This is a try-on." + +"You'll soon see whether it's a try-on or not," I defied him. "As a +matter of fact, out of pity for your two poor old dupes, we haven't told +the police yet of what we've found out. I say 'we,' for I'm far from +being alone or unprotected. I came to speak with Mrs. Barlow because she +and her husband once served my family, and were honest till you tempted +them. But if I'm kept here more than the fifteen minutes I specified, +there is a man who----" + +"There isn't," snapped the Gargoyle. "There was, but there isn't now. My +brother Bob and me was out in our boat. I don't mind tellin' you, as you +know so much, that we've spent quite a lot of time beatin' and prowlin' +around these shores since the big storm." (The thought flashed through +my brain: "Then they haven't read about the _Naiad_! Or else they didn't +guess that the coffin was the same. That's _one_ good thing! They can +never blackmail Roger, whatever happens to me!") But I didn't speak. I +let him pause for a second, and go on without interruption. "Comin' home +we seen that car o' yourn outside our gate. Thought it was queer! Bob +says to me, 'Hank, go on up to the house, and make me a sign from behind +the big tree if there's anythin' wrong.' The feller in the car hadn't +seen or heard us. We took care o' that! I slid off my shoes before I got +to the door here, and listened a bit to your words o' wisdom. Then I +slipped out as fur as the tree, and I made the sign. Bob didn't tell me +what he meant to do. But I'm some on mind readin'. I guess that +gentleman friend of yourn has gone to sleep in his automobile, as any +one might in this quiet neighbourhood, where folks don't pass once in +four or five hours. Bob can drive most makes of cars. Shouldn't wonder +if he can manage this one. If you hear the engine tune up, you'll know +it's him takin' the chauffeur down to the sea." + +My bones felt like icicles; but I thought of Grandmother, and wouldn't +give in. Also, with far less reason, I thought of Sir James. Strange, +unaccountable creature that I was, my soul cried aloud for the +championship of his strength! "The sea hasn't brought you much luck +yet," I brazened. "I shouldn't advise you to try it again." + +"I ain't askin' your advice," retorted the man who had indirectly +introduced himself as "Hank Barlow." "All I ask is, where's the stuff?" + +"What stuff?" I played for time, though I knew very well the "stuff" he +meant. + +"The goods from the Abbey. I won't say you wasn't smart to get on to the +cache, and nab the box out o' the cave. Only you wasn't quite smart +enough--savez? The fellers laugh best who laugh last. And we're those +fellers!" + +"You spring to conclusions," I said. But my voice sounded small in my +own ears--small and thin as the voice of a child. (Oh, to know if this +brute spoke truth about his brother and Roger Fane and the car, or if he +were fighting me with my own weapon--Bluff!) + +Henry Barlow laughed aloud--though he mightn't laugh last! "Do you call +yourself a 'conclusion'? I'll give you just two minutes, my handsome +lady, to make up your mind. If you don't tell me then where to lay me +'and on you know _what_, I'll spring at _you_." + +By the wolf-glare in his eyes and the boldness of his tone I feared that +his game wasn't wholly bluff. By irony of Fate, he had turned the tables +on me. Thinking the power was all on my side and Roger's, I'd walked +into a trap. And if, indeed, Roger had been struck down from behind, I +did not see any way of escape for him or me. I had let out that I knew +too much. + +Even if I turned coward, and told Hank Barlow that the late contents of +his uncle's coffin were on board the _Naiad_, he could not safely allow +Roger or me to go free. But I _wouldn't_ turn coward! To save the secret +of the Abbey treasures meant saving the secret of what that coffin now +held. My sick fear turned to hot rage. "Spring!" I cried. "Kill me if +you choose. _My_ coffin will keep a secret, which yours couldn't do!" + +He glared, nonplussed by my violence. + +"Devil take you, you cat!" he grunted. + +"And you, you hound!" I cried. + +His eyes flamed. I think fury would have conquered prudence, and he +would have sprung then, to choke my life out, perhaps. But he hadn't +locked the door. At that instant it swung open, and a whirlwind burst +in. The whirlwind was a man. And the man was James Courtenaye. + + * * * * * + +I did not tell Sir Jim that my spirit had forgotten itself so utterly as +to call him. It was quite unnecessary, as matters turned out, to "give +myself away" to this extent. For, you see, it was not my call that +brought him. It was Roger's. + +As Shelagh Leigh was my best friend, so was, and is, Jim Courtenaye +Roger Fane's. All the first part of Roger's life tragedy was known to my +"forty-fourth cousin four times removed." For years Roger had given him +all his confidence. The ex-cowboy had even advised him in his love +affair with Shelagh, to "go on full steam ahead, and never mind +breakers"--(alias Pollens). This being the case, it had seemed to Roger +unfair not to trust his chum to the uttermost end. He had not intended +to mention me as his accomplice; but evidently cowboys' wits are as +quick as their lassoes. Jim guessed at my part in the business, +thinking, maybe--that only the sly sex could hit upon such a Way Out. +Anyhow, he was far from shocked; in fact, deigned to approve of me for +the first time, and hearing how I had planned to restore the stolen +heirlooms, roared with laughter. + +Roger, conscience-stricken because my secret had leaked out with his, +wished to atone by telling me that his friend had scented the whole +truth. Jim Courtenaye, however, urged him against this course. He +reckoned the Barlow twins more formidable than Roger and I had thought +them, and insisted that he should be a partner in our game of Bluff. +Only, he wished to be a silent partner till the right time came to +speak. Or that was the way he put it. His real reason, as he boldly +confessed afterward, was that, if I knew he was "in it," I'd be sure to +make a "silly fuss"! + +It was arranged between him and Roger that he should motor from +Courtenaye Coombe to Dudworth Cove, put up his car at the small hotel, +and inconspicuously approach the Barlows' farm on foot. In some quiet +spot which he would guarantee to find, he was to "lurk" and await +developments. If help were wanted, he would be there to give it. If not, +he would peacefully remove himself, and I need never know that he had +been near the place. + +All the details of this minor plot were well mapped out, and the only +one that failed (not being mapped out) was a tyre of his Rolls-Royce +which stepped on a nail as long as Jael's. Wishing to do the trick +alone, Jim had taken no chauffeur; and he wasn't as expert at pumping up +tyres as at breaking in bronchos. He was twenty minutes past scheduled +time, in consequence, and arrived at the spot appointed just as Bob +Barlow had bashed Roger Fane smartly on the head from behind. + +Naturally this incident kept his attention engaged for some moments. He +had to overpower the Barlow twin, who was on the alert, and not to be +taken by surprise. The Australian was still in good fighting trim, and +gave Sir James some trouble before he was reduced to powerlessness. Then +a glance had to be given Roger, to make sure he had not got a knock-out +blow. Altogether, Hank Barlow had five minutes' grace indoors with me, +before--the whirlwind. If it had been _six_ minutes----But then, it +wasn't! So why waste thrills upon a horror which had not time to +materialize? And oh, how I _did_ enjoy seeing those twins trussed up +like a pair of monstrous fowls on the kitchen floor! It had been clever +of Sir Jim to place a coil of rope in Roger's car in case of +emergencies. But when I said this, to show my appreciation, he replied +drily that a cattleman's first thought is rope! "That's what you are +accustomed to call me, I believe," he added. "A cattleman." + +"I shall never call you it again," I quite meekly assured him. + +"You won't? What will you call me, then?" + +"Cousin--if you like," I said. + +"That'll do--for the present," he granted. + +"Or 'friend,' if it pleases you better?" I suggested. + +"Both are pretty good to go on with." + +So between us there was a truce--and no more Pembertons or even Smiths: +which is why "Smith" never revealed what _he_ thought about what Sir Jim +thought of me. And I would not try to guess--would you? But it was only +to screen Roger, and not to content me, that Sir James Courtenaye +allowed my original plan to be carried out: the heirlooms to be +mysteriously returned by night to the Abbey, and the Barlow tribe to +vanish into space, otherwise Australia. He admitted this bluntly. And I +retorted that, if he hadn't saved my life, I should say that such +friendship wasn't worth much. But there it was! He _had_ saved it. And +things being as they were, Shelagh told Roger that I couldn't reasonably +object if Jim were asked to be best man at the wedding, though I was to +be "best woman." + +She was right. I couldn't. And it was a lovely wedding. I lightened my +mourning for it to white and lavender--just for the day. Mrs. Carstairs +said I owed this to the bride and bridegroom--also to myself, as +Brightener, to say nothing of Sir Jim. + + + + +BOOK II + +THE HOUSE WITH THE TWISTED CHIMNEY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SHELL-SHOCK MAN + + +"Do you want to be a Life Preserver as well as a Brightener, Elizabeth, +my child?" asked Mrs. Carstairs. + +"Depends on whose life," I replied, making a lovely blue smoke ring +before I spoke and another when I'd finished. + +I hoped to shock Mrs. Carstairs, in order to see what the nicest old +lady on earth would look like when scandalized. But I was disappointed. +She was not scandalized. She asked for a cigarette, and took it; my +last. + +"The latest style in my country is to make your smoke ring loop the +loop, and do it through the nose," she informed me, calmly. "I can't do +it myself--yet. But Terry Burns can." + +"Who's Terry Burns?" I asked. + +"The man whose life ought to be preserved." + +"It certainly ought," said I, "if he can make smoke rings loop the loop +through his nose. Oh, you know what I _mean_!" + +"He hardly takes enough interest in things to do even that, nowadays," +sighed Mrs. Carstairs. + +"Good heavens! what's the matter with the man--senile decay?" I flung at +her. "Terry isn't at all a decayed name." + +"And Terry isn't a decayed man. He's about twenty-six, if you choose to +call that senile. He's almost _too_ good-looking. He's not physically +ill. And he's got plenty of money. All the same, he's likely to die +quite soon, I should say." + +"Can't anything be done?" I inquired, really moved. + +"I don't know. It's a legacy from shell shock. You know what _that_ is. +He's come to stay with us at Haslemere, poor boy, because my husband was +once in love with his mother--at the same time I was worshipping his +father. Terry was with us before--here in London in 1915--on leave soon +after he volunteered. Afterward, when America came in, he transferred. +But even in 1915 he wasn't exactly _radiating_ happiness (disappointment +in love or something), but he was just boyishly cynical then, nothing +worse; and _the_ most splendid specimen of a young man!--his father over +again; Henry says, his _mother_! Either way, I was looking forward to +nursing him at Haslemere and seeing him improve every day. But, my +_dear_, I can do _nothing_! He has got so on my nerves that I _had_ to +make an excuse to run up to town or I should simply have--_slumped_. The +sight of me slumping would have been terribly bad for the poor child's +health. It might have finished him." + +"So you want to exchange my nerves for yours," I said. "You want me to +nurse your protégé till _I_ slump. Is that it?" + +"It wouldn't come to that with you," argued the ancient darling. "You +could bring back his interest in life; I know you could. You'd think of +something. Remember what you did for Roger Fane!" + +As a matter of fact, I had done a good deal more for Roger Fane than +dear old Caroline knew or would ever know. But if Roger owed anything to +me, I owed him, and all he had paid me in gratitude and banknotes, to +Mrs. Carstairs. + +"I shall never forget Roger Fane, and I hope he won't me," I said. +"Shelagh won't let him! But _he_ hadn't lost interest in life. He just +wanted life to give him Shelagh Leigh. She happened to be my best pal; +and her people were snobs, so I could help him. But this Terry Burns of +yours--what can I do for him?" + +"Take him on and see," pleaded the old lady. + +"Do you wish him to fall in love with me?" I suggested. + +"He wouldn't if I did. He told me the other day that he'd loved only one +woman in his life, and he should never care for another. Besides, I +mustn't conceal from you, this would be an unsalaried job." + +"Oh, indeed!" said I, slightly piqued. "I don't want his old love! Or +his old money, either! But--well--I might just go and have a look at +him, if you'd care to take me to Haslemere with you. No harm in seeing +what can be done--if anything. I suppose, as you and Mr. Carstairs +between you were in love with all his ancestors, and he resembles them, +he must be worth saving--apart from the loops. Is he English or American +or _what_?" + +"American on one side and What on the other," replied the old lady. +"That is, his father, whom I was in love with, was American. The mother, +whom Henry adored, was French. All that's quite a romance. But it's +ancient history. And it's the present we're interested in. Of course I'd +care to take you to Haslemere. But I have a better plan. I've persuaded +Terry to consult the nerve specialist, Sir Humphrey Hale. He's +comparatively easy to persuade, because he'd rather yield a point than +bother to argue. That's how I got my excuse to run up to town: to +explain the case to Sir Humphrey, and have my flat made ready for +Terence to live in, while he's being treated." + +"Oh, that's it," I said, and thought for a minute. + +My flat is in the same house as the Carstairs', a charming old house in +which I couldn't afford to live if Dame Caroline (title given by me, not +His Gracious Majesty) hadn't taught me the gentle, well-paid Art of +Brightening. + +You might imagine that a Brightener was some sort of patent polisher for +stoves, metal, or even boots. But you would be mistaken. _I_ am the one +and only Brightener! + +But this isn't what I was thinking about when I said, "Oh, that's it?" I +was attempting to track that benevolent female fox, Caroline Carstairs, +to the fastness of her mental lair. When I flattered myself that I'd +succeeded, I spoke again. + +"I see what you'd be at, Madame Machiavelli," I warned her. "You and +your husband are so fed up with the son of your ancient loves, that he's +spoiling your holiday in your country house. You've been wondering how +on earth to shed him, anyhow for a breathing space, without being +unkind. So you thought, if you could lure him to London, and lend him +your flat----" + +"Dearest, you are an ungrateful young Beastess! Besides, you're only +half right. It's true, poor Henry and I are worn out from sympathy. Our +hearts are squeezed sponges, and have completely collapsed. Not that +Terry complains. He doesn't. Only he is so horribly bored with life and +himself and us that it's killing all three. I _had_ to think of +something to save him. So I thought of you." + +"But you thought of Sir Humphrey Hale. Surely, if there's any cure for +Mr.----" + +"Captain----" + +"Burns. Sir Humphrey can----" + +"He can't. But I had to _use_ him with Terry. I couldn't say: 'Go live +in our flat and meet the Princess di Miramare. He would believe the +obvious thing, and be put off. You are to be thrown in as an extra: a +charming neighbour who, as a favour to me, will see that he's all right. +When you've got him interested--not in yourself, but in life--I shall +explain--or confess, whichever you choose to call it. He will then +realize that the fee for his cure ought to be yours, not Sir Humphrey's, +though naturally you couldn't accept one. Sir Humphrey has already told +me that, judging from the symptoms I've described, it seems a case +beyond doctor's skill. You know, Sir H---- has made his pile, and +doesn't have to tout for patients. But he's a good friend of Henry's and +mine." + +"You have very strong faith in _me_!" I laughed. + +"Not too strong," said she. + +The Carstairs' servants had gone with them to the house near Haslemere; +but if Dame Caroline wanted a first-rate cook at a moment's notice, she +would wangle one even if there were only two in existence, and both +engaged. The shell-shock man had his own valet--an ex-soldier--so with +the pair of them, and a char-creature of some sort, he would do very +well for a few weeks. Nevertheless, I hardly thought that, in the end, +he would be braced up to the effort of coming, and I should not have +been surprised to receive a wire: + + Rather than move, Terry has cut his throat in the Japanese garden. + +Which shows that despite all past experiences, I little knew my +Caroline! + +Captain Burns--late of the American Flying Corps--did come; and what is +more, he called at my flat before he had been fifteen minutes in his +own. This he did because Mrs. Carstairs had begged him to bring a small +parcel which he must deliver by hand to me personally. She had +telegraphed, asking me to stop at home--quite a favour in this wonderful +summer, even though it was July, the season proper had passed; but I +couldn't refuse, as I'd tacitly promised to brighten the man. So there I +sat, in my favourite frock, when he was ushered into the drawing room. + +Dame Caroline had told me that "Terry" was good-looking, but her +description had left me cold, and somehow or other I was completely +unprepared for the real Terry Burns. + +Yes, _real_ is the word for him! He was so real that it seemed odd I had +gone on all my life without having known there was this Terence Burns. +Not that I fell in love with him. Just at the moment I was much occupied +in trying to keep alight an old fire of resentment against a man who had +saved my life; a "forty-fourth cousin four times removed" (as he called +himself), Sir James Courtenaye. But when I say "real," I mean he was one +of those few people who would seem important to you if you passed him in +a crowd. You would tell yourself regretfully that there was a friend +you'd missed making: and you would have had to resist a strong impulse +to rush back and speak to him at any price. + +If, at the first instant of meeting, I felt this strong personal +magnetism, or charm, or whatever it was, though the man was down +physically at lowest ebb, what would the sensation have been with him at +his best? + +He was tall and very thin, with a loose-boned look, as if he ought to be +lithe and muscular, but he came into the room listlessly, his shoulders +drooping, as though it were an almost unbearable bore to put one foot +before another. His pallor was of the pathetic kind that gives an odd +transparence to deeply tanned skin, almost like a light shining through. +His hair was a bronzy brown, so immaculately brushed back from his +square forehead as to remind you of a helmet, except that it rippled all +over. And he had the most appealing eyes I ever saw. + +They were not dark, tragic ones like Roger Fane's. I thought that when +he was well and happy, they must have been full of light and joy. They +were slate-gray with thick black lashes, true Celtic eyes: but they were +dull and tired now, not sad, only devoid of interest in anything. + +It wasn't flattering that they should be devoid of interest in me. I am +used to having men's eyes light up with a gleam of surprise when they +see me for the first time. This man's eyes didn't. I seemed to read in +them: "Yes, I suppose you're very pretty. But that's nothing to me, and +I hope you don't want me to flirt with you, because I haven't the energy +or even the wish." + +I'm sure that, vaguely, this was about what was in his mind, and that he +intended getting away from me as soon as would be decently polite after +finishing his errand. Still, I wasn't in the least annoyed. I was sorry +for him--not because he didn't want to be bothered with me, but because +he didn't want to be bothered with anything. Millionaire or pauper, I +didn't care. I was determined to brighten him, in spite of himself. He +was too dear and delightful a fellow not to be happy with somebody, some +day. I couldn't sit still and let him sink down and down into the +depths. But I should have to go carefully, or do him more harm than +good. I could see that. If I attempted to be amusing he would crawl +away, a battered wreck. + +What I did was to show no particular interest in him. I took the tiny +parcel Mrs. Carstairs had ordered him to bring, and asked casually if +he'd care to stop in my flat till his man had finished unpacking. + +"I don't know how _you_ feel," I said, "but I always hate the first hour +in a new place, with a servant fussing about, opening and shutting +drawers and wardrobes. I loathe things that squeak." + +"So do I," he answered, dreamily. "Any sort of noise." + +"I shall be having tea in a few minutes," I mentioned. "If you don't +mind looking at magazines or something while I open Mrs. Carstairs' +parcel, and write to her, stay if you care to. I should be pleased. But +don't feel you'll be rude to say 'no.' Do as you like." + +He stayed, probably because he was in a nice easy chair, and it was +simpler to sit still than get up, so long as he needn't make +conversation. I left him there, while I went to the far end of the room, +where my desk was. The wonderful packet, which must be given into my +hand by his, contained three beautiful new potatoes, the size of +marbles, out of the Carstairs' kitchen garden! I bit back a giggle, hid +the rare jewels in a drawer, and scribbled any nonsense I could think of +to Dame Caroline, till I heard tea coming. Then I went back to my guest. +I gave him tea, and other things. There were late strawberries, and some +Devonshire cream, which had arrived by post that morning, anonymously. +Sir James Courtenaye, that red-haired cowboy to whom I'd let the +ancestral Abbey, was in Devonshire. But there was no reason why he +should send me cream, or anything else. Still, there it was. Captain +Burns, it appeared, had never happened to taste the Devonshire variety. +He liked it. And when he had disposed of a certain amount (during which +time we hardly spoke), I offered him my cigarette case. + +For a few moments we both smoked in silence. Then I said, "I'm +disappointed in you." + +"Why?" he asked. + +"Because you haven't looped any loops through your nose." + +He actually laughed! He looked delightful when he laughed. + +"I was trying something of the sort one day, and failing," I explained. +"Mrs. Carstairs said she had a friend who could do it, and his name was +Terence Burns." + +"I've almost forgotten that old stunt," he smiled indulgently. "Think of +Mrs. Carstairs remembering it! Why, I haven't had time to remember it +myself, much less try it out, since I was young." + +"That _is_ a long time ago!" I ventured, smoking hard. + +"You see," he explained quite gravely, smoking harder, "I went into the +war in 1915. It wasn't _our_ war then, for I'm an American, you know. +But I had a sort of feeling it ought to be everybody's war. And besides, +I'd fallen out of love with life about that time. War doesn't leave a +man feeling very young, whether or not he's gone through what I have." + +"I know," said I. "Even we women don't feel as young as we hope we look. +I'm twenty-one and a half, and feel forty." + +"I'm twenty-seven, and feel ninety-nine," he capped me. + +"Shell shock is--the _devil_!" I sympathized. "But men get over it. I +know lots who have." I took another cigarette and pushed the case toward +him. + +"Perhaps they wanted to get over it. I don't want to, particularly, +because life has rather lost interest for me, since I was about +twenty-two; I'm afraid that was one reason I volunteered. Not very +brave! I don't care now whether I live or die. I didn't care then." + +"At twenty-two! Why, you weren't grown up!" + +"_You_ say that, at twenty-one?" + +"It's different with a girl. I've had such a lot of things to make me +feel grown up." + +"So have I, God knows." (By this time he was smoking like a chimney.) +"Did _you_ lose the one thing you'd wanted in the world? But no--I +mustn't ask that. I don't ask it." + +"You may," I vouchsafed, charmed that--as one says of a baby--he was +"beginning to take notice." "No, frankly, I didn't lose the one thing in +the world I wanted most, because I've never quite known yet what I did +or do want most. But not knowing leaves you at loose ends, if you're +alone in the world as I am." Then, having said this, just to indicate +that my circumstances conduced to tacit sympathy with his, I hopped like +a sparrow to another branch of the same subject. "It's bad not to get +what we want. But it's dull not to want anything." + +"Is it?" Burns asked almost fiercely. "I haven't got to that yet. I wish +I had. When I want a thing, it's in my nature to want it for good and +all. I want the thing I wanted before the war as much now as ever. +That's the principal trouble with me, I think. The hopelessness of +everything. The uselessness of the things you _can_ get." + +"Can't you manage to want something you might possibly get?" I asked. + +He smiled faintly. "That's much the same advice that the doctors have +given--the advice this Sir Humphrey Hale of the Carstairs will give +to-morrow. I'm sure. 'Try to take an interest in things as they are.' +Good heavens! that's just what I _can't_ do." + +"_I_ don't give you that advice," I said. "It's worse than useless to +_try_ and take an interest. It's _stodgy_. What I mean is, _if_ an +interest, alias a chance of adventure, should breeze along, don't shut +the door on it. Let it in, ask it to sit down, and see how you like it. +But then--maybe you wouldn't recognize it as an adventure if you saw it +at the window!" + +"Oh, I think I should do that!" he defended himself. "I'm man enough yet +to know an adventure when I meet it. That's why I came into your war. +But the war's finished, and so am I. Really, I don't see why any one +bothers about me. I wouldn't about myself, if they'd let me alone!" + +"There I'm with you," said I. "I like to be let alone, to go my own way. +Still, people unfortunately feel bound to do their best. Mrs. Carstairs +has done hers. If Sir Humphrey gives you up, she'll thenceforward +consider herself free from responsibility--and you free to 'dree your +own weird'--whatever that means!--to the bitter end. As for me, I've no +responsibility at all. I don't advise you! In your place, I'd do as +you're doing. Only, I've enough fellow feeling to let you know, in a +spirit of comradeship, if I hear the call of an adventure.... There, you +_did_ the 'stunt' all right that time! A _lovely_ loop the loop! I +wouldn't have believed it! Now watch, please, while I try!" + +He did watch, and I fancy that, in spite of himself, he took an +interest! He laughed out, quite a spontaneous "Ha, ha!" when I began +with a loop and ended with a sneeze. + +It seems too absurd that a siren should lure her victim with a sneeze +instead of a song. But it was that sneeze which did the trick. Or else, +my mumness now and then, and not seeming to care a Tinker's Anything +whether he thought I was pretty or a fright. He warmed toward me visibly +during the loop lesson, and I was as proud as if a wild bird had settled +down to eat out of my hand. + +That was the beginning: and a commonplace one, you'll say! It didn't +seem commonplace to me: I was too much interested. But even I did not +dream of the weird developments ahead! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE ADVERTISEMENT + + +It was on the fourth day that I got the idea--I mean, the fourth day of +Terry Burns' stay in town. + +He had dropped in to see me on each of these days, for one reason or +other: to tell me what Sir Humphrey said; to sneer at the treatment; to +beg a cigarette when his store had given out; or something else equally +important; I (true to my bargain with Caroline) having given up all +engagements in order to brighten Captain Burns. + +I was reading the _Times_ when a thought popped into my head. I shut my +eyes, and studied its features. They fascinated me. + +It was morning: and presently my Patient unawares strolled in for the +eleven-o'clock glass of egg-nogg prescribed by Sir Humphrey and offered +by me. + +He drank it. When he had pronounced it good, I asked him casually how he +was. No change. At least, none that he noticed. Except that he always +felt better, more human, in my society. That was because I appeared to +be a bit fed up with life, too, and didn't try to cheer him. + +"On the contrary," I said, "I was just wondering whether I might ask you +to cheer _me_. I've thought of something that might amuse me a little. +Yes, I'm sure it would! Only I'm not equal to working out the details +alone. If I weren't afraid it would bore you...." + +"Of course it wouldn't, if it could amuse you!" His eyes lit. "Tell me +what it is you want to do?" + +"I'm almost ashamed. It's so childish. But it would be _fun_." + +"If I could care to do anything at all, it would be something childish. +Besides, I believe you and I are rather alike in several ways. We have +the same opinions about life. We're both down on our luck." + +I gave myself a mental pat on the head. I ought to succeed on the stage, +if it ever came to that! + +"Well," I hesitated. "I got the idea from an article in the _Times_. +There's something on the subject every day in every paper I see, but it +never occurred to me till now to get any fun out of it: the Housing +Problem, you know. Not the one for the working classes--I wouldn't be so +mean as to 'spoof' them--nor the _Nouveaux Pauvres_, of whom I'm one! +It's for the _Nouveaux Riches_. They're fair game." + +"What do you want to do to them?" asked Terry Burns. + +"Play a practical joke; then dig myself in and watch the result. Perhaps +there'd be none. In that case, the joke would be on me." + +"And on me, if we both went in for the experiment. We'd bear the blow +together." + +"It wouldn't kill us! Listen--I'll explain. It's simply idiotic. But +it's something to _do_: something to make one wake up in the morning +with a little interest to look forward to. The papers all say that +_every_body is searching for a desirable house to be sold, or let +furnished; and that there _aren't_ any houses! On the other hand, if you +glance at the advertisement sheets of _any_ newspaper, you ask yourself +if every second house in England isn't asking to be disposed of! Now, is +it only a 'silly-season' cry, this grievance about no houses, or is it +true? What larks to concoct an absolutely adorable 'ad.', describing a +place with every perfection, and see what applications one would get! +Would there be thousands or just a mere dribble, or none at all? Don't +you think it would be fun to find out--and reading the letters if there +were any? People would be sure to say a lot about themselves. Human +nature's _like_ that. Or, anyhow, we could force their hands by putting +into the 'ad.' that we would let our wonderful house only to the right +sort of tenants. 'No others need apply'." + +"But that would limit the number of answers--and our fun," said Terry. +On his face glimmered a grin. After all, the "kid" in him had been +scotched, not killed. + +"Oh, no," I argued. "They'd be serenely confident that they and they +alone were the right ones. Then, when they didn't hear from the +advertiser by return, they'd suppose that someone more lucky had got +ahead of them. Yes, we're on the right track! We must want to let our +place furnished. If we wished to sell, we'd have no motive in trying to +pick and choose our buyer. Any creature with money would do. So our +letters would be tame as Teddy-bears. What _we_ want is human +documents!" + +"Let's begin to think out our 'ad.'!" exclaimed the patient, sitting up +straighter in his chair. Already two or three haggard years seemed to +have fallen from his face. I might have been skilfully knocking them off +with a hammer! + +Like a competent general, I had all my materials at hand: Captain Burns' +favourite brand of cigarettes, matches warranted to light without damns, +a notebook, several sharp, soft-leaded pencils, and some illustrated +advertisements cut from _Country Life_ to give us hints. + +"What sort of house _have_ we?" Terry wanted to know. "Is it town or +country; genuine Tudor, Jacobean, Queen Anne, or Georgian----" + +"Oh, _country_! It gives us more scope," I cried. "And I think Tudor's +the most attractive. But I may be prejudiced. Courtenaye Abbey--our +place in Devonshire--is mostly Tudor. I'm too poor to live there. +Through Mr. Carstairs it's let to a forty-fourth cousin of mine who did +cowboying in all its branches in America, coined piles of oof in +something or other, and came over here to live when he'd collected +enough to revive a little old family title. But I adore the Abbey." + +"Our house shall be Tudor," Terry assented. "It had better be historic, +hadn't it?" + +"Why not? It's just as easy for us. Let's have the _oldest_ bits earlier +than Tudor--what?" + +"By Jove! Yes! King John. Might look fishy to go behind _him_!" + +So, block after block, by suggestion, we two architects of the aerial +school built up the noble mansion we had to dispose of. With loving and +artistic touch, we added feature after feature of interest, as +inspirations came. We were like benevolent fairy god-parents at a baby's +christening, endowing a beloved ward with all possible perfections. + +Terry noted down our ideas at their birth, lest we should forget under +pressure of others to follow; and at last, after several discarded +efforts, we achieved an advertisement which combined every attribute of +an earthly paradise. + +This is the way it ran: + +"To let furnished, for remainder of summer (possibly longer), historic +moated Grange, one of the most interesting old country places in +England, mentioned in Domesday Book, for absurdly small rent to +desirable tenant; offered practically free. The house, with foundations, +chapel, and other features dating from the time of King John, has +remained unchanged save for such modern improvements as baths (h. & c.), +electric lighting, and central heating, since Elizabethan days. It +possesses a magnificent stone-paved hall, with vaulted chestnut roof +(15th century), on carved stone corbels; an oak-panelled banqueting hall +with stone, fan-vaulted roof and mistrels' gallery. Each of the several +large reception rooms is rich in old oak, and has a splendid Tudor +chimney-piece. There are over twenty exceptionally beautiful bedrooms, +several with wagon plaster ceilings. The largest drawing-room overlooks +the moat, where are ancient carp, and pink and white water-lilies. All +windows are stone mullioned, with old leaded glass; some are exquisite +oriels; and there are two famous stairways, one with dog gates. The +antique furniture is valuable and historic. A fascinating feature of the +house is a twisted chimney (secret of construction lost; the only other +known by the advertiser to exist being at Hampton Court). All is in good +repair; domestic offices perfect, and the great oak-beamed, +stone-flagged kitchen has been copied by more than one artist. There are +glorious old-world gardens, with an ornamental lake, some statues, +fountains, sundials; terraces where white peacocks walk under the shade +of giant Lebanon cedars; also a noble park, and particularly charming +orchard with grass walks. Certain servants and gardeners will remain if +desired; and this wonderful opportunity is offered for an absurdly low +price to a tenant deemed suitable by the advertiser. Only gentlefolk, +with some pretensions to intelligence and good looks, need reply, as the +advertiser considers that this place would be wasted upon others. Young +people preferred. For particulars, write T. B., Box F., the _Times_." + +We were both enraptured with the result of our joint inspirations. We +could simply _see_ the marvellous moated grange, and Terry thought that +life would be bearable after all if he could live there. What a pity it +didn't exist, he sighed, and I consoled him by saying that there were +perhaps two or three such in England. To my mind Courtenaye Abbey was as +good, though moatless. + + * * * * * + +We decided to send our darling not only to the _Times_, but to five +other leading London papers, engaging a box at the office of each for +the answers, the advertisement to appear every day for a week. In order +to keep our identity secret even from the discreet heads of advertising +departments, we would have the replies called for, not posted. Terry's +man, Jones, was selected to be our messenger, and had to be taken more +or less into our confidence. So fearful were we of being too late for +to-morrow's papers, that Jones was rushed off in a taxi with +instructions, before the ink had dried on the last copy. + +Our suspense was painful, until he returned with the news that all the +"ads." had been in time, and that everything was satisfactorily settled. +The tidings braced us mightily. But the tonic effect was brief. Hardly +had Terry said, "Thanks, Jones. You've been very quick," when we +remembered that to-morrow would be a blank day. The newspapers would +publish T. B.'s advertisement to-morrow morning. It would then be read +by the British public in the course of eggs and bacon. Those who +responded at once, if any, would be so few that it seemed childish to +think of calling for letters that same night. + +"I suppose, if you go the rounds in the morning of day after to-morrow, +it will be soon enough," Terry remarked to the ex-soldier, with the +restrained wistfulness of a child on Christmas Eve asking at what hour +Santa Claus is due to start. + +I also hung upon Jones' words; but still more eagerly upon Captain +Burns' expression. + +"Well, sir," said the man, his eyes on the floor--I believe to hide a +joyous twinkle!--"that might be right for letters. But what about the +telegrams?" + +"Telegrams!" we both echoed in the same breath. + +"Yes, sir. When the managers or whatever they were had read the 'ad.,' +they were of opinion there might be telegrams. In answer to my question, +the general advice was to look in and open the boxes any time after +twelve noon to-morrow." + +Terry and I stared at each other. Our hearts beat. I knew what his was +doing by the state of my own. He who would have sold his life for a song +(a really worthwhile song) was eager to preserve it at any price till +his eyes had seen the full results of our advertisement. + +_Telegrams!_ + +Could it be possible that there would be telegrams? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE LETTER WITH THE PURPLE SEAL + + +I invited Terry to breakfast with me at nine precisely next day, and +each of us was solemnly pledged not to look at a newspaper until we +could open them together. + +We went to the theatre the night before (the first time Terry could +endure the thought since his illness), and supped at the Savoy +afterward, simply to mitigate the suffering of suspense. Nevertheless, I +was up at seven-thirty A. M., and at eight-forty-eight was in the +breakfast room gazing at six newspapers neatly folded on the +flower-decked table. + +At eight-fifty-one, my guest arrived, and by common consent we seized +the papers. He opened three. I opened three. Yes, there it _was_! How +perfect, how thrilling! How even better it appeared in print than we had +expected! Anxiously we read the other advertisements of country houses +to let or sell, and agreed that there was nothing whose attractions came +within miles of our, in all senses of the word, priceless offer. + +How we got through the next two and a half hours I don't know! + +I say two and a half advisedly: because, as Jones had six visits to pay, +we thought we might start him off at eleven-thirty. This we did; but his +calmness had damped us. _He_ wasn't excited. Was it probable that any +one else--except ourselves--could be? + +Cold reaction set in. We prepared each other for the news that there +were no telegrams or answers of any sort. Terry said it was no use +concealing that this would be a bitter blow. I had not the energy to +correct his rhetoric, or whatever it was, by explaining that a blow +can't be bitter. + +Twelve-thirty struck, and produced no Jones; twelve-forty-five; one; +Jones still missing. + +"I ought to have told him to come back at once after the sixth place, +even if there wasn't a thing," said Terry. "Like a fool, I didn't: he +may have thought he'd do some other errands on the way home, if he'd +nothing to report. Donkey! Ass! Pig." + +"Captain Burns' man, your highness," announced my maid. "He wants to +know----" + +"Tell him to come in!" I shrieked. + +"Yes, your highness. It was only, should he bring them all in here, or +leave them in Mr. Carstairs' apartment below." + +"_All!_" gasped Terry. + +"Here," I commanded. + +Jones staggered in. + +You won't believe it when I tell you, because you didn't see it. That +is, you won't unless _you_ have inserted _the_ Advertisement of the +Ages--the Unique, the Siren, the Best yet Cheapest--in six leading +London journals at once. + +There were eight bundles wrapped in newspaper. Enormous bundles! Jones +had two under each arm, and was carrying two in each hand, by loops of +string. As he tottered into the drawing room, the biggest bundle +dropped. The string broke. The wrapping yawned. Its contents gushed out. +Not only telegrams, but letters with no stamps or post-marks! They must +have been rushed frantically round to the six offices by messengers. + +It was true, then, what the newspapers said: all London, all England, +yearned, pined, prayed for houses. Yet people must already be living +_somewhere_! + +Literally, there were thousands of answers. To be precise, Captain +Burns, Jones, and I counted two thousand and ten replies which had +reached the six offices by noon on the first day of the advertisement: +one thousand and eight telegrams; the rest, letters dispatched by hand. +Each sender earnestly hoped that his application might be the first! +Heaven knew how many more might be _en route_! What a tribute to the +Largest Circulations! + +Jones explained his delay by saying that "the stuff was coming in thick +as flies"; so he had waited until a lull fell upon each great office in +turn. When the count had been made by us, and envelopes neatly piled in +stacks of twenty-four on a large desk hastily cleared for action, Terry +sent his servant away. And then began the fun! + +Yes, it was fun: "fun for the boys," if "death to the frogs." But we +hadn't gone far when between laughs we felt the pricks of conscience. +Alas for all these people who burned to possess our moated grange +"practically free," at its absurdly low rent! And the moated grange +didn't exist. Not one of the unfortunate wretches would so much as get +an answer to his S. O. S. + +They were not all _Nouveaux Riches_ by any means, these eager senders of +letters and telegrams. Fearing repulse from the fastidious moat-owner, +they described themselves attractively, even by wire, at so much the +word. They were young; they were of good family; they were lately +married or going to be married. Their husbands or fathers were V. C.'s. +There was every reason why they, and they alone, should have the house. +They begged that particulars might be telegraphed. They enclosed stamps +on addressed envelopes. As the moated grange was "rich in old oak," so +did we now become rich in new stamps! Some people were willing to take +the house on its description without waiting to see it. Others assured +the advertiser that money was no object to them; he might ask what rent +he liked; and these were the ones on whom we wasted no pity. If this was +what the first three hours brought forth, how would the tide swell by +the end of the day--the end of the _week_? Tarpeia buried under the +shields and bracelets wasn't _in_ it with us! + +Terry and I divided the budget, planning to exchange when all had been +read. But we couldn't keep silent. Every second minute one or other of +us exploded: "You _must_ hear this!" "Just listen to _one_ more!" + +About halfway through my pile, I picked up a remarkably alluring +envelope. It was a peculiar pale shade of purple, the paper being of +rich satin quality suggesting pre-war. The address of the newspaper +office was in purple ink, and the handwriting was impressive. But what +struck me most was a gold crown on the back of the envelope, above a +purple seal; a crown signifying the same rank as my own. + +I glanced up to see if Terry were noticing. If he had been, I should +have passed the letter to him as a _bonne bouche_, for this really was +_his_ show, and I wanted him to have all the plums. But he was grinning +over somebody's photograph, so I broke the seal without disturbing him. + +I couldn't keep up this reserve for long, however; I hadn't read far +when I burst out with a "By Jove!" + +"What is it?" asked Terry. + +"We've hooked quite a big fish," said I. "Listen to this: 'The Princess +Avalesco presents her compliments to T. B., and hopes that he will----' +but, my goodness _gracious_, Captain Burns! What's the matter?" + +The man had gone pale as skim-milk, and was staring at me as though I'd +turned into a Gorgon. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE TANGLED WEB + + +"Read the name again, please," Terry said, controlling his voice. + +"Avalesco--the Princess Avalesco." I felt suddenly frightened. I'd been +playing with the public as if people were my puppets. Now I had a vague +conviction at the back of my brain that Fate had made a puppet of me. + +"I thought so. But I couldn't believe my own ears," said Terry. "Good +heavens! what a situation!" + +"I--don't understand," I hesitated. "Perhaps you'd rather not have me +understand? If so, don't tell me anything." + +"I must tell you!" he said. + +"Not unless you wish." + +"I do! We are pals now. You've helped me. Maybe you can go on helping. +You'll advise me, if there's any way I can use this--this _amazing_ +chance." + +I said I'd be glad to help, and then waited for him to make the next +move. + +Captain Burns sat as if dazed for a few seconds, but presently he asked +me to go on with the letter. + +I took it up where I'd broken off. "Compliments to T. B., and hopes that +he will be able to let his moated grange to her till the end of +September. The Princess feels sure, from the description, that the place +will suit her. T. B. will probably know her name, but if not, he can +have any references desired. She is at the Savoy and has been ill, or +would be glad to meet T. B. in person. Her companion, Mrs. Dobell, will, +however, hold herself free to keep any appointment which may be made by +telephone. The Princess hopes that the moated grange is still free, and +feels that, if she obtains early possession, her health will soon be +restored in such beautiful surroundings. P. S.--The Princess is +particularly interested in the _twisted chimney_, and trusts there is a +history of the house." + +I read fast, and when I'd finished, looked up at Terry. "If you have a +secret to tell, I'm ready with advice and sympathy," said my eyes. + +"When the Princess Avalesco was Margaret Revell, I was in love with +her," Terry Burns answered them. "I adored her! She was seven or eight +years older than I, but the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Of course +she wouldn't look at me! I was about as important as a slum child to +her. In America, the Revells were like your royalties. She was a +princess, even then--without a title. To get one, she sold herself. To +think that _she_ should answer that fool advertisement of ours! Heavens! +I'm like Tantalus. I see the blessed water I'd give my life to drink, +held to my lips, only to have it snatched away!" + +"Why snatched away?" I questioned. + +"'Why?' Because if there _were_ a moated grange, I could meet her. Her +husband's dead. You know he was killed before Roumania'd been fighting a +week. Things are very different with me, too, these days. I'm a man--not +a boy. And I've come into more money than I ever dreamed I'd have. Not a +huge fortune like hers, but a respectable pile. Who knows what might +have happened? But there's _no_ moated grange, and so----" + +"Why shouldn't there be one?" I broke in. And while he stared blankly, I +hurried on. I reminded Captain Burns of what I had said yesterday: that +there were houses of that description, more or less, in England, _real_ +houses!--my own, for instance. Courtenaye Abbey was out of the question, +because it was let to my cousin Jim, and was being shown to the public +as a sort of museum; but there were other places. I knew of several. As +Captain Burns was so rich, he might hire one, and let it to the Princess +Avalesco. + +For a moment he brightened, but a sudden thought obscured him, like a +cloud. + +"Not places with twisted chimneys!" he groaned. + +This brought me up short. I stubbed my brain against that twisted +chimney! But when I'd recovered from the blow, I raised my head. "Yes, +places with twisted chimneys! At least, _one_ such place." + +"Ah, Hampton Court. You said the only other twisted chimney was there." + +"The _advertisement_ said that." + +"Well----" + +"It's a pity," I admitted, "that I thought of the twisted chimney. It +was an unnecessary extravagance, though I meant well. But it never would +have occurred to me as an extra lure if I hadn't known about a house +where such a chimney exists. The one house of the kind I ever heard of +except Hampton Court." + +Terry sprang to his feet, a changed man, young and vital. + +"Can we get it?" + +"Ah, if I knew! But we can try. If you don't care what you pay?" + +"I don't. Not a--hang." + +I, too, jumped up, and took from my desk a bulky volume--Burke. This I +brought back to my chair, and sat down with it on my lap. On one knee +beside me, Terry Burns watched me turn the pages. At "Sc" I stopped, to +read aloud all about the Scarletts. But before beginning I warned Terry: +"I never knew any of the Scarletts myself," I said, "but I've heard my +grandmother say they were the wickedest family in England, which meant a +lot from _her_. She wasn't exactly a _saint_!" + +We learned from the book what I had almost forgotten, that Lord +Scarlett, the eleventh baron, held the title because his elder brother, +Cecil, had died in Australia unmarried. He, himself, was married, with +one young son, his wife being the daughter of a German wine merchant. + +As I read, I remembered the gossip heard by my childish ears. "Bertie +Scarlett," as Grandmother called him, was not only the wickedest, but +the poorest peer in England according to her--too poor to live at Dun +Moat, his place in Devonshire, my own county. The remedy was +marriage--with an heiress. He tried America. Nothing doing. The girls he +invited to become Lady Scarlett drew the line at anything beneath an +earl. Or perhaps his reputation was against him. There were many people +who knew he was unpopular at Court; unpopular being the mildest word +possible. And he was middle-aged and far from good-looking. So the best +he could manage was a German heiress, of an age not unsuited to his own. +Her father, Herr Goldstein, lived in some little Rhine town, and was +supposed to be rolling in marks (that was six or seven years before the +war); however, the Goldsteins met Lord Scarlett not in Germany but at +Monte Carlo, where Papa G. was a well-known punter. Luck went wrong with +him, and later the war came. Altogether, the marriage had failed to +accomplish for Bertie Scarlett's pocket and his place what he had hoped +from it. And apparently the one appreciable result was a little boy, +half of German blood. There were hopes that, after the war, Herr +Goldstein's business might rise again to something like its old value, +in which case his daughter would reap the benefit. Meanwhile, however, +if Grandmother was right, things were at a low ebb; and I thought that +Lord Scarlett would most likely snap at an offer for Dun Moat. + +Terry was immensely cheered by my story and opinion. But such a +ready-made solution of the difficulty seemed too good to be true. He got +our advertisement, and read it out to me, pausing at each detail of +perfection which we had light-heartedly bestowed upon our moated grange. +"The twisted chimney and the moat aren't everything," he groaned. "Carp +and water-lilies we might supply, if they don't exist; peacocks, too. +Nearly all historic English houses are what the agents call 'rich in old +oak.' But what about those 'exquisite oriels,' those famous fireplaces, +those stairways, those celebrated ceilings, and corbels--whatever they +are? No one house, outside our brains, can have them _all_. If +anything's missing in the list she'll cry off, and call T. B. a fraud." + +"She'll only remember the most exciting things," I said. "I don't see +her walking round the house with the 'ad.' in her hand, do you? She'll +be captured by the _tout ensemble_. But the first thing is to catch our +hare--I mean our house. You 'phone to the companion, Mrs. Dobell, at +once. Say that before you got her letter you'd practically given the +refusal of your place to someone else, but that you met the Princess +Avalesco years ago, and would prefer to have her as your tenant, if she +cares to leave the matter open for a few days. She'll say 'yes' like a +shot. And meanwhile, I'll be inquiring the state of affairs at Dun +Moat." + +"How can you inquire without going there, and wasting a day, when we +might be getting hold of another place, perhaps, and--and _building_ a +twisted chimney to match the 'ad.'?" Terry raged, walking up and down +the room. + +"Quite simply," I said. "I'll get Jim Courtenaye on long-distance 'phone +at the Abbey, where he's had a telephone installed. He doesn't live +there, but at Courtenaye Coombe, a village close by. However, I hear +he's at the Abbey from morn till dewy eve, so I'll ring him up. What he +doesn't know about the Scarletts he'll find out so quickly you'll not +have time to turn." + +"How do you know he'll be so quick?" persisted Terry. "If he's only your +forty-fourth cousin he may be luke-warm----" + +I stopped him with a look. "Whatever else Jim Courtenaye may be, he's +_not_ luke-warm!" I said. "He has red hair and black eyes. And he is +either my fiercest enemy or my warmest friend, I'm not sure which. +Anyhow, he saved my life once, at great trouble and danger to himself; +so I don't think he'll hesitate at getting a little information for me +if I pay him the compliment of calling him up on the 'phone." + +"I _see_!" said Terry. And I believe he did see--perhaps more than I +meant him to see. But at worst, he would in future realize that there +_were_ men on earth not so blind to my attractions as he. + +While Terry 'phoned from the Carstairs' flat to the companion of +Princess Avalesco, I 'phoned from mine to Jim. And I could not help it +if my heart beat fast when I in London heard his voice answering from +Devonshire. He has one of those nice, drawly American voices that _do_ +make a woman's heart beat for a man whether she likes him or hates him! + +I explained what I wanted to find out about the Scarletts, and that it +must be "quite in confidence." Jim promised to make inquiries at once, +and when I politely said: "Sorry to give you so much bother," he +replied, "You needn't let _that_ worry you, my dear!" + +Of course, he had no right to call me his "dear." I never heard of it +being done by the _best_ "forty-fourth cousins." But as I was asking a +favour of him, for Terry Burns' sake I let it pass. + +These Americans, especially ex-cowboy ones, _do_ seem to act with +lightning rapidity. I suppose it comes from having to lasso creatures +while going at cinema speed, or else getting out of their way at the +same rate of progress! I expected to hear next morning at earliest, but +that evening, just before shutting-up time for post offices, my 'phone +bell rang. Jim Courtenaye was at the other end, talking from the Abbey. + +"Lord and Lady Scarlett are living at Dun Moat," he said, "with their +venomous little brute of a boy; and they must be dashed hard up, because +they have only one servant in their enormous house, and a single +gardener on a place that needs a dozen. But it seems that Scarlett has +refused several big offers both to sell and let. Heaven knows why. +Perhaps the man's mad. Anyhow, that's all I can tell you at present. +They say it's no good hoping Scarlett will part. But I might find out +_why_ he won't, if that's any use." + +"It isn't," I answered. "But thanks, all the same. How did you get hold +of this information so soon?" + +"Very simply," said Jim. "I ran over to the nearest town, Dawlish, in +the car, and had a pow-wow with an estate agent, as if I were wanting +the house myself. I'm just back." + +"You really are good!" I exclaimed, rather grudgingly, for Grandmother +and I always suffered in changing our opinions of people, as snakes must +suffer when they change their skins. + +"I'd do a lot more than that for you, you know!" he said. + +I did know. He had already done more--much more. But my only response +was to ring off. That was safest! + +Next morning Terry Burns and I took the first train to Devonshire, and +at Dawlish hired a taxi for Dun Moat, which is about twelve miles from +there. + +We were going to beard the Scarlett lion in his den! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE KNITTING WOMAN OF DUN MOAT + + +"I must and _shall_ have this place!" Terry said, as our humble taxi +drove through the glorious old park, and came in sight of the house. + +There were the old-world gardens; the statues; the fountains (it was a +detail that they didn't fount!); there were the white peacocks +(moulting); there was the moat so crammed with water-lilies that if the +Scarletts had eaten the carp, they would never be missed. There were the +"exquisite oriels," and above all, there was the twisted chimney! + +An air of tragic neglect hung over everything. The grass needed mowing; +the flowers grew as they liked. Glass was even missing from several +windows. Still, it was miraculously the twin of the place we had +described in our embarrassingly perfect "ad." + +As we stood in front of the enormous, nail-studded door, and Terry +pressed again and again an electric bell (the one modern touch about the +place), he had the air of waiting a signal to go "over the top." + +"You look fierce enough to bayonet fifty Boches off your own bat!" I +whispered. + +"Lady Scarlett _is_ a Boche, isn't she?" he mumbled back. And just +then--after we'd rung ten times--an old woman opened the door--a witch +of an old woman; a witch out of a German fairy-book. + +The instant I saw her, I felt that there was _something wrong_ about +this house. From under wrinkled lids the woman peered out, ratlike; and +though her lips were closed--leaving the first word to us--her eyes +said, "What the devil do you want? Whatever it is, you won't get it, so +the sooner you go the better." + +We had planned that I should start the ball rolling, by mention of my +grandmother's name. But Terry was bursting with renewed interest in +life, and the woman was answering his question before I had time to +speak. "Let the place? No, sir! His lordship refuses all offers. It is +useless to make one. He does not see strangers." + +"We are not strangers," I rapped out with all Grandmother's haughtiness. +"Tell Lord Scarlett that the Princess di Miramare, grand-daughter of +Mrs. Raleigh Courtenaye, wishes a few words with him." + +_That_ was the way to manage her! She came of a breed over whom for +centuries Prussian Junkers had power of life and death; and though she +spoke English, it was with the precise wording of one who has learned +the language painfully. In me she recognized the legitimate tyrant, and +yielded. + +We were admitted with reluctance into a magnificent hall which magically +matched our description: stone-paved, with a vaulted roof, and an +immense oriel window the height of two stories. While our gaze travelled +from the carved stone chimney-piece to ancient suits of armour, and such +Tudor and Jacobean furniture as remained unsold, a slight sound +attracted our attention to the "historic staircase," with its +"dog-gates." + +A woman was coming down. She had knitting in her hand, and had dropped +one of her needles. It was that which made the slight noise we'd heard; +and Terry stepped quickly forward to pick it up. + +His back was turned to me as he offered the stiletto-like instrument to +its owner, so I could not see his face. But I could imagine that +charming smile of his, as he looked up at the figure on the stairs. Just +so might Sir Walter Raleigh have looked when he'd neatly spread his +cloak for Queen Bess; and if he had happened to ask a favour then, it +would have been hard for the sovereign to resist! + +The woman coming downstairs did not resemble any portrait of the Virgin +Queen. She was stout and short-necked; and with her hard, dark face, her +implacable eyes, and her knitting, was as much like Madame Defarge in +modern dress as a German could be. But even Madame Defarge was a woman! +And probably she used her influence now and then in favour of some +handsome male head, preferring to see female ones pop into the sawdust! + +Her face softened slightly as she accepted the needle, and stiffened +again as I came forward. + +"My husband is occupied," she said, in much the same stilted English as +that of her old servant. "He sends his compliments to the Princess di +Miramare and her friend, and hopes both will excuse him. If it is an +offer for our place you have come to make, I must refuse in his name. We +do not wish to move." + +Her tone, her expression, gave to her words the solemnity of an oath +sworn by a houseful of Medes and Persians. + +It seemed that there was nothing left for us to do, save bow to Lady +Scarlett's decision, and retire defeated to our taxi. But I felt that my +reputation as a Brightener was at stake, with Terry's hopes. If we +failed, instead of brightening I should have blighted him for ever! That +couldn't, shouldn't be! + +All there was of me yearned for an inspiration, and it came. + +"My friend, Captain Burns, wouldn't ask you to move," I heard myself +saying. "He's so anxious to have Dun Moat that he'd offer you any rent +within reason, and would invite you to select some retired rooms for +yourselves, where you might live undisturbed by the tenant. This house +is so large it occurs to me that such an arrangement wouldn't be +uncomfortable." + +Terry flashed me a look of amazement, which turned to acquiescence; and +the surprise on Lady Scarlett's face was encouraging. Evidently no one +else had made such a suggestion. She seemed not only astonished, but +tempted. + +For a moment she reflected; then admitted that my proposal was a new +one. She would submit it to her husband. They would talk it over if we +cared to wait. We did care to; and the lady vanished like a stout ghost +into the dimness of stony shadows. + +Terry said that he felt his head growing gray, hair by hair, with +suspense; but when Lady Scarlett came back at last no change could be +seen by the naked eye. + +"My husband and I will consider your proposal," she said, "provided the +price is satisfactory, and taking it for granted that we agree on the +rooms for our occupation. We should want those known as the 'garden +court suite.' And we should ask one hundred and fifty pounds a week, for +a possible term of ten weeks, on the proviso that we could terminate the +tenancy with a fortnight's notice at any time after the first month." + +I was dumbfounded. The place, unique and beautiful as it was, had been +allowed to run down so disastrously, and everything outside and inside +seemed to be in such a state of disrepair, that it was worth at most a +rent of thirty guineas a week. Terry might call himself rich, but surely +he'd not consent to being rooked to that extent, in order to be landlord +to his love. I expected him to protest, to bargain, and beat the lady +down. But he brushed the financial question away like a cobweb, and +began to haggle about the rooms. + +"The money part will be all right," he said. "But I want a lady to come +here--a lady who's been ill. She must have the prettiest rooms there +are: something overlooking the moat, with jolly oriel windows and plenty +of old oak." + +Lady Scarlett smiled. "There is no obstacle to that! The suite I specify +is at the far end of the house, in a comparatively modern wing, and most +people would think it the least desirable. We like it because it is +compact and private. We can keep it going with one servant. It is called +the 'garden court suite' because it is built round a small square. There +is a separate outside entrance, as well as one door communicating with +the house. The suite has generally been occupied by a bachelor heir." + +As she talked, Terry reflected. "Look here, Lady Scarlett!" he +exclaimed, just contriving not to break in. "I've half a mind to confide +in you. The truth is, I want to pose as the owner of this place. I +suppose you wouldn't sell it?" + +"We could not if we would," replied the daughter of the German +wine-seller. "It is entailed and the entail cannot be broken till our +son comes of age." + +"That settles _that_! But you said beforehand, nothing would induce you +to turn out----" + +"No money you could offer: not a thousand, not ten thousand a week--at +least, at present. The garden court suite is the one solution." + +"Well, so be it! But--I beg your pardon if I'm rude--could you--er--seem +not to be there? Could I say I'd lent the rooms to someone I didn't like +to turn out? If you'd consent, I'd make it two hundred a week." + +Lady Scarlett's blackberry-and-skim-milk eyes lit. "You want the lady to +believe that you have bought Dun Moat?" + +For answer, he told her of our advertisement, and the result. I thought +this a mistake. You'd only to look at the woman to see that she'd no +sense of humour; and to confide in a person without one is courting +trouble. Besides, I still had that impression of _something wrong_. I +had no definite suspicion; but why had the Scarletts, poor as they were, +determined to stick to the house? However, I could no more have stopped +Terry Burns when he got going than I could have stopped a torrent by +throwing in rose-petals. Which shows how he had changed. The worry a few +days ago would have been to get him going! + +As Lady Scarlett listened she knitted, with strong, predatory hands. +Language, they say, is used to conceal thought. So, it occurred to me, +is knitting. I felt, watching her as a wise mouse should watch a cat, +that she was making up her mind to some action more beneficial to +herself than Terry. But for my life I couldn't guess what. She seemed to +weave a knitted screen between my mind and hers! + +In the end, however, she announced that for two hundred pounds a week +her family could--to all intents and purposes--blot itself temporarily +out of existence, in the suite of the garden court. The American lady +might believe them to be poor relations of Captain Burns, or even +servants, for all she cared! Having arrived at this conclusion, she +proposed fetching her husband, that an agreement of an informal kind +might be drawn up. Again she vanished; and when Lord Scarlett appeared, +it was alone. + +There were a number of ancestral portraits hanging on the walls of the +great hall: fox-faced men, most of them, with a prevailing, sharp-nosed, +slant-eyed type; and "Bertie" Scarlett was no exception to the rule. As +he came deliberately down the stairway which his wife had descended, I +remembered a scandal of his youth that Grandmother had sketched. He'd +been in a crack regiment once, and though desperately poor had tried to +live as a smart man about town. At some country-house party he'd been +accused of cheating at baccarat. The story was hushed up, but he had +left the army; and people--particularly royalties--had looked down their +noses at him ever since. His tweeds were shabby now, and he was growing +middle-aged and bald; all the same he had the air of the leading man in +a _cause célèbre_. I hadn't liked his wife, and I liked him as little! + +He made the same point as hers: that the agreement might be terminated +by him (_not_ by the tenant) with a fortnight's notice, given at any +time after the first month. This was a queer proviso, as queer as the +family resolve to remain on the spot. And it seemed to me that one was +part and parcel of the other, though I couldn't see the link which +united the two. + +As for Terry, he puzzled over none of these things. He wanted the place +even on preposterous terms. When Lord Scarlett had drawn up an +agreement, his signature flashed across the paper like a streak of +lightning, so wild was he to rush back to London bearing the news to his +princess. Lord Scarlett--sure of his mad client--offered to have the +agreement polished up in legal form without further bother for Captain +Burns, and we were free to go. + +Terry could talk of nothing on the way home but his marvellous luck. +_Hang_ the money! He'd have paid twice as much, if need be. The next +thing was to smarten the place: buy some more "historic" furniture to +fill the gaps made by sales, send down a decorator to see what beds, +etc., needed renovating, have an expert look at the drains and the +central heating (long unused) which had been put in with German money, +engage a staff of servants for indoors and out; get hold of two or three +young peacocks whose tails hadn't moulted. + +"If I don't care how much I spend, don't you think we can make an +earthly paradise of the place in a week?" he appealed. + +"We?" I echoed. "Why, I thought my part was played!" + +His grieved eyes reproached me. What? After going so far, I was going to +desert him in the midst of the woods? He begged me to stand by him till +all was ready to receive the Princess. If I didn't, something was sure +to go wrong. + +Well, once a Brightener, always a Brightener, I suppose! And acting on +this principle I yielded. I promised to stop for a week at Dawley St. +Ann, a village within a mile of Dun Moat (there's a dear old inn +there!), and superintend preparations for the beloved tenant. When she +was safely installed, I would go home--or elsewhere, and Terry could +take my rooms at the inn. Being her neighbour as well as landlord, he'd +easily find excuses to see the Princess every day, and thus get his +money's worth of Dun Moat. + +All this was settled before we reached London; and the first thing Terry +thought of on entering the flat (mine, not his!) was to ring up the +Savoy. The answer came quickly; and I saw a light of rapture on his +face. The Princess herself was at the telephone! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE LIGHTNING STROKE + + +It was amazing what Terry and I accomplished in the next few days, I at +Dawley St. Ann, close to Dun Moat, he flashing back and forth between +there and London! + +My incentive and reward in one consisted of the all but incredible +change for the better in him. Terry's, was the hope of meeting the +Adored Lady; for he had not met her yet. Her voice thrilled him through +the telephone, saying that of _course_ she "remembered Terry Burns," but +it was her companion, Mrs. Dobell, who received him at the Savoy. She it +was who carried messages from the still-ailing Princess Avalesco to him, +and handed on to the Princess his vague explanations as to how he had +acquired Dun Moat. But Terry had seen, in the two ladies' private +sitting room at the hotel, an ivory miniature of the Princess, and its +beauty had poured oil on the fire of his love. At what period in her +career it had been painted he didn't know, not daring or caring to ask +Mrs. Dobell; but one thing was sure--it showed her lovelier than of old. + +Seeing the boy on the way to such a cure as twenty Sir Humphrey Hales +could never have produced, I was happy while wrestling for his sake with +the servant problem, placing brand-new "antique" furniture in half-empty +rooms, and watching neglected lawns rolled to velvet. But not once +during my daily pilgrimage to Dun Moat did I catch sight of Lord or Lady +Scarlett or their old German servant. True to the bargain, they had +officially ceased to exist; and my one tangible reminder of the family +was a glimpse of a little boy who stared through a closed window of the +end wing--the "suite of the garden court." + +I'd been passing that way to criticize the work of the gardeners, and +looked up to admire the twisted chimney, which rose practically at the +junction of the oldest part of the house with the newest. Just for an +instant, a small hatchet face peered at me, and vanished as if its owner +had been snatched away by a strong hand; but I had time to say to +myself, "Like father like son!" And I smiled in remembering that Jim +Courtenaye had called the Scarlett's heir a "venomous little brute." + +At last came the day when the Princess Avalesco, Mrs. Dobell, and a maid +were to motor down and take possession of Dun Moat. Terry (much thanked +through the telephone for supplying the place with servants, etcetera) +was on the spot before them. He had dashed over to see me at Dawley St. +Ann (where I was packing for my return to town), looking extremely +handsome; and had excitedly offered to run back and tell me "all about +her" before I had to take my train. + +"I shall go with you to the station," he said. "You've been the most +gorgeous brick to me! You've given me happiness and new life. And the +one thing which could make to-day better than it is, would be your +stopping on." + +I merely smiled at this, for I'd pointed out that my continued presence +would be misunderstood by the Princess Avalesco, to his disadvantage; +and he reluctantly agreed. So when he had gone to meet his Wonder-of +the-World I continued to pack. + +Very likely he would forget such a trifle as the time for my train, I +thought, and if he did turn up it would be at the last minute. I was +surprised, therefore, when, after an hour, I saw him whirling up to the +inn door in the one and only village taxi. + +A moment later I was bidding him enter my sitting room. A question +trembled on my lips, but the sight of his face choked it into a gasp. + +Terry came in, and flung himself into a chair. + +"Good heavens, what's happened?" I ventured. + +He did not answer at first. He only stared. Then he found his voice. "I +don't know how to tell you what's happened," he groaned. "You'll despise +me. You'll want to kick me out of your room." + +"I won't!" I spoke sharply, to bring him to himself. "What _is_ it? +Hasn't she come?" + +"She has come. _That's_ it!" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, my dear Pal, I--I don't love her any more." + +If I hadn't been sitting in a chair I should have collapsed on to +one--or the floor. + +"You don't _love_ her?" I faltered. + +"No. And that's not all. It's perhaps not even the worst!" + +"If you don't tell me at once, I shall scream." + +"I hardly know how. I--oh, good lord!--I--I've fallen in love with +someone else." + +I must now make a confession as shameful as his. My mind jumped to the +conclusion that Terry Burns was referring to me. I expected him to +explain that, on seeing his ideal after these many years, he found that +after all it was his faithful Pal he loved! I was conceited enough to +think this quite natural, though regrettable, and my first impulse was +to spare us both the pain of such an avowal. + +"Good gracious!" I warded him off. "So hearts can really be caught in +the rebound? But what I most want to know is, why have you unloved +Princess Avalesco?" + +"It's most horribly disloyal and beastly of me. If you _must_ know, it's +because she's lost her beauty, and has got fat. I wouldn't have believed +that a few years could make such a difference. And she can't be +thirty-five! But she's a mountain. And her hair looks jolly queer. I +think it must have come out with some illness, and she's got on her head +one of those things you call a combination." + +"We don't! We call it a transformation," I corrected him in haste. "Oh, +this is awful! Think of the fortune you've spent to offer Dun Moat to +your lady-love for a few weeks, only to discover that she _isn't_ your +lady-love! What a waste! I suppose now you'll go up to London----" + +"No," said Terry, "I shall stay here. And--I can't feel that the money's +wasted in taking Dun Moat. Just seeing such a face as I've seen is worth +every sovereign." + +"Face?" I echoed. + +"Yes. I told you I'd fallen in love. You must have guessed it was with +someone at Dun Moat, as I've been nowhere else." + +I hadn't guessed that. But I wasn't going to let him know that my +guesses had come home to roost! "It can't be Mrs. Dobell," I said, +"because you've seen her before, and she's old. Has the Princess got a +beautiful Cinderella for a maid, and----" + +"No--no!" Terry protested. "I almost wish it were like that. It would be +humiliating, but simple. The thing that's happened--this lightning +stroke--is far from simple. I may have gone mad. Or, I may have fallen +in love with a ghost." + +Relieved of my first suspicion, I pressed him to tell the story in as +few words as possible. + +It seemed that Terry had arrived at Dun Moat before the Princess; and to +pass the time he began strolling about the gardens. His walk took him +all round the rambling old house, and something made him glance suddenly +up at one of the windows. There was no sound; yet it was as if a voice +had called. And at the window stood a girl. + +She was looking down at him. And though the window was high and overhung +with ivy, Terry's eyes met hers. It was, he repeated, "a lightning +stroke!" + +"She was rather like what Margaret Revell used to be years ago, when I +was a boy and fell in love with her," Terry went on. "I mean, she was +that type. And though she looked even lovelier than Margaret in those +days--_lots_ lovelier, and younger, too--I thought it must be the +Princess. You see, there didn't seem to be any one else it could be. And +at that distance, behind window glass, and after all these years, how +could I be sure? I said to myself, 'So the auto must have come and I've +missed hearing it. She's making her tour of the house without me!' I +couldn't stand that, so I sprinted for the door. And I was just in time +to meet the motor drawing up in front of it. Great Heligoland! The shock +I got when--at that moment of all others, my eyes dazzled with a +dream--I saw the real Princess! Somehow I blundered through the meeting +with her, and didn't utterly disgrace myself. But I made an excuse about +taking a friend to a train, and bolted as soon as I could. I didn't come +straight here. I went back to the window where I'd seen the face--the +vision--the ghost--whatever it was. No one was there. A curtain was +pulled across. And I remembered then that I'd always seen it covered. +Say, Princess, do you think I'm going mad--just when I hoped I was +cured? Was it the spirit of Margaret Revell's lost youth I saw, +or--or----" + +"At which window was the--er--Being?" I cut in sharply. + +"It was close under the twisted chimney." + +"Ah! In the wing where the Scarletts are: the suite of the garden +court!" + +"Yes. I forgot when I thought it must be Margaret, that the window was +in the Scarletts' wing. Of course, Margaret couldn't have gone there. +Princess, you're afraid to tell me, but you _do_ think I'm off my head!" + +"I don't," I assured him. "Just what I think I hardly know myself. But I +shouldn't wonder if you'd stumbled on to the key of the mystery." + +"What mystery?" + +"The mystery of Dun Moat; the mystery of the Scarletts; why they +wouldn't let or sell the place until I happened to think of bribing them +with the suggestion that they should stay on. Captain Burns, it wasn't a +ghost you saw, never fear! It was a real live person--the incarnate +reason why at all costs the Scarletts must stay at Dun Moat." + +Terry blushed with excitement. "Oh, if I could believe you, I should be +almost happy! If that girl--that heavenly girl!--exists at Dun Moat, and +I'm the tenant, I shall meet her. I----" + +He went on rhapsodizing until the look in my eyes pulled him up short! +"What is it?" he asked. "Don't you approve of my wanting to meet her? +Don't you----" + +"I approve with all my heart," I said. "But I'm wondering--_wondering_! +Why are the Scarletts hiding a girl? Has she done something that makes +it wise to keep her out of sight? Or is it _they_ who don't wish her to +be seen, for reasons of their own?" + +"Madam, the porter is asking if your luggage is ready to go down," +announced a maid. + +"Luggage!" Terry and I stared at each other. I had forgotten that I was +going to London. + +"But you can't leave me now!" he implored. + +"I've changed my mind," I explained to the maid. "I shall take another +train!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE RED BAIZE DOOR + + +It ended in my deciding to stop on at the inn, while Terry Burns went +into lodgings. I felt that he was right. I _had_ to stand by! + +It wasn't only the romance of Terry falling out of love with his +Princess, and in love with a face, which held me. There was more in the +affair than that. The impression I had received when the old servant +first opened the door of Dun Moat came back to me sharply--and indeed it +had never gone--an impression that there was something _wrong_ in the +house. + +I didn't for a moment believe that Terry had "seen a ghost," or had an +optical illusion. He'd distinctly beheld a girl at the window--evidently +the same window from which the Scarlett boy had looked at me. Though he +had seen her for a moment only, by questioning I got quite an accurate +description of her appearance: large dark eyes in a delicate oval face; +full red lips, the upper one very short; a cleft chin; a slender little +aquiline nose, and auburn hair parted Madonna fashion on a broad +forehead. She had worn a black dress, Terry thought, cut rather low at +the throat. In order to look out, she had held back the gray curtain; +and recalling the picture she made, it seemed to him that she had a +frightened air. His eyes had met hers, and she had bent forward, as if +she wished to speak. He had paused, but as he did so the girl started, +and drew hastily back. It was then that Terry ran toward the door, +thinking a rejuvenated, rebeautified Margaret Revell was making a tour +of exploration without him. + +Now that he was out of love with the Princess Avalesco, there was no +longer a pressing reason to keep me in the background. For all he cared, +she might misunderstand the situation as much as she confoundedly +pleased! It was decided, therefore, that I should promptly call. I would +be nice to her, and try to get myself invited often to Dun Moat. I would +wander in the garden, where I must be seen by the Scarletts; and as +their presence in the "suite of the garden court" was no secret from me, +it seemed that there would be no indiscretion in my visiting Lady +Scarlett. Once in that wing, it would go hard if I didn't get a peep at +all its occupants! + +I knew that the Scarletts kept up communication with the outer world, so +far as obtaining food was concerned, through the old German woman, whose +name was Hedwig Kramm. She lived in the main part of the house, and was +ostensibly in the service of the tenant, but most of her time was spent +in looking after her master and mistress. I thought that she might be +handy as a messenger. + +I went next day to Dun Moat, Terry having explained me as a friend who'd +helped get the house ready for guests, and thus deserved gratitude from +them. If I had inwardly reproached him for fickleness when he confessed +his _volte face_, I exonerated him at sight of his old love. On +principle, regard for a woman shouldn't change with her looks. But a +man's affection can't spread to the square inch! + +Not that the Princess Avalesco's inches _were_ square. They were, on the +contrary, quite, quite round. But there were so terribly many of them, +mostly in the wrong place! And what was left of her beauty was +concentrated in a small island of features at the centre of a large sea +of face; one of those faces that ought to wear _stays_! Luckily she +needed no pity from me. She didn't know she was a tragic figure--if you +could call her a figure! And she didn't miss Terry's love, because she +loved herself overwhelmingly. + +I succeeded in my object. She took a fancy to me as (so to speak) a +fellow princess. I sauntered through garden paths, hearing about all the +men who wanted to marry her, and was able to get a good look at _the_ +window. There was, however, nothing to see there. An irritating gray +curtain covered it like a shut eyelid. + +"Captain Burns has put some sort of old retainers into that wing it +seems," said Princess Avalesco, seeing me glance up. "He has a right to +do so, of course, as I'm paying a ridiculously low rent for this +wonderful house, and I've more rooms anyhow than I know what to do with. +He tells me the wing is comparatively modern, and not interesting, so I +don't mind." + +I rejoiced that she was resigned! I'm afraid, if _I'd_ been the tenant +of Dun Moat, I should have felt about that "suite of the garden court" +as Fatima felt about Bluebeard's little locked room. In fact, I _did_ +feel so; and though I was able to say "Yes" and "No" and "Oh, really?" +at the right places, I was thinking every moment how to find out what +that dropped curtain hid. + +At first, I had planned to send Lady Scarlett a message by Kramm; but I +reflected that a refusal to receive visitors would raise a barrier +difficult to pass except by force. And force, unless we could be sure of +an affair for the police, was out of the question. + +"_L'audace! Toujours l'audace!_" was the maxim which rang through my +head; and before I had been long with the Princess Avalesco that day I'd +resolved to try its effect. + +My hostess and her companion had arranged to motor to Dawlish directly +after tea. They invited me to go with them, or if I didn't care to do +that, they offered to put off the excursion, rather than my visit should +be cut short. I begged them to go, however, asking permission to remain +in their absence to chat with the housekeeper, and learn whether various +things ordered at Captain Burns' request had arrived. + +With this excuse I got rid of the ladies, and as the new servants had +been engaged by me, I was _persona grata_ in the house. Five minutes +after the big car had spun away, I was hurrying through a long corridor +that led to the end wing. As it had been built for bachelors, there was +only one means of direct communication with the house. This was on the +ground floor, and all I knew of it by sight was a door covered with red +baize. I judged that this door would be locked, and that Kramm would +have a key. If I could make myself heard on the other side, I hoped that +the Scarletts would think Kramm had mislaid her key, and would come to +let her in. + +I was right. The red door was provided with a modern Yale lock. This +looked so new that I fancied it had been lately supplied; and, if so, +the Scarletts--not Terry--had provided it! Now, a surface of baize is +difficult to pound upon with any hope of being heard at a distance. I +resorted to tapping the silver ball handle of my sunshade on the door +frame; and this I did again and again without producing the effect I +wanted. + +The sole result was a horrid noise which I feared might attract the +attention of some servant. With each rap I threw a glance over my +shoulder. Luckily, however, the long passage with its stone floor, its +row of small, deep windows, and its dark figures in armour, was far from +any part of the house where servants came and went. + +At last I heard a sound behind the baize. It was another door opening, +and a child's voice squeaked, "Who's there? Is that you, Krammie?" + +For an instant I was taken aback--but only for an instant. "No," I +confessed in honeyed tones, "it isn't Krammie; but its someone with +something nice for you. Can't you open the door?" + +A latch turned, and a cautious crack revealed one foxy eye and half a +freckled nose. "Oh, it's _you_, is it?" was the greeting. "I saw you in +the garden." + +"And I saw you at the window," said I. "That's why I've brought you a +present. I like boys." + +"_What_ have you brought?" was the canny question. + +Ah, what _had_ I brought? I must make up my mind quickly, for to cement +a friendship with this boy might be important. "A wrist-watch," I said, +deciding on a sacrifice. "A ripping watch, with radium figures you can +see in the dark. It's on a jolly gray suède strap. I'll give it to you +now--that is, if you'd like it.' + +"Ye--es, I'd like it," said little Fox-face. "But my mother and father +don't want any one except Kramm to come in here. I'd get a whopping if I +let you in." + +The door was wider open now. I could easily have pushed past the child; +but I was developing a plan more promising. + +"Are your parents at home?" I primly asked. + +"Yes. They're home, all right. They're never anywhere else, these days! +But they're in the garden court. I was going up to my room when I heard +the row at this door. I thought it must be Krammie." + +"Look here," I said, "would your mother mind if you came out with me? I +know her, so I don't see why she should object. I'd give you the watch, +and a tophole tip, too. I think boys like tips! What do you say?" + +"I'll come for a bit," he decided. "Mother'd be in a wax if she knew, +and so'd Father! But what I was going upstairs for when I heard you was +a punishment. I was sent to my room. Nobody'll look for me till food +time, and then 'twill only be Kramm. _She's_ all right, Krammie is! She +won't give me away. She'll let me in again with her key, and they won't +know I've been out. But we've got to find her." + +"I'll find her," I promised. "Come along!" + +He came, sneaking out like the little fox he was. I caught a glimpse of +two steps leading down to a stone vestibule, and beyond that a heavy +wooden door which the boy had shut behind him before beginning to parley +with me. Gently as I could, I closed the baize door, which locked itself +automatically; and the child being safely barred out from his own +quarters, I broke it to him that we must delay seeing Kramm. She'd be +sure to fuss, and want to bundle him back! We'd better have our fun +first. There was time. + +Fox-face agreed, though with reluctance, which showed his fear of that +"whopping." But he brightened when I proposed foraging in the big hall +for some cakes left from tea. To my joy they were still on the table, +and, seizing a plate of chocolate éclairs, I rejoined the boy on the +terrace. We sat on a cushioned stone seat, and Fox-face (who said that +his name was "the same as his father's, Bertie") began industriously to +stuff. He did not, however, forget the watch or the tip. With his mouth +full he demanded both, and got them. In his delight, he warmed to +something more than fox, and I snatched this auspicious moment. +Delicately, as if walking on eggs (at sixpence each), I questioned him. +How did he like being mewed up in one wing of his own home? What did he +do to amuse himself? Wasn't it dull with no one to play with? + +"Well, of course, there's Cecil," he said, munching. "I liked her at +first. She's pretty, about as pretty as you are, or maybe prettier. And +she brought me presents, just like you have. But she's in bed most of +the time now, so she's no fun any more. I sit with her sometimes, to see +she keeps still, and doesn't go to the window. She did go one day, when +I went out for a minute, because I thought she was asleep. But Mother +came and caught her at it." + +"Oh, yes, Cecil!" I echoed. "That pretty girl with dark eyes, and hair +the colour of chestnuts. What relation is she to you?" + +"I s'pose she's my cousin," said Bertie. "That's what she told me the +day she came--when she brought the presents. But Mother says she's no +_proper_ relation. How do _you_ know about her hair and eyes? You didn't +see her, did you? Mother'll have a fit if you did! She and Father don't +want any one to see Cecil. The minute she told them all about herself +they made her hide." + +I was thinking hard. "Cecil" was the girl's name! That Lord Scarlett who +died in Australia had been Cecil. Grandmother had talked of him, and +said he was the "only decent one of the lot, though a ne'er-do-weel." +Now, the likeness of the name, and the boy's babblings, made me suspect +the plot of an old-fashioned melodrama. + +"Oh, I guessed about her hair and eyes, because you said she was so +pretty; and dark eyes and auburn hair are the prettiest of all," I +assured him gaily. "I'm great at guessing things; I can guess like +magic! Now, I guess the presents she brought you were from Australia." + +"So they were!" laughed Bertie. "That's what she said. And she told me +stories about things out there, before she got so weak." + +"Poor Cecil! What's the matter with her?" I ventured. + +"I don't know," mumbled the boy, interested in an éclair. "She cries a +lot. Mother says she's in a decline." + +"Oughtn't she to see a doctor?" I wondered. + +"Mother thinks a doctor'd be no good. Besides, I don't 'spect she'd let +one see Cecil, anyhow. I told you she won't allow any one in." + +"Why does your mother give Cecil a room whose window looks over the +moat, if it's so important she should hide?" I persisted. + +"All the rooms in that wing where we live are like that," Bertie +explained. "They've windows on the little court inside, and windows +outside, on the moat. But the outside window in Cecil's room is nailed +shut now, so she couldn't open it if she tried. And those little old +panes set in lead are thick as _thick_! I don't believe you could smash +one unless you had a hammer. Father says you couldn't. I mean, he says +_Cecil_ couldn't. And since the day Mother scolded Cecil for looking +out, the curtain's nailed down. It doesn't matter, though. Plenty of +light comes from the garden side." + +"Where was Cecil before you went to live in the wing?" I asked. "Was she +in the house?" + +"Oh, she'd been in that wing for weeks before Father and I moved in," +said the boy. "Mother slept there at night. And Cecil could look out as +much as she liked, because there was no one about except us, and +Krammie. Krammie doesn't count! She's the same as the family, because +she's so old--she nursed Mother when Mother was a baby. Seems funny she +_could_ have been a baby, doesn't it? But Krammie loves her better than +any one, except me. She never splits on me to them if I do anything. But +now I've eaten all the cakes, so we'd better go and find Krammie. If we +don't, she may go into the wing first. There'd be the _devil_ to pay +then!" + +It seemed to me that there was the devil to pay already--a devil in +woman's form--unless my imagination had made a fool of me. I shivered +with disgust at the thought of those two witches--the middle-aged one +and the hag. I hope I didn't take their wickedness for granted because +they were both _Germans_, though we have got into that habit in the last +five years, with all we've gone through, and with the villains who used +to be Russian in novels now being German! + +If I did hand over my prize to the elder witch, the boy was lost to me. +I should never get a second chance to catch my fox with cake! And even +were I sure that he wouldn't blab, or that Kramm wouldn't, the secret of +our meeting was certain to leak out. In that case, the red baize door +would never again open to my knock. So what was I to do? + +"Come along," urged the boy. Having got all he could get out of me, he +began to sulk. "I don't want to stay with you any more." + +"Wait a minute," I pleaded. "I'm thinking of something--something to do +for _you_." + +Though I wasn't a German, the most diabolical plot had just jumped into +my head! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +"WHEN IN DOUBT, PLAY A TRUMP" + + +It was a case of now or never! + +"Look here, Bertie," I said, "what I've been thinking of is this: you'd +better hide, and let me go alone to find Krammie. _Suppose_ your mother +has looked in your room! She'll know from Kramm that the ladies are +motoring, so she may come out to speak with Kramm and ask for you. +Squeeze into this clump of lilac bushes at the end of the terrace! Trust +me to make everything right, and be back soon." + +The picture of his mother on the warpath transformed Bertie to a jelly. +He was in the lilac bushes almost before I'd finished; and I hurried +off, ostensibly to seek Kramm. I did not, however, seek far, or in any +direction where she was likely to be. Presently I came back and in my +turn plunged into the bushes. I broke the news that I hadn't seen Kramm. +It looked as if the worst had happened. But Bertie must buck up. I'd +thought of a splendid plan! "How would you like to stay with me," I +wheedled, "until your mother is ready to crawl to get you back, cry and +sob, and swear not to punish you?" + +The boy looked doubtful. "I've heard my mother _swear_," he said, "but +never cry or sob. Do you think she would?" + +"I'm sure," I urged. "And you'll have the time of your life with me! All +the money you want for toys and chocolates. And you needn't go to bed +till you choose." + +"What kind of toys?" he bargained. "Tanks and motor cars that go?" + +"Rath_er_! And marching soldiers, and a gramophone." + +"Righto, I'll come! And I don't care a darn if I never see Mother or +Father again!" decided the cherub. + +I would have given as much for a taxi as Richard the Third for a horse; +but I'd walked from the village, and must return in the same way. We +started at once, hand in hand, stepping out as Bertie Scarlett the +second had never, perhaps, stepped before. It was only a mile to Dawley +St. Ann, and in twenty minutes I had smuggled my treasure into the inn +by a little-used side door. This led straight to my rooms, and I whisked +the boy in without being seen. So far, so good. But what to do with him +next was the question! + +I saw that, in such an emergency, Terry Burns would hinder more than +help. He was cured of the listlessness, the melancholia, which had been +the aftermath of shell shock; but he was rather like a male Sleeping +Beauty just roused from a hundred years' nap--full of reawakened fire +and vigour, though not yet knowing what use to make of his brand-new +energy. It was my job to advise _him_, not his to counsel me! And if I +flung at his head my version of the "Cecil" story, his one impulse would +be to batter down the sported oak of the garden court suite. + +He and I had agreed, in calm moments, that it would be vain and worse +than vain to appeal to the police. But calm moments were ended, +especially for Terry. _He_ might think that the police would act on the +story we could now patch together. _I_ didn't think so, or I wouldn't +have stolen the heir of all the Scarletts. + +Well, I _had_ stolen him. Here he was in my small sitting room, stuffing +chocolates bestowed on me by Terry. On top of uncounted cakes they would +probably make him _sick_; and I couldn't send for a doctor without +endangering the plot. + +No! the child must be disposed of, and there wasn't a minute to waste. +Terry's lodgings were as unsuited for a hiding-place as my rooms at the +inn. Both of us were likely to be suspected when Bertie was missed. I +didn't much care for myself, but I did care for Terry, because my +business was to keep him out of trouble, not to get him into it, even +for his love's sake. + +Suddenly, as I concentrated on little Fox-face, and how to camouflage +him for my purpose, Jim Courtenaye's description of the child drifted +into my head. + +_Jim!_ The thought of Jim just then was like picking up a pearl on the +way to the poor-house! + +_Dear_ Jim! I hadn't been sure what my feeling for him was, but at this +minute I adored him. I adored him because he was a wild-western devil +capable of lassoing enemies as he would cows. I adored him because the +fire of his nature blazed out in his red hair and his black eyes. Jim +was an anachronism from some barbaric century of Courtenayes. Jim was a +precious heirloom. He had called the Scarlett boy a "venomous little +brute!" I could hear again his voice through the telephone "_I'd do more +than that for you_." + +Idiot that I was, in that I'd _rung him off_! And I hadn't made a sign +of life since, though he was sure to have heard that I was at Dawley St. +Ann, within forty miles of the Abbey and Courtenaye Coombe. + +I could have torn my hair, only it's too pretty to waste. Instead, I ran +into the next room, pulled the bell-rope and demanded the village taxi +immediately, if not sooner. Then I flew back to Bertie and made him up +for a new part. + +This was done--to his mingled amusement and disgust--by means of a +tight-fitting, veiled motor-hood of my own and a scarlet cape, short for +a grown-up girl, but long for a small boy. This produced a fair +imitation of what the police would call "a female child," should they +catch sight of my companion. But as it happened, they did not; nor did +any one else at Dawley St. Ann, so far as I was aware. By my +instructions the taxi drew up at the side door, and while Timmins, the +chauffeur, was starting the engine (he'd stopped it, as I kept him +waiting), I rushed Bertie into the car. Once in, I squashed him down on +the floor, seated tailor fashion, with a perfectly good, perfectly new +box of burnt almonds on his lap. + +"Drive as fast as you dare without being held up," I ordered; and +Timmins, lately demobbed from the Tank Corps, obeyed with violence. The +distance was forty miles; the hour of starting, six; and at seven-thirty +we were spinning up the long avenue at Courtenaye Abbey; good going for +Devonshire hills! + +I took the chance that Jim might be at the Abbey rather than at +Courtenaye Coombe, where he lodged. The way was shorter and--there were +as many hiding-places in the Abbey as at Dun Moat. Luck was with me! It +had been one of the days when Jim opened the Abbey to tourists, and he +was late because he'd gone the rounds with the guardian. His small car, +which he drove himself, stood before the door, and from that door he +flew like a Jack-in-the-box as we dashed up. + +"Elizabeth! I mean Princess!" he exclaimed. + +"Call me _anything_!" I whispered, recklessly, bending out of the car as +we shook hands. "Mum's the word! But look what I've brought; something I +want you to _store_ for me." + +A jerk of my head introduced him to a red-cloaked, gray-veiled child +asleep on the taxi floor. + +Most men would have shown some sign of surprise or other emotion. But +Jim Courtenaye's _sang-froid_ is a tribute to the cinema life he must +have led even before he burst into the war. Whether he thought that the +object in red was my own offspring, concealed from the world till now, I +don't know and probably never shall. All I do know is that, judging from +his expression, it might have been a borrowed shoulder of veal. + +Deftly he scooped Bertie up without rousing him, and had borne the +bundle gently through the open door before it occurred to Timmins to +turn his head. "Hurray!" thought I. "Not a soul has seen the little +wretch between Dun Moat and here!" + +I jumped out of the car and followed Jim into the house, which I'd never +entered since it had been let to him. He had not paused in the great +hall, but was carrying his burden toward a small room which Grandmother +had used for receiving tenants, and such bothersome business. I flashed +in after him, and realized that Jim had fitted it up as a private +sanctum. + +Somehow I didn't like him to go on fancying quaint things about my +character, and by the time he'd deposited Bertie on a huge sofa like a +young bed, I had plunged into my story. + +I told him all from beginning to end; and when I'd reached the latter, +to my surprise Jim jumped up and shook my hands. "Are you congratulating +me?" I asked. + +"No. It's because I'm so pleased I don't need to!" + +"You mean?" + +"Well, let's put it that I'm glad Burns may have to be congratulated +some day on being engaged to the Baroness Scarlett, instead of to--the +Princess Miramare." + +So, he _had_ known of my activities, and had misunderstood my interest +in Terry! Brighteners alas! are always being misunderstood. + +"I'd forgotten," I said, primly, "that the _women_ of the Scarlett +family inherit the title if there's no son. That would account for a +_lot_!... And so you don't think my theory of what's going on at Dun +Moat is too melodramatic?" + +"My experience is," said Jim, "that nothing is ever quite so +melodramatic as real life. I believe this Cecil girl must be a +legitimate daughter of the chap who died in Australia. She must have +proofs, and they're probably where the Scarlett family can't lay hands +on them, otherwise she'd be under the daisies before this. That Defarge +type you talk about doesn't stop at trifles, especially if it's made in +Germany. And we both know Scarlett's reputation. I needn't call him +'Lord Scarlett' any more! But what beats me is this: why did the fly +walk into the spider-web? If the girl had common sense she must have +seen she wouldn't be a welcome visitor, coming to turn her uncle out of +home and title for himself and son. Yet you say she brought presents for +the kid." + +"I wonder," I thought aloud, "if she could have meant to suggest some +friendly compromise? Maybe she'd heard a lot from her father about the +marvellous old place. Grandmother said, I remember, that Cecil Scarlett +was so poor he lived in Australia like a labourer, though his father +died here, while he was there, and he inherited the title. Think what +the description of Dun Moat would be like to a girl brought up in the +bush! And maybe her mother was of the lower classes, as no one knew +about the marriage. What if the daughter came into money from sheep or +mines, or something, and meant to propose living at Dun Moat with her +uncle's family? I can _see_ her, arriving _en surprise_, full of +enthusiasm and loving-kindness, which wouldn't 'cut ice' with Madame +Defarge!" + +"Not much!" agreed Jim, grimly. "_She'd_ calmly begin knitting the +shroud!" + +So we talked on, thrashing out one theory after another, but sure in any +case that there _was_ a prisoner at Dun Moat. Jim made me quite proud by +applauding my plot, and didn't need to be asked before offering to help +carry it out. Indeed, as my "sole living relative" (he put it that way), +he would now take the whole responsibility upon himself. The police were +not to be called in except as a last resort: and that night or next day, +according to the turn of the game, the trump card I'd pulled out of the +pack should be played for all it was worth! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE RAT TRAP + + +Did you ever see a wily gray rat caught in a trap? Or, still more +thrilling, a _pair_ of wily gray rats? + +This is what I saw that same night when I'd motored back from Courtenaye +Abbey to Dawley St. Ann. + +But let me begin with what happened first. + +Jim wished to go with me, to be on hand in case of trouble. But the +reason why I'd hoped to find him at the Abbey was because we have a +secret room there which everyone knows (including tourists at a shilling +a head), and at least one more of which no outsiders have been told. The +latter might come in handy, and I begged Jim to "stand by," pending +developments. + +I'd asked Terry to dine and had forgotten the invitation; consequently +he was at the inn in a worried state when I returned. He feared there +had been an accident, and had not known where to seek for my remains. +But in my private parlour over a hasty meal (I was starving!) I told him +the tale as I had told it to Jim. + +Of course he behaved just as I'd expected--leaped to his feet and +proposed breaking into the wing of the garden court. + +"They may kill her to-night!" he raged. "They'll be capable of anything +when they find the boy gone." + +I'd hardly begun to point out that the girl had never been in less +danger, when someone tapped at the door. We both jumped at the sound, +but it was only a maid of the inn. She announced that a servant from Dun +Moat was asking for me, on business of importance. + +Terry and I threw each other a look as I said, "Give Captain Burns time +to go; then bring the person here." + +Terry went at my command, but not far; he was ordered to the public +parlour--to toy with Books of Beauty. Of course it was old Hedwig Kramm +who had come. + +Her eyes darted hawk glances round the room, seeming to penetrate the +chintz valances on chairs and sofa! She announced that the son of Lord +Scarlett was lost. Search was being made. She had called to learn if I +had seen him. + +"Why do you think of _me_?" I inquired arrogantly. + +The boy had been noticed peeping out of the window when I walked in the +garden. He had said that I was "a pretty lady," and that he wished he +were down there with me. He would get me to take him in my motor, if I +had one. + +I shrugged my shoulders. "I can't tell you where he is," I said, "and +even if I could, why should I? Let Lord and Lady Scarlett call, if they +wish to catechise me." + +"They cannot," objected the old woman. "Her ladyship is prostrated with +grief. His lordship is with her." + +"As they please," I returned. "I have nothing more to say--to you." + +The creature was driven to bay. She loved the "venomous little brute!" +"Would you have something more to say if they did come?" she faltered. +"_Something about the child?_" + +"I might," I drawled, "rack my memory for the time when I saw him last." + +"You _do_ know where he is!" she squealed. + +"I'm afraid," I said, "that I must ask you to leave my room." + +She bounced out as if she'd been shot from an air gun! + +It was ten o'clock, but light enough for me to see her scuttling along +the road as I peered through the window. When she had scuttled far +enough, I called to Terry. + +"The Scarletts are coming!" I sang to the tune of "The Campbells." +"Whether it's maternal instinct or a guilty conscience or _what_, Madame +Defarge has guessed that I've got the child. She'll be doubly sure when +Kramm reports my gay quips and quirks. To get here by the shortest and +quietest way, the Scarletts must pass your lodgings. The instant you see +them, take Jones and race to Dun Moat. When you reach there you'll know +what to do. But in case they hide the girl as a Roland for my Oliver, +I'm going to play the most beautiful game of bluff you ever saw." + +"I wish I _could_ see it!" said Terry. + +"But you'd rather see Cecil! You'd better start now. It's on the cards +that the Scarletts came part way with Kramm to wait for her news." + +Whether they had done this or not, I don't know. But the effect on Terry +of the suggestion was good. And certainly the pair did arrive almost +before it seemed that Kramm's short legs could have carried her to Dun +Moat. + +They gloomed into my sitting room like a pair of funeral mutes. + +"My servant tells me you have seen my son," the woman I had known as +Lady Scarlett began. + +"She has imagination!" I smiled. + +"You mean to say you have _not_ seen him?" blustered Fox-face Père. + +"I say neither that I have nor that I haven't," I replied. "The little I +know about the child inclines me to believe he wasn't too happy at home, +so why----" + +"Oh, you _admit_ knowing something!" The woman caught me up like a +dropped stitch in her knitting. "I believe you've got the child here. We +can have you arrested for kidnapping. The police----" + +I laughed. "Have the police ever _seen_ the little lamb? If they have, +they might doubt the force of his attraction on a woman of my type. And +you have no _proof_. But I'll let the local police look under my bed and +into my wardrobes, if you'll let them search the suite you occupy at Dun +Moat on proof _I_ can produce." + +"What are you hinting at?" snapped the late Lord Scarlett. "Do you +intimate that we've hidden our own child at home and come to you with +some blackmailing scheme----" + +"No," I stopped him. "I don't think you're in a position to try a +blackmail 'stunt.' My 'hints,' as you call them, concerned the _real_ +Lady Scarlett; the legitimate daughter of your elder brother Cecil, and +his namesake." + +As I flung this bomb I sprang up and stood conspicuously close to the +old-fashioned bell rope. + +The man and woman sprang up also. The former had turned yellowish green, +the latter brick-red. They looked like badly lit stage demons. + +"So _that's_ it!" spluttered the German wine merchant's daughter, when +she could speak. + +"That's it," I echoed. "Now, do you still want to call the police and +charge me with kidnapping? You can search my rooms yourselves if you +like. You'll find nothing. _Can you say the same of your own?_" + +"Yes!" Scarlett jerked the word out. "We can and do say the same. Do you +think we're fools enough to leave the place alone with only Kramm on +guard, if we had someone concealed there?" + +"Ah, the cap fits!" I cried. "I didn't accuse you. As you said, I merely +'hinted.'" + +I scored a point, to judge by their looks. But they had scored against +me also. I realized that my guess had not been wrong. There was a secret +hiding-place to which the garden court suite had access. That was one +reason why the Scarletts had chosen the suite. By this time Terry Burns +was there, with Kramm laughing in her sleeve while pretending to be +outraged at his intrusion. If only _I_ were on the spot instead of +Terry, I might have a sporting chance to ferret out the secret, for +I--so to speak--had been reared in an atmosphere of "hidie-holes" for +priests, cavaliers, and kings, of whom several in times of terror had +found asylum at our old Abbey. But Terry Burns was an American. It +wasn't in his blood to detect secret springs and locks! + +I ceased to depend on what Terry might do, and "fell back upon myself." + +"You talk like a madwoman!" sneered Madame Defarge. But her hands +trembled. She must have missed her knitting! + +"Mine is inspired madness," said I. And then I did feel an inspiration +coming--as one feels a sneeze in church. "Of course," I went on, "if +you've hidden the poor drugged girl in that cubby-hole under the twisted +chimney----" + +The woman would have sprung at me if Scarlett had not grabbed her arm. +My hand was on the tassel of the bell rope; and joy was in my heart, for +at last I'd grabbed their best trump. If Bertie The Second was the Ace, +the twisted chimney had supplied its Jack! + +"Keep your head, Hilda," Scarlett warned his wife. "There's a vile plot +against us. This--er--lady and her American partner have tricked us into +letting Dun Moat, with the object of blackmail. We must be careful----" + +"No," I corrected him, "you must be _frank_. So will I. We knew nothing +of your secret when we came to Dun Moat. We got on the track by +accident. As a matter of fact, Captain Burns saw the real Lady Scarlett +at the window, and she would have called to him for help if she could. +No doubt by that time she'd realized that you were slowly doing her to +death----" + +"What a devilish accusation!" Scarlett boomed. "Since you know so much, +in self-defence I'll tell you the true history of this girl. We _have_ +taken my brother's daughter into the house. We have given her shelter. +She is _not_ legitimate. My brother was married in England before going +to Australia, and his wife--an actress--still lives. Therefore, to make +known Cecil's parentage would be to accuse her father of bigamy and soil +the name. Hearing the truth about him turned her brain. She fell into a +kind of fit and was very ill, raving in delirium for days on end. My +wife was nursing her in the garden court rooms when you came with Burns +and begged us to let the house. My poverty tempted me to consent. For +the honour of my family I wished to hide the girl! And frankly (you ask +for frankness!), had she died despite my wife's care, I should have +tried to give the body--_private burial_. Now, you've heard the whole +unvarnished tale." + +"Doubtless I've heard the tale told to that poor child," I said. "At +last I understand how you persuaded her to hide like a criminal while +you two thoroughly cooked up your plot against her. But the tale _isn't_ +unvarnished! It's all varnished and nothing else. I'm not my +grandmother's grand-daughter for nothing! What _she_ didn't know and +remember about the 'noble families of England'--especially in her own +country--wasn't worth knowing! I inherit some of her stories and all of +her memory. The last Lord Scarlett, your elder brother, went to +Australia because that actress he was madly in love with had a husband +who popped up and made himself disagreeable. Oh, I can prove +_everything_ against you! And I know where the true Lady Scarlett is at +this minute. You can prove _nothing_ against me. You don't know where +your son is, and you won't know till you hand that poor child from +Australia over to Captain Burns and me. If you do that, and she recovers +from your wife's '_nursing_,' I can promise for all concerned that +bygones shall be bygones, and your boy shall be returned to you. I dare +say that's 'compounding a felony' or something. But I'll go as far as +that. What's your answer?" + +The two glared into one another's eyes. I thought each said to the +other, "This was _your_ idea. It's all your fault. I _told_ you how it +would end!" But wise pots don't waste time in calling kettles black. +They saved their soot-throwing for me. + +"You are indeed a true descendant of old Elizabeth Courtenaye," rasped +the man. "You're even more dangerous and unscrupulous than your +grandmother! My wife and I are innocent. But you and your American are +in a position to turn appearances against us. Besides, you have our son +in your power; and rather than the police should be called into this +affair by _either_ side, my brother's daughter--ill as she is--shall be +handed over to you when Bertie is returned to us." + +"That won't do," I objected. "Bertie is at a distance. I can't +communicate with--his guardian--till the post office opens to-morrow. On +condition that Lady Scarlett is released _to-night_, however, and _only_ +on that condition, I will guarantee that the boy shall be with you by +ten-thirty A. M. Meanwhile, you can be packing to clear out of Dun Moat, +as I hardly think you'll care to claim your niece's hospitality longer, +in the circumstances." + +"We have no money!" the woman choked. + +"You've forgotten what you took from Lady Scarlett. And six weeks' +advance of rent paid you by Captain Burns: twelve hundred pounds. He'll +forget, too, if you offer the right inducement. You could have had more +from him, if you hadn't insisted on the clause leaving you free to turn +your tenant out at a fortnight's notice after the first month. I +understand _now_ why you wanted it. If the girl had signed her name to a +document you'd prepared, leaving her money to you--shares in some +Australian mine, perhaps--it would have been convenient to you for her +to die. And then----" + +"Why waste time in accusations?" quailed Scarlett. "_We_ won't waste it +defending ourselves! If you're so anxious to get hold of the girl, come +home with us and we'll turn over all responsibility to you." + +"Very well," I said, and pulled the bell. + +The woman started. "What are you doing that for?" she jerked. + +"I wish to order the taxi to take us to Dun Moat," I explained. "I +confess I'm not so fond of your society that I'd care to walk a mile +with you at night along a lonely road. I'm not a coward, I hope. But +you'd be two against one. And you might hold me up----" + +"As you've held us up!" the man snapped. + +"Exactly," I agreed. + + * * * * * + +Wolves in sheep's clothing have to behave like sheep when they're in +danger of having their nice white wool stripped off. No doubt this is +the reason that, when we arrived at the outside entrance of the +bachelor's wing, my companions were meek as Mary's lamb. + +Inside the suite of the garden court we found Terry Burns and his man +raging, and Kramm sulking, in a room with a broken window. Terry had +smashed the glass in order to get in, but his search had been vain. To +do the old servant justice, she had the instinct of loyalty. I believe +that no bribe would have induced her to betray her mistress. It remained +for the Scarletts to give themselves away, which they did--with the +secret of the room under the twisted chimney. + +The room was built into the huge thickness of the wall which formed a +junction between the old house and the more modern wing. The wonderful +chimney was not a true chimney at all, but gave ventilation and light, +also a means of escape by way of a rope ladder over the roof. But the +rope had fallen to pieces long ago, and the prisoner of these days might +never have found means of escape, had it not been for that trump-card +named Bertie. The room under the twisted chimney would have been a +convenient home substitute for the family vault. + +Fate was for us, however--and for her. Even the Lady with the Shears +might have felt compunction in cutting short the thread of so fair, so +sweet a life as Cecil Scarlett's. Anyhow, that was what Terry said in +favour of Destiny, when some days had passed, and it was clear that with +good care the girl would live. + +We didn't take her to the inn, as I had planned when keeping the taxi, +for Terry--caring less than nothing now for the night's rest of Princess +Avalesco--ruthlessly routed the ladies from their beauty sleep. What +they thought about us, and about the half-conscious invalid, I don't +know; for true to my bargain with the Scarletts, no explanations +detrimental to them were made. I think it passed with the ladies that +the girl had arrived ill, in a late train; and that Terry, emboldened by +love of her, begged his tenant's hospitality. So, you see, they were +partly right. Besides, the Princess Avalesco had lived in Roumania, +where _anything_ can happen. + +When Jim brought back Bertie, he brought also a doctor--by request. The +doctor was his friend; and Jim's friends are generally ready to--well, +to overlook unconventionalities. + +I told you Princess Avalesco loved herself so much that she didn't miss +Terry's love. She missed it so little that after a few weeks' romance +she proposed a bedside wedding at Dun Moat, with herself as hostess; +for, of course, nothing would induce her to shorten her tenancy! + +Cecil had confessed to falling in love with Terry through the window, at +first sight. + +Therefore the wedding did take place, with Jim Courtenaye as best man, +and myself as "Matron of Honour," as Americans say. Cecil looked so +divine as a bride that no woman who saw her could have helped wishing to +be married against a background of pillows! I almost envied her. But Jim +said that he didn't envy Terry. His ideal of a bride was entirely +different, and he was prepared to describe her to me some day when I was +in a good humour! + + + + +BOOK III + +THE DARK VEIL + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE GIRL WITH THE LETTER + + +Brightening continued to be fun. As time went on I brightened charming +people, queer people, people with their hearts in the right place and +their "H's" in the wrong one. I was an expensive luxury, but it paid to +have me, as it pays to get a good doctor or the best quality in boots. + +After several successful operations and some lurid adventures, I was +doing so well on the whole that I felt the need of a secretary. How to +hit on the right person was the problem, for I wanted her young, but not +too young; pretty, but not too pretty; lively, not giddy; sensible, yet +never a bore; a lady, but not a howling swell; accomplished, but not +overwhelming; in fact, perfection. + +This time I didn't hide my light under a bushel of initials, nor in a +box at a newspaper office. I announced that the "Princess di Miramare +requires immediately the services of a gentlewoman (aged from twenty-one +to thirty) for secretarial work four or five hours six days of the week. +Must be intelligent and experienced typist-stenographer. Salary, three +guineas a week. Apply personally, between 9:30 and 11:30 A. M. No +letters considered." + +I gave the address of my own flat and awaited developments with high +hope; for I conceitedly expected an "ad." under my own name to attract a +good class of applicants. + +It appeared in several London dailies and succeeded like a July sale. I +wouldn't have believed that there were such crowds of pretty typists on +earth! Luckily, the lift boy was young, so he enjoyed the rush. + +As for me, I felt like a spider that has got religion and pities its +flies; there were so many flies--I mean girls--and each in one way or +other was more desirable than the rest! I might have been reduced to +tossing up a copper or having the applicants draw lots, if something +very special hadn't happened. + +The twenty-sixth girl brought a letter of introduction from Robert +Lorillard. + +_Robert Lorillard!_ Why, the very name is a thrill! + +Of course I was in love with Robert Lorillard when I was seventeen, just +before the war. Everybody was in love with him that year. It was the +fashionable thing to be. Whenever Grandmother let me come up to town I +went to the theatre to adore dear Robert. Women used to boast that +they'd seen him fifty times in some favourite play. But never did he act +on the stage so stirring a part as that thrust upon him in August, 1914! +I _must_ let the girl with the letter wait while I tell you the story, +in case you've not heard the true version. + +While she hung upon my decision, and I gazed at Lorillard's signature +(worth guineas as an autograph), my mind raced back along the years. + +Oh, that gorgeous spring before the war! + +I wasn't "_out_"; but somehow I contrived to be "_in_." That is, in all +the things that I'd have died rather than miss. + +We were absurdly poor, but Grandmother knew everyone; and that April, +while she was looking for a town house and arranging to present me, we +stayed with the Duchess of Stane. Her daughter, Lady June, was _the_ +girl in Society just then. She had been The Girl for several years. She +was the prettiest, the most original, and the most daring one in her +set. She wasn't twenty-three, but she'd picked up the most extraordinary +reputation! I should think there could hardly have been more interest in +the doings of "professional beauties" in old days than was taken in +hers. No illustrated weekly was complete without her newest portrait +done by the photographer of the minute; no picture Daily existed that +wouldn't pay well for a snapshot of Lady June Dana, even with a foot out +of focus, or a hand as big as her head! And she _loved_ it all! She +lived, lived every minute! It didn't seem as if there could be a world +without June. + +I was only a flapper, but I worshipped at the shrine, and the goddess +didn't mind being worshipped. She used to let me perch on her bed when +she took her morning tea, looking a dream in a rosebud-wreathed bit of +tulle called a boudoir cap, and a nighty like the first outline sketch +for a ballgown. She reeled off yards of stuff for my benefit about the +men who loved her (their name was legion!), and among others was Robert +Lorillard. + +All the clever people who "did" things came to Stane House, provided +they were good to look at and interesting in themselves. Lorillard was +there nearly every Sunday for luncheon, and at other times, too. I +couldn't help staring at him, though I knew it was rude, for he was so +handsome, so--almost divine! + +One laughs at writers who make their heroes "Greek statues," but really +Lorillard _was_ like the Apollo Belvedere, in the Vatican: those perfect +features, that high yet winning air (someone has said) "of the greatest +statue that ever was a gentleman, the greatest gentleman that ever was a +statue." + +I think June met Lorillard away from home often: and once, when +Grandmother and I had gone to live in our own house, and I'd been +presented, June took me behind the scenes after a matinée at his +theatre. He was charming to me, and I loved him more than ever, with +that delicious, hopeless, agonizing love of seventeen. + +People talked about June with Lorillard, but no more than with a dozen +other men. Nobody dreamed of their marrying, and none less than she +herself. As for him, though he was madly in love, he must have known +that as an eligible he'd have as much chance with a royal princess as +with Lady June Dana. + +It was in this way that matters stood when the war broke out. And among +the first volunteers of note went Robert Lorillard. No doubt he would +have gone sooner or later in any case. But being taken up, thrown down, +smiled at, and frowned on by June was getting upon his nerves, as even I +could see, so war--fighting, and dying perhaps--must have been a welcome +counter-irritant. + +The season was over, but Grandmother kept on the house she had taken, as +an _ouvroir_, where she mobilized a regiment of women for war work. It +was in the same square as Stane House, where the Duchess was mobilizing +a rival regiment. June and I worked under our different taskmistresses; +but I saw a good deal of her--and all that went on. The moment she heard +that Lorillard had offered himself, and was furiously training for a +commission, she was a changed girl. She was like a creature burning with +fever; but I thought her more beautiful than she'd ever been, with that +rose-flame in her cheeks and blue fire in her eyes. + +One afternoon she got me off from work, asking me to shop with her. But +instead of going to Bond Street, we made straight for Robert Lorillard's +flat in St. James's Square. How he could have been there that day I +don't know, for he was in some training camp or other I suppose; but +she'd sent an urgent wire, no doubt, begging him to get a few hours' +leave. + +Anyhow, there he _was_--waiting for us. I shall never forget his +face--though he forgot my existence! June forgot it also. I'd been +dragged at her chariot wheels (it was a taxi!) to play propriety; my +first appearance as a chaperon. I might as well have been a fly on the +wall for both of them! + +Robert opened the door of the flat himself when we rang (servants were +superfluous for that interview!) and they looked at each other, those +two. Eyes drank eyes! Lorillard didn't seem to see me. I drifted vaguely +in after June, and effaced myself superficially. The most rarefied sense +of honour couldn't be expected, perhaps, in a flapper whose favourite +stage hero was about to play _the_ part of his life--unrehearsed--with +the said flapper's most admired heroine. + +Instead of shutting myself up in a cupboard or something, or at the +least closing my eyes and stuffing my fingers into my ears, I hovered in +a handy background. I saw June burst out crying and throw herself into +Lorillard's arms. I heard her sob that she realized now she couldn't +live without him; that he was the only person on earth who +mattered--ever had, or ever would matter. I heard him gasp a few +explosive "Darlings!" and "Angels!" And then I heard June coolly--no, +hotly!--propose that they should be married at once--_at once_! + +Even _I_ floated sympathetically on a rose-coloured wave of love, as I +listened and looked; so where must Lorillard have floated--he who had +adored, and never hoped? + +In one of his own plays the noble hero would have put June from him in +super-unselfishness, declaiming "No, beloved. I cannot accept this +sacrifice, made on a mad impulse. I love you too much to take you for my +own." But, thank God, real men aren't built on those stiff lines! As for +this one, he simply _hugged_ his glorious, incredible luck (including +the giver) as hard as he could. + +It took the two about one hour to come to themselves, and remember that +they had heads as well as hearts; while I, for my part, remembered +mostly my right foot, which had gone to sleep during efforts of +self-obliteration. I _had_ to stamp it at last, which drew surprised +attention to me; so I was officially offered the rôle of confidante, and +agreed with June that the wedding _must_ be secret. The Duchess and four +_terrifically_ powerful uncles would make as much fuss as if June were +Queen Elizabeth bent on marrying a commoner, and it would end in the +lovers being parted. + +Well, they were married by special license three days later, with me and +a man friend of Lorillard's as witnesses. When the knot was safely tied, +June and Robert went together and broke it to the Duchess--not the knot, +but the news. The Duchess of Stane is supposed to know more bad words +than any other peeress in England, and judging from June's account of +the scene, she hurled them all at Lorillard, with a few spontaneous +creations for her daughter. When the lady and her vocabulary were +exhausted, however, common sense refilled the vacuum. The Duchess and +the Family made the best of a bad bargain, hoping, no doubt, that +Lorillard would soon be safely killed; and a delicious dish of romance +was served up to the public. + +_I_ was the only one beyond pardon, it seemed. According to the Duchess +I was a wicked little treacherous cat not to have told her what was +going on, so that it could have been stopped in time. A complaint was +made to Grandmother. But that peppery old darling--after scolding me +well--took my part, and quarrelled with the Duchess. + +June was too busy being _The_ Bride of All War Brides to bother much +with me, and Lorillard was training hard for France. So a kind of magic +glass wall arose between the Affair and me. Months passed (everyone +knows the history of those months!) and then the air raids began: +Zeppelins over London! + +It was _smart_, you know, not to be frightened, but to run out and gape, +or go up on the roof, when one of those great silver shapes was sighted +in the night sky. June went on the roof. Oh poor, beautiful June! A +fragment of shrapnel pierced her heart and killed her instantly, before +she could have felt a pang. + +The news almost "broke Lorillard up," so his pal who witnessed the +marriage with me put the case. Robert hadn't even once been back in +"Blighty" since he first went out. Ninety-six hours' leave was due just +then. He spent it coming to June's funeral, and--returning to the Front. + +Since that tragic time long ago he had seen a great deal of fighting, +had been wounded twice, had received his Captaincy and a D. S. O. Four +years and a half had been eaten by Hun locusts since he'd last appeared +on the stage, and more than three since the death of June. Everyone +thought that Lorillard would take up his old career where he had laid it +down. But he refused several star parts, and announced that he never +intended to act again. The reason was, he said, that he did not wish to +do so; that he could hardly remember how he had felt at the time when +acting made up the great interest of his life. + +He bought a quaint old cottage near the river, not many miles from a +house the Duchess owned--a happy house, where he had spent week-ends +that wonderful summer of 1914. June had loved the place, and her body +lay (buried in a glass coffin to preserve its beauty for ever) in the +cedar-shaded graveyard of the country church near by. Once she had +laughingly told Lorillard she would like to lie there if she died, and +he had persuaded the Duchess to fulfil the wish. Instead of a gravestone +there was a sundial, with the motto "All her days were happy days and +all her hours were hours of sun." + +Robert Lorillard's cottage was within walking distance of the +churchyard, and I imagine he often went there. Anyhow, he went nowhere +else. After some months an anonymous book of poems appeared--poems of +such extreme beauty and pure passion that all the critics talked about +them. Bye and bye others began to talk, and it leaked out through the +publisher that Lorillard was the author. + +I loved those poems so much that I couldn't resist scribbling a few +lines to Robert in my first flush of enthusiasm. He didn't answer. I'd +hardly expected a reply; but now, long after, here was a letter from him +introducing a girl who wanted to be my secretary! + +He wrote: + + DEAR PRINCESS DI MIRAMARE, + + I don't ask if you remember me. I _know_ you do, because of one we + have both greatly loved. I meant to thank you long ago for the kind + things you took the trouble to say about my verses. The thoughts + your name called up were very poignant. I put off acknowledging + your note. But you will forgive me, because you are a real friend; + and for that reason I venture to send you a strong personal + recommendation with Miss Joyce Arnold, who will ask for a position + as your secretary. I saw your advertisement in the _Times_, and + showed it to Miss Arnold, offering to introduce her to you. She + nursed me in France when she was a V. A. D. (she has a decoration, + bye the bye, for her courage in hideous air raids), and she has + been my secretary for some months. All I need say about her I can + put into a few words. _She is absolutely perfect._ It will be a + great wrench for me to lose her valuable help with the work I give + my time to nowadays, but I am going abroad for a while, and shall + not need a secretary. + + You too have lived and suffered since we met! Do take from me + remembrances and thoughts of a friendship which will never fade. + + Yours sincerely always, + + ROBERT LORILLARD. + +I'd been too much excited when she said, "I have an introduction to you +from Captain Lorillard," to do more than glance at the girl, and ask her +to sit down. But as I finished the letter I looked up, to meet the gaze +of a pair of gray eyes. + +Caught staring, Miss Arnold blushed; and what with those eyes and that +colour I thought her one of the most delightful girls I'd ever seen. + +I don't mean that she was one of the prettiest. She was (and is) pretty. +But it wasn't entirely her _looks_ you thought of, in seeing her first. +It was something that shone out from her eyes, and seemed to make a +sweet, happy brightness all around her. Eyes are windows, and something +_must_ be on the other side, but, alas! it seldom shines through. The +windows are dim, or the blinds are down to cover dulness. Joyce Arnold +had a living spirit behind those big, bright soul-windows that were her +eyes! + +As for the rest, she was tall and slim, and delicately long-limbed. She +had milk-white skin with a soft touch of rose on the cheek bones; a few +freckles which were like the dust from tiger-lily petals, and a +charming, sensitive mouth, full and red. + +"Why, of course I want you!" I said. "I'm lucky to secure you, too! How +glad I am that you didn't come after I'd engaged someone else! But even +if you had, I'd have managed to get rid of her one way or other." + +Miss Arnold smiled. She had the most contagious smile!--though it struck +me even then that it wasn't a _merry_ smile. Her face, with its piquant +little nose, was meant to be gay and happy I thought; yet it wasn't +either. It was more plucky and brave; and the eyes had known sadness, I +felt sure. I guessed her age as twenty-three or twenty-four. + +She said that she would love to work for me. The girls who were waiting +to be interviewed were sent politely away in search of other engagements +while I settled things with Miss Arnold. The more I looked at her, the +more I talked with her, the more definite became an impression that I'd +seen her before--a long time ago. At last I asked her the question: "Can +it be that we've met somewhere?" + +Colour streamed over her pale face. "Yes, Princess, we have," she said. +"At least, we didn't exactly _meet_. It couldn't be called that." + +"What was it then, if not a meeting?" I encouraged her. + +"I was in my first job as secretary. I was with Miss Opal Fawcett. When +it was Ben Ali's day out--Ben Ali was her Arab butler, you know--I used +to open the door. I opened it for you and--and Lady June Dana when you +came. I remember quite well, though I never thought _you_ would." + +Why did the girl blush so? I wondered. Could it be that she was ashamed +of having been with Opal Fawcett, or--was it something to do with the +mention of June? Miss Arnold had evidently just left her place with +Robert Lorillard and probably the name of his wife had been "taboo" +between them, for I couldn't fancy Robert talking of June with any +one--unless with some old friend who had known her well. + +"Ah, that's it!" I exclaimed. "Now I do remember. June and I spoke of +you afterward, as we were going away. We said, 'What an interesting +girl!' Nearly five years ago! It seems a hundred." + +Miss Arnold didn't speak, and again my thoughts flew back. + +Opal Fawcett suddenly sprang into fame with the breaking out of the war, +when all the sweethearts and wives of England yearned to give "mascots" +to their loved men who fought, or to get news from beyond the veil, of +those who had "gone west." Opal had, however, been making her weird way +to success for several years before. She had a strange history--as +strange as her own personality. + +A man named Fawcett edited a Spiritualistic paper, called the _Gleam_. +One foggy October night (it was All Hallow E'en) he heard a shrill, +wailing cry outside his old house in Westminster. (Naturally it was a +_haunted_ house, or he wouldn't have cared to live in it!) Someone had +left a tiny baby girl in a basket at his door, and with it a letter in a +woman's handwriting. This said that the child had been born in October, +so its name must be Opal. + +Fawcett was a bachelor; but he imagined that spirit influences had +turned the unknown mother's thoughts to him. For this reason he kept the +baby, obligingly named it Opal, and brought it up in his own religious +beliefs. + +Opal was extremely proud of her romantic début in life, and when she had +decided upon a career for herself, she wrote her autobiography up to +date. As she was quite young at the time--not more than twenty-five--the +book was short. She had a certain number of copies bound in specially +dyed silk supposed to be of an opal tint, changeable from blue to +pinkish purple, and these she gave to her friends or sold to her +clients. + +I say "clients," because, after being a celebrated "child medium" during +her foster father's life, and then failing on the stage as an actress, +she discovered that palmistry was her forte. At least it was one among +several others. You told her the date when you were born, and she "did" +your horoscope. She advised people also what colours they ought to wear +to "suit their aura," and what jewels were lucky or unlucky. Later, when +the war came, she took to crystal gazing. Perhaps she had begun it +before, but it was then that she suddenly "caught on." One heard all +one's friends talking about her, saying, "Have you ever been to Opal +Fawcett? She's _absolutely wonderful_! You must go!" Accordingly we +went. + +When June and Lorillard were waiting in secret suspense for their +special license, June implored Robert to let Opal look into the crystal +for him, and read his hand. He tried to beg off, because he had met Miss +Fawcett during her disastrous year on the stage. In a play of ancient +Rome in which he was the star, Opal Fawcett had been a sort of +walking-on martyr, and he had a scene with her in the arena, defending +her from a doped, milk-fed lion. Opal had acted, clung, and twined so +much more than necessary that Robert had disliked the scene intensely, +always fearing that the audience might "queer" it by laughing. He would +not complain to the management, because the girl had been given the part +through official friendship, and was already marked down as prey by the +critics. He hadn't wished to do her harm; but neither did he care to +have his future foretold by her. + +June was so keen, however, that he consented to be led like a lamb to +the sacrifice. I heard from her how they went together to the old house +which the spiritualist had left to his adopted daughter; and I heard +what happened at the interview. June was vexed because Opal _would_ see +Robert alone. She had wanted to be in the room, and listen to +everything! Opal was most ungrateful, June said, because she (June) had +sent lots of people to have their "hands read," and get special jewels +prescribed for them, like medicines. Robert had laughed to June about +what Opal claimed to see for him in her crystal, but had pretended to +forget most of the "silly stuff," and be unable to repeat it. June had +worried, fearing lest misfortunes had appeared in the crystal, and that +Robert wished to hide the fact from her. + +"I'll get it all out of Opal myself!" she exclaimed to me, and took me +with her to Miss Fawcett's next day. + +The excuse for this visit was to have my hand "told," and to order a +mascot for Robert, to take with him to the front: his own lucky jewel +set in a design made to fit his horoscope! + +I was delighted to go, for I'd never seen a fortune teller; but June was +too eager to talk about Robert to spare me much time with the seeress. +My hand-telling was rather perfunctory, for Miss Fawcett didn't feel the +same need to see me alone which she had felt with Lorillard, and June +was very much on the spot, sighing, fussing, and looking at her +wrist-watch. + +Opal was as reticent about the interview with Lorillard as Robert had +been, though, unlike him, she didn't laugh. So poor June got little for +her pains, and I learned nothing about my character that Grandmother +hadn't told me when she was cross. Still, it was an experience. I'd +never forgotten the tall, white, angular young woman wearing amethysts +and a purple robe, in a purple room: a creature who looked as if she'd +founded herself on Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and overshot the mark. It +seemed, also, that I'd never forgotten her secretary, though perhaps I'd +not thought of the girl from that day to this. + +"Do tell me how you happened to be with Opal Fawcett," I couldn't help +blurting out from the depths of my curiosity. "You seem +so--so--absolutely _alien_ from her and her 'atmosphere'." + +"Oh, it's quite simple," said Joyce Arnold, not betraying herself if she +considered me intrusive or rude. "An aunt of mine--a dear old maid--was +a great disciple of Mr. Fawcett. She thought Opal the wonder of the +world, at about ten or twelve, as 'the child medium,' and she used to +take me often to the house. I was five or six years younger than Opal, +and Aunt Jenny hoped it would 'spiritualize' me to play with her. We +never quite lost sight of each other after that, Opal and I. When she +went into business--I mean, when she became a hand-reader and so on--I +was beginning what I called my 'profession.' She engaged me as her +secretary, and I stayed on till I left her to 'do my bit' in the war, as +a V. A. D. That's the way I met Captain Lorillard, you know. It was the +most splendid thing that ever happened, when he asked me to work for him +after he was invalided back from the Front. You see, I was dead tired +after four years without a rest. We'd had a lot of air raids at my +hospital, and I suppose it was rather a strain. I was ordered home. And +oh, it's been Paradise at that heavenly place on the river, helping to +put down in black and white the beautiful thoughts of such a man!" + +As she spoke, an expression of rapture, that was like light, illumined +the girl's face for an instant, bright as a flash of sunshine on a white +bird's wing. But it passed, and her eyes darkened with some quick memory +of pain. She looked down, thick black lashes shadowing her cheeks. + +"By Jove!" I thought. "There's a _story_ here!" + +Robert Lorillard wrote that Miss Arnold was "perfect." Yet he had sent +her away. He said he was going away himself. But I felt sure he wasn't. +Or else, he was going on purpose. He had _searched the newspapers to +find a place for her_. If he hadn't done that deliberately, he would +never have seen my advertisement. + +And she? The girl was breaking her heart at the loss of her "Paradise." + +What did it mean? + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE HERMIT + + +Joyce Arnold was ready to begin work at once. + +She had, it seemed, already given up her lodgings in the village near +Robert Lorillard's cottage. Opal Fawcett had offered the hospitality of +her house for a fortnight, and while there Joyce would pay her way by +writing Opal's letters in spare hours, the newest secretary being absent +on holiday. In the meantime, now that it was decided she should come to +me, Miss Arnold would look for rooms somewhere in my neighbourhood. + +I let it go at this for a few days. But when just half a week had passed +I realized that Joyce Arnold wasn't merely a perfect secretary, she was +a perfect companion as well. Not perfect in a horrid, "high-brow" way, +but simply adorable to have in the house. + +It was on a Wednesday that she brought me Lorillard's letter. On the +following Saturday, at luncheon, I suddenly said, "Look here, Miss +Arnold, how would you like to live with me instead of in lodgings?" + +She blushed with surprise. (She blushed easily and beautifully.) + +"Why, I--should love it, of course," she stammered, "if you're really +sure that you----" + +"Of course I'm sure," I cut her short. "What I'm beginning to wonder is, +how I ever got on without you!" + +She laughed. + +"You've known me only three days and a half! And----" + +"Long enough to be sure that you're absolutely IT," said I. "If already +you seem to me indispensable, how _could_ Robert Lorillard have made up +his mind to part with you, after _months_?" + +I didn't mean to be cruel or inquisitorial. The words sprang out--spoke +themselves. But I could have boxed my own ears when I saw their effect +on the girl. She grew red, then white, and tears gushed to her eyes. +They didn't fall, because she was afraid to wink, and stared me steadily +in the face, hoping the salt lake might safely soak back. All the same I +saw that I'd struck a hard blow. + +"Captain Lorillard was very nice, and really sorry in a way to lose me, +I think," she replied, rather primly. "But he told you, didn't he, that +he was going away?" + +"Oh, of course! Stupid of me to forget for a minute," I mumbled, +earnestly peeling a plum, so that she might have time to dispose of +those tears without absorbing them. I was more certain than ever that +here was a "story" in the broken connection between Joyce Arnold and +Robert Lorillard: that if he were really leaving home it was for a +reason which concerned _her_. + +It wasn't all curiosity which made me rack my brain with mental +questions. It was partly old admiration for Robert and new affection for +his late secretary. "Why should he want to get rid of such a girl?" I +asked myself, as at last I ate the plum. + +The fruit was more easily swallowed than the idea that he hadn't +_wanted_ Joyce Arnold to go on working for him. It wouldn't be human for +man or woman--especially man--_not_ to want her. But--well--I tried to +put the thought aside for the moment, in order to wrestle with it when +those eyes of hers could no longer read my mind. + +I turned the subject to Opal Fawcett. + +"Could you leave Miss Fawcett at once, and come to me?" I asked. "Would +she be vexed? Or would you rather stay with her over Sunday?" + +"I could come this afternoon," Joyce said. "I'd be glad to. And I don't +think Opal would mind. She wanted me at first. But--but----Well, I'm +beginning to bore her now; or anyhow, we're getting on each other's +nerves." + +This reply, and the embarrassed look on Joyce's face, set me going upon +a new track. Was Opal Fawcett in the "story" which my imagination had +begun to write around Miss Arnold and Robert Lorillard? If so, what +could be her part in it? + +I found no satisfactory answer. Years ago, when she was on the stage and +acting with Lorillard, Opal had perhaps been in love with him, like +hundreds of other women. But since then he'd married, and fought in the +war, and later had led the life of a hermit, while she pursued her +successful "career" in town. It was unlikely that they had seen much of +each other, even if their old, slight acquaintance had been kept up at +all. Still, Opal might have been curious about Lorillard and the "simple +life." She might have welcomed Joyce for the sake of what she could tell +of him, and Joyce might have rebelled when she saw what Opal wanted from +her. + +I thanked my own wits for giving me this "tip." Without it, I mightn't +have resisted the strong temptation to proceed with a little dextrous +"pumping" on my own--just a word wedged into some chink in the armour +now and then, to find out if poor Joyce had fallen a victim to +Lorillard's undying charm. + +As it was, I determined to shut up like a clam, and do as I would be +done by were I in the girl's place. If she'd slipped into loving her +employer, and he had thought best to banish her, for her own good, the +wound in poor Joyce's self-respect must be as deep as that in her heart. +Every sensitive nerve must throb with anguish, and only a _wretch_ would +deliberately probe the hurt with questions, in mere selfish curiosity. + +"It's not your business," I said to myself. And I vowed to do all I +could to make Joyce Arnold forget--whatever it was that she might want +to forget. + +She did come to me that afternoon. I had one spare room in my flat, and +I made it as pretty and homelike as I could with flowers and books and +little things I stole from my own quarters. The girl was pathetically +grateful! She opened out to me like a flower--that is, in affection. I +felt in her a warm, eager anxiety to serve and help me, not for the +wages I gave, but for love. It was like a perfume in the place. And +Joyce Arnold was intelligent as well as sweet. She had been highly +educated, and there seemed to be few things she hadn't thought about. +Most of the old aunt's money had been spent in making the girl what she +was, so there was little left; but Joyce would always be able to earn +her living. + +If she tired of secretarial work, she could quite well teach music, both +piano and voice production. She had taken singing lessons from a famous +and successful man. Had her voice been strong enough, she might have got +concert engagements, it was so honey-sweet, so exquisitely trained. But +she called it a "twilight voice"; which it really was, and often I gave +up going out for the joy of having her sing to me alone in the dusk. + +It was only at those times that I knew--actually _knew_!--how sad she +was, to the point of heartbreak. By day, when we worked or talked +together, her manner was charmingly bright. She was interested in my +affairs, and her quiet, delicious sense of humour was one of her +greatest attractions for me. But at the piano, before the lights were +on, the girl was at the mercy of her secret, whatever it might be. It +came like a ghost, and stared her in the eyes. It said to her: "You +can't shut me out. It is to _me_ you sing. I _make_ you sing!" + +To hear that "twilight voice" of hers, half crooning, half chanting, +those passion-flower songs of Laurence Hope's, or "Omar," would have +waked a soul in a stone image! + +Good heavens! how could Robert Lorillard have sent her away? How, on the +contrary, could he have helped wanting this noble, brave, sweet creature +to warm his life for ever? + +That's what I asked myself over and over again. And on top of that +question another. What if--he _hadn't_ helped it? + +It was one evening, while she improvised a queer little "song of sleep" +for me that this thought came. It burst like a bombshell in my brain; +and the reason it hadn't burst before was because my mind always +pictured June and Robert together. + +I was lying deep among cushions on a sofa, and involuntarily I started +up. + +Joyce broke off her song in the midst. + +"What's the matter?" she asked. + +"Nothing," I said; "only--it just popped into my head that I'd forgotten +to telephone for--for a car to-morrow." + +"For a car?" Joyce echoed. "How stupid of me, if you mentioned it! I +can't remember----" + +"No, I didn't mention it," I said. (No wonder, when I hadn't even +_thought_ of it until this minute!) "But I--I _meant_ to. I'd made up my +mind to go to 'Pergolas,' the Duchess of Stane's place on the river; you +must have seen it when you were working for Robert Lorillard." + +It was the first time I'd uttered his name since that impulsive break at +the luncheon table, over a fortnight ago now! + +Whether or not her face blushed I couldn't see in the twilight, but her +_voice_ blushed as she said: + +"Oh, yes! I've seen--the gates. Surely the duchess isn't there at this +time of the year?" + +"She generally takes a 'rest cure' of a week or two at Pergolas this +month. It's perfect peace, and you know how dreamlike the river is in +autumn." + +"I--know," Joyce murmured. "The woods all golden, and mists like creamy +veils across the blue distance. I know!" + +There was a passion of suppressed longing and regret in her tone. + +"Wouldn't you like to go with me?" I coaxed. "It's such lovely country +for a spin. And--I've never been there; but I suppose we must pass close +to Robert Lorillard's cottage? We go through Stanerton village. We could +stop and see if he's still at home, or if he's gone----" + +"No--no, thank you, Princess," Joyce said, hastily, "I don't--care very +much for motoring. If you're to be away to-morrow I'll get through some +mending, and some letters of my own." + +I didn't argue. I should have been surprised if she'd accepted. It would +have made the thing commonplace. And it would have upset my plan. I +can't call it a "deep-laid plan," because I'd laid it on no firmer +foundation than the spur of the moment; but I was wildly excited about +it. Fully armoured like Minerva it had leapt into my brain while I said +to myself, "What _if_----?" + +Joyce 'phoned to the garage where I hired cars occasionally, and ordered +something to come at ten o'clock next morning. For me to take this joy +ride meant throwing over a whole day's engagements like so many +ninepins. But I didn't care a rap! + +I could see when I was ready to start that Joyce was even more excited +than I. No doubt she was thinking that, when I came back, I might bring +news of _him_. We spoke, however, only of the duchess. + +To me, a harmless, necessary fib isn't much more vicious than a cat of +the same description; that is, if the fib is for the benefit of a +friend. But I'd rather tell the truth if it can be managed, so I really +intended to call on the Duchess. The village of Stanerton--on the +outskirts of which Lorillard lived--happened to be on my way to +Pergolas. I couldn't help _that_, could I? So I told my chauffeur to ask +for River Orchard Cottage--the address on Robert's note introducing Miss +Arnold. + +Everyone seemed to know the place. It was half a mile out of the +village, and you went to it up a side road: a very old cottage altered +and modernized. The name was old, too: it really was an orchard, and it +was really on the river. That was what half a dozen people informed us +in a breath, and they would have added much information about Lorillard +himself if I'd cared to hear. But all I wanted to learn about him from +them was whether he had gone away. He hadn't. He had been seen out +walking the day before. + +"I _told_ you so!" I said to myself. + +As the car slowed down and stopped before a white gate I seemed to lose +my identity for a moment. It became merged with that of Joyce Arnold. I +felt as if she--the _real_ Joyce--had raced here in some winged vehicle +of thousand-spirit power, travelling far faster than any road-bound +earthly car, and, having waited for me, now slipped into my skin. + +The sight of that gate made my heart beat as it must have made hers beat +every day when she came in the morning to work. Yes! As I laid my hand +on the latch I wasn't my somewhat blasée and sophisticated self: I was +the girl to whom this place was Paradise. + +The white gate was flanked by two tall clipped yews. Inside, a wide path +of irregular paving-stones, with grass and flowers sprouting between, +led to a low thatched cottage--oh, but a glorified cottage: a cottage +that looked as if it had died and gone to heaven! The flagged path had +tubs on either side. In them grew funny little Dutch treelets shaped +like birds and animals of different sorts; and the lawn kept all the +noble, gnarled giants that once had made it an orchard. The cottage was +yellow, like cottages in Devonshire, and the old thatch had the gray +satin sheen of chinchilla. A huge magnolia was trained over the front, +and climbing roses and wisteria, all in the sere and yellow leaf or bare +now; but I could picture the place in spring, when the diamond-paned bow +windows sparkled through a canopy of flowers, when the great apple trees +were like a pink-and-white sunrise of blossom, and underneath spread a +carpet of forget-me-nots and tulips. + +How sweet must have been the air then, how blue the river background, +and how melodious the low song of a distant weir! + +To-day, the air was faintly acrid with the scent of bonfire smoke--the +odour of autumn; and the sounds of wind and water over the weir were sad +as a song of homesickness. + +I tapped an old-fashioned knocker upon a low green door. An elderly maid +appeared. I saw by the bleak glint of a pale eye that she meant to say, +"Not at home," and hastened to forestall her. + +"See if Captain Lorillard is in, and if so tell him that Princess di +Miramare has come from town on purpose for a talk with him," I flung in +the stolid face. + +There was no answer to that except obedience! The woman left me waiting +in a delightful little square hall furnished with a very few, very +beautiful, old things. And in a minute Robert Lorillard almost bounded +out of a room into which the maid had vanished. + +It was the first time we had seen each other since the day he married +June Dana. + +I had sat down on a cushioned chest in the hall. At sight of him I +jumped up, and meaning to hold out a hand, found myself holding out two! +He took both, pressed them, and without speaking we looked long at each +other. For both of us the past had come alive. + +He was the same, yet not the same. Certainly not less handsome, but +changed, as all men who have been through the war are changed--anyhow, +imaginative men. Though he had been back from the Front for over a year +(he was invalided out after his last wound, just before the Armistice) +the tan wasn't off his face yet, perhaps never would be. There were a +few lines round his eyes and a few silver threads in his black hair. He +smiled at me; but it was the smile of a man who has suffered, and known +a hell of loneliness. + +It was Robert who spoke first, saying entirely commonplace things in the +beautiful voice that used to thrill London. He was so glad to see me! +How nice it was of me to come! Then, suddenly, he remembered something. +I could _see_ him remembering. He remembered that he was supposed to be +away. + +"I ought to be in France," he said. "All my arrangements are made to go. +Yet I haven't got off. I'm glad now that I haven't." + +"So am I, very glad," I echoed. "I should have been too disappointed! +But--I _felt_ you wouldn't be gone." + +He looked somewhat startled. + +"I always was a procrastinator," he said. "Come into my study, won't +you?" + +Still holding me by the hand he led me like a child into the room out of +which he had shot--an adorable room, with a beamed ceiling and +diamond-paned windows looking under trees to the river. In front of his +desk--where he could glance up for inspiration as he wrote--was a +life-sized portrait of June, by Sargent; June in the gray dress and hat +she had worn the day she promised--no, _offered_--to marry Robert. + +"You see!" he said, with a slight gesture toward the picture, with its +bunched red-bronze hair and brilliant eyes of blue, "this is where I sit +and work." + +"And where used Joyce Arnold to sit and work?" something in me blurted +out. + +The man winced--just visibly--no more. His eyes flashed to mine a kind +of challenge. There was sudden anger in it, and pleading as well. Then, +of course, I _knew_--all I had come to find out. And he must have known +that I knew! + +But I'd come for a great deal more than finding out. + +I don't think I'm a coward, yet I was dreadfully frightened--in a blue +funk of doing or saying the wrong thing at a moment when it might be +"now or never." My knees felt like badly poached eggs with no toast to +repose upon. I lost my head a little, and what I did I didn't do really, +because it did itself. + +I looked as scared as I felt, and gasped: "Oh, _Robert_!" (I'd never +called him "Robert" to his face before; only behind his back.) + +My face of fright deflected his rage. You can't be furious with a +quivering jelly! But he didn't speak. The challenge in his eyes softened +to reproach. Then he looked at the portrait. + +"Miss Arnold sat where she, too, could see June," he answered quietly. + +"Poor, poor Joyce!" I said. "And poor you!" + +"What do you mean?" he asked. + +"Why, I mean--and I, too, can see June while I say it!--I mean that you +are making a terrible mistake. Oh, Robert Lorillard, don't pretend not +to understand. We're not two strangers fencing! I'm not just a bold +creature rushing in where angels fear to tread. I know!--I _have_ rushed +in, but I'm not bold. I'm frightened to death. Only--I had to come. +Every day I see that glorious girl breaking her heart. She hasn't said a +word, or looked a look, or wept a weep. She's a _soldier_. But she's +like a lost soul turned out of Paradise. The more I got to know of her +the more I felt you _couldn't_ have sent her away and found another +place for her because you were bored. So I came to see you. And you +needn't mind my knowing the real reason you sent her out of your house. +I won't tell her. If any one does that it must be you. And it _ought_ to +be you. You love each other. You belong to each other. You'd be divinely +happy together. You're wretched apart." + +"_You_ say that?" Robert exclaimed, when by sheer force of lungs I'd +made him hear me through. "You--June's friend!" + +"Yes. It's because I was her friend, and knew her so well, that I want +you to listen to your own heart; for if you don't, you'll break Joyce +Arnold's. June wouldn't want you to sacrifice your two lives on the +shrine of her memory. She loved happiness, herself. And she liked other +people to be happy." + +Robert's eyes lit, whether with joy or anger I couldn't tell. + +"You think June would be willing to have me marry another woman?" he +said. + +"Yes, I do, if you loved the woman. And you do love her. It would be +useless to tell me you don't." + +"I'm not going to tell you I don't. I've tried not to. I hoped she +didn't care." + +"She does. Desperately, frightfully. I do believe it's killing her." + +"God! And she saved my life. Elizabeth, I'd give mine for her, a dozen +times over, but----" + +"What she needs is for you to give it _to_ her, not for her: give it +once and for all, to have and to hold while your heart's in your body." + +I fired advice at him like bullets from a Maxim gun, and every bullet +reached its billet. I was so carried away by my wish for joy to rise +from tragedy that I hardly knew what I said, yet I felt that I had +caught Lorillard and carried him with me. The next thing I definitely +knew with my mere brain, I was sitting down with elbows on Robert's +desk, facing him as he leaned toward me. My whole self was a listening +Ear, while he told--as a man hypnotized might tell the hypnotizer--the +tale of his acquaintance with Joyce Arnold. + +I'd already learned from his letter and from words she had let drop that +Joyce had nursed him in a hospital in France, when she was "doing her +bit" as a V. A. D. But she had been silent about the life-saving +episode, which had won for her a decoration and Robert Lorillard's deep +admiration and gratitude. + +It seemed that during an air raid, when German machines were bombing the +hospital, Joyce had in her ward three officers just operated upon, and +too weak to walk. A bomb fell and killed one of these as Joyce and +another nurse were about to move his cot into the next ward. Then, in a +sudden horror of darkness and noise of destroying aeroplanes, she had +carried Robert in her arms to a place of comparative safety. After that +she had returned to her own ward and got the other man who lay in his +cot, though her fellow nurse had been struck down, wounded or dead. + +"How she did it I've never known, or she either," said Lorillard, +dreaming back into the past. "She's tall and strong, of course, and at +that time I was reduced to a living skeleton. Still, even in my bones +I'm a good deal bigger than she is. The weight must have been enough to +crush her, yet she carried me from one ward to another, in the dark, +when the light had been struck out. And the wound in my side never bled +a drop. It was like a miracle." + +"'Spect she loved you lots already, without quite knowing it," I told +him. "There've been miracles going on in the world ever since Christ, +and they always will go on, because love works them, and _only_ love. At +least, that's _my_ idea! And I don't believe God would have let Joyce +work that one, the way she did, if He hadn't meant her love to wake love +in you." + +"If I could think so," said Robert, "it would make all the difference; +for I've been fighting my own heart with the whole strength of my soul, +and it's been a hard struggle. I felt it would be such a hideous +treachery to June--my beautiful June, who gave herself to me as a +goddess might to a mortal!--the meanest ingratitude to let another woman +take her place when her back is turned--even such a splendid woman as +Joyce Arnold." + +"I know just how you feel," I humoured him. "You remember, I was with +June when she threw herself into your arms and offered to marry you. You +were in love with her, and you'd never dreamed till that minute there +was any hope. But that was a different love from this, I'm sure, because +no two girls could be more different, one from another, than June Dana +and Joyce Arnold. Your love for June was just glorious romance. Perhaps, +if she'd lived, and you and she had passed years together as husband and +wife, the wonderful colours of the glory would have faded a little. She +tired so of every-day things. But Joyce is born to be the companion of a +man she loves, and she would never tire or let him tire. You and June +hardly had enough time together to realize that you were married. And +it's over three years and a half since she--since the gods who loved her +let her die young. She can't come to this world again. She basked in joy +herself; and she won't grudge it to you, if she knows. And for you, joy +and Joyce are one, for the rest of both your lives." + +Lorillard sprang up suddenly and seized my hands. + +"Portia come back to life and judgment--I believe you're right!" he +cried. "Take me to town with you. Take me to Joyce!" + +As we stood, thrilled, hand in hand, the door opened. The same servant +who had let me in announced acidly: "_Another_ lady to see you, sir." + +The lady in question had come so near the door that she must have seen +us before we could start apart. + +I knew her at first glance: Opal Fawcett. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CHAIR AT THE SAVOY + + +It was five years since I'd seen Opal Fawcett--for the first and last +time, that day I went to her house with June. + +Then she had gleamed wraithlike in the purple dusk of her purple room, +with its purple-shaded lamps. Now she stood in full daylight, against +the frank background of a country cottage wall. Yet she was still a mere +film of a woman. She seemed to carry her own eerie effect with her +wherever she went, as the heroines of operas are accompanied by their +special spot-light and _leitmotif_. + +Whether the servant was untrained, or spiteful because a long-standing +rule had been broken in my favour, I can't tell. But I'm sure that, if +he'd been given half a chance, Robert would have made some excuse not to +see Opal. There she was, however, on the threshold, and looking like one +of those "Dwellers on the Threshold" you read of in psychic books. + +As he had no invisible cloak, and couldn't crawl under a sofa, poor +Robert was obliged to say pleasantly, "How do you do?" + +Standing back a little, trying to look about two inches tall instead of +five foot ten, I watched the greeting. I wanted to judge from it, if I +could, to what extent the old acquaintance had been kept up. But I might +have saved myself waste of brain tissue. Robert was anxious to leave no +mystery. + +"Princess," he said, hastily, when he had taken his guest's slim hand in +its gray glove, "Princess, I think you must have heard of Miss Opal +Fawcett." + +"Oh, yes. And we have met--once," I replied. + +Opal's narrow gray eyes turned to me--not without reluctance I thought. + +"I remember well," she murmured, in her plaintive voice. "I never forget +a face. You were Miss Courtenaye then. Lately I've been hearing of you +from Miss Arnold, who used to be my secretary, and is now yours." + +I was thankful she didn't bring in _June's_ name! + +"Miss Fawcett and I have known each other a good many years," Robert +hurried on. "She was once in a play with me, before she found her real +_métier_. She kindly comes to see me now and then, when she can take a +day off." + +"I want to bid you good-bye--if you are really going out of England," +Opal said. + +She had ceased to look at me now, but I went on looking hard at her. She +was in what might be a spirit conception of a motor costume: smoke gray +velvet, and yards of long, floating veil shot from gray to mauve. She +wore a close toque with two little jutting Mercury wings, from behind +which those yards of unnecessary chiffon fell. She had a narrow oval +face, which Nature and (I thought) Art combined to make pale as pearl. +Her hair, pushed forward by the toque, was so colourless a brown that it +looked like thick shadow. She had a beautifully cut, delicate nose, but +her lips were thin and the upper one rather long and flat, otherwise she +would have been pretty. Even as it was she had a kind of fascination, +and I thought her the most graceful, willowy creature I'd ever seen. + +"Well," said Robert, "as it happens I've put off going abroad, through a +kind of mental laziness. But in the ordinary course of events you'd have +come to-day only to find me gone--which would have been a pity. When I +answered your letter, I told you----" + +"Yes, but I _felt_ you'd still be here," she cut him short. "Apparently +the Princess had the same premonition." + +"Oh, I just happened to be passing," I fibbed, "and took my chance. +Fortunately, I came in the nick of time to give Captain Lorillard a lift +to town in my car. It will save him a journey by train." + +"Then I am in the nick of time, too!" said Opal. "If I'd been ten +minutes later I might have missed him. I felt _that_, too! I told my +taxi man to drive at least as fast as the legal limit." + +I guessed she was longing to get Robert to herself, and that he was glad +there was no chance of it. Was he _really_ going abroad? she wanted to +know. Or only just to London for a change? + +Robert was restive under her uncanny questionings, but answered that he +wasn't quite sure about the future. Travelling in France and Italy +seemed to be disagreeable at the moment. Passports, too, were a bother. +He'd be more certain of his plans in a few days, and would let her know. + +Opal betrayed no crude emotion. Yet I was sure that, under her +restrained manner--soft as a gentle breeze on a summer night--she would +have enjoyed stamping her foot and having hysterics. Instead, she asked +Robert about a psychic play she wanted him to write (he hadn't written a +line of it!), told him a little news concerning people they both knew, +and bethought herself that she "mustn't keep us." + +Not more than twenty minutes after she had floated in Miss Fawcett +floated forth again. Robert took her to her taxi, and then could hardly +wait to get off in my car. As for me, I'd forgotten all about the +Duchess. We chose the longer of the two roads to London, hoping to miss +Opal; but soon passed her taxi going at a leisurely pace. The Wraith +must have had another of her mystic "feelings," and counted on our +choice of that turning! + +"She says she has 'helpers' from beyond," Robert explained, when we were +flying on, far ahead. "She asks their advice, and they tell her what to +do in daily life. She wanted to provide me with one or two, but I wasn't +'taking any.' Not that I'm a convinced materialist, or that I don't +believe the dark veil can ever be lifted--I'm rather inclined the other +way round--but I prefer to manage my own affairs without 'helpers' I've +never known or seen on earth. Of course, it would be different if----Oh, +you know what I mean. But even then--well, I should be afraid of being +deceived. It's better not to begin anything like that when you can't be +sure." + +"Did Opal Fawcett ever try to persuade you to--to----?" Courage failed +me. But Robert understood only too well what was in my mind. + +"Yes, she did," he admitted. "She wrote me--after--that awful thing +happened. I hadn't heard from her for a long time till then. I'd almost +forgotten her existence. She said in the letter that June's spirit had +come to her with a message for me." + +"_Cheek!_" I exclaimed. + +"Well, I'm afraid that's rather the way I felt about it, though probably +Opal meant well, and a lot of people think she's wonderful. Several +friends begged me in urgent letters to go to Opal Fawcett: assured me +she'd given them indescribable comfort, put them in touch with those +they loved who'd 'passed on.' But somehow I couldn't be persuaded, +Princess. A voice inside me always used to say: 'Why should June want to +talk to you through Opal Fawcett? If she can come back, why shouldn't +she speak with you direct, instead of through a third person?'" + +"That's how I should have argued it out in your place," I agreed. +"And--and June never----?" + +"No. She never came, never made me realize her near presence, never +seemed to influence me in favour of Opal--though Opal didn't give up +till months had passed. When she first came after writing to say she +must see me, it was to beg me to visit her for _June's sake_. Afterward, +when she saw she was making me uncomfortable, she stopped her +persuasions. Since then--fairly often when Joyce Arnold was here--she +has turned up at the cottage: sometimes just for a friendly chat like an +ordinary human being (though I never feel she is one), sometimes to +discuss that 'psychic play'--as she calls it--an idea of hers she wants +me to work out for the stage." + +"Is it a good idea?" I wanted to know. + +"Yes. Mysterious and dramatic at the same time. Yet I've always made +excuses. I don't fancy collaborating with Miss Fawcett, though that may +sound ungrateful." + +It didn't, to my ears, especially as Opal's object seemed transparent as +the depths of her own crystal. Of course she was still in love with +Robert, and had seized first one chance, then another, of getting into +touch with him. I was rather sorry for her, in a vague, impersonal way; +for to love Robert Lorillard and lose him would hurt. I could realize +that, without the trouble and pain of being seriously in love with him +myself. + +"It's a good thing," I thought, "that Joyce Arnold's stopping with me at +this time and not with Opal Fawcett! It would be as much as the girl's +life is worth to be engaged to Robert in _that_ house!" + +Could Opal suspect, I wondered, the truth about the broken love story? +Somehow I thought not. I might be mistaken, but the rather patronizing +way in which she'd spoken of Joyce didn't seem like that of a jealous +woman. If Joyce and she had got upon each other's nerves lately because +of Robert, I imagined that suspicion had been on the other side. Joyce +would have been more than human if she could go on accepting hospitality +from a woman who so plainly showed her love for Robert Lorillard. + +We raced back to London, for I feared that Robert's mood might change +for the worse--that an autumn chill of remorse might shiver through his +veins. + +All was well, however--very well. I made him talk to me of Joyce nearly +the whole way; and at the end of the journey I had him waiting for her +in the drawing room of my flat before he quite knew what had happened to +him. + +My secretary was in her own room, writing her own letters as she'd said +she would do. + +"Back already, Princess?" she exclaimed, jumping up when I'd knocked and +been told to come in. "Why, you've hardly more than had time to get +there and back, it seems, to say nothing of lunch!" + +"I haven't had any lunch," I said. + +"No lunch? Poor darling! Why----" + +"I was too busy," I broke in. "And I wanted to get back." + +"Only this morning you were longing to go!" + +"I know! It does sound chameleon-like. But second thoughts are often +best. Come into the drawing room and you'll see that mine were--much +best." + +She came, in all innocence. I opened the door. I thrust her in. I +exclaimed: "Bless you, my children!" and shut the two in together. + +This was taking it boldly for granted that Joyce was as much in love +with Robert as he with her. But why be early Victorian and ignore the +lovely, naked truth, instead of late Georgian and save beating round the +bush for both of the lovers? + +Those words of mine figuratively flung them into each other's arms, +where--according to my idea--the sooner they were the better! + +I should think if my words missed fire, their eyes didn't miss, judging +from what I'd seen in hers when speaking of him, in his when speaking of +her! And certainly the pair of them couldn't have wasted _much_ time in +foolish preliminaries; for in about half an hour Joyce appeared in the +dining room, where I was eating an _immense_ luncheon. + +"Oh, Princess!" she breathed, hovering just over the threshold; and +instantly Robert loomed behind her. "It's too wonderful. It can't be +true." + +Robert didn't speak. He merely gazed. Years had rolled off him since +morning. He looked an inspired boy, with a dash of silver powder on his +hair. Slipping his arm round Joyce's waist he brought her to me. As I +sat at the table they both knelt down close to my feet, and each +earnestly kissed one of my hands! It would have been a beautiful effect +if I hadn't choked, trying wildly to bolt a mouthful of something, and +had to be slapped on the back. That choke was a disguised blessing, +however, for it made us all laugh when I got my breath; and when you're +on the top pinnacle of a great emotion, it's a safe outlet to laugh! + +My suggestion was, that nobody but our three selves should share the +secret, and that the wedding--to be hurried on--should be sprung as a +surprise upon the public. Robert and Joyce agreed on general principles; +but each made one exception. + +Robert said that he felt it would be "caddish" to make a bid for +happiness without telling the Duchess of Stane what was in his mind. She +couldn't reasonably object to his marrying again, and wouldn't object, +he argued; but if he didn't confide in her she'd have a right to think +him a coward. + +Joyce's one exception--of all people on earth!--was Opal Fawcett! And +when I shrieked "Why?" she'd only say that she "owed a debt of gratitude +to Opal." Therefore Opal had a right to know before any one else that +she was engaged. + +The girl didn't add "to Robert Lorillard," but a flash of intuition like +a searchlight showed me the meaning behind her words. Living in the same +house with Opal, eating Opal's bread and salt (very little else, I +daresay!), Joyce had guessed Opal's secret--or had been forced to hear a +confidence. That, and nothing else, was the reason why she wouldn't be +engaged to Robert "behind Opal's back!" + +Well, I hope I'm not precisely a coward myself, but I didn't envy Joyce +Arnold and Robert Lorillard their self-appointed tasks. They were +carried out, however, with soldierly promptness the day after the +engagement, and nothing terrific happened--or at least, was reported. + +"Opal was very sweet," Joyce announced, vouchsafing no details of the +interview. + +"The--Duchess was very sensible," was Robert's description of what +passed between him and his exalted ex-mother-in-law. + +"I suppose you asked them not to tell?" was my one question. + +"Oh, Opal _won't_ tell!" exclaimed Joyce; and I believed that she was +right. According to Opal's view, _telling_ things only helped them to +happen. + +"I begged the Duchess to say nothing to anybody," answered Robert. Our +eyes met, and we smiled--Robert rather ruefully. + +Of course the Duchess did the contrary of what she'd been begged to do, +and said something to everybody. In less than a week the world was aware +that Robert Lorillard, its lost idol, was coming back to life; that he +who had been for a few months the husband of wonderful June Dana--the +Duchess of Stane's daughter--was engaged to a "V.-A.-D. girl who'd +nursed him in the war, and had been his secretary or something." + +But, after all, the talk mattered very little to those most concerned. +They were divinely happy, the two who were talked about, though they +would have liked to be let alone. I suppose, for Robert, it was a +different kind of happiness from that which the condescension of his +goddess had given him: less dazzling perhaps; more like the warm +sweetness of early spring and its flowers, compared with a tropical +summer of scented magnolias and daturas. June had been a goddess +stepping down from her golden pedestal, and Joyce was a loving, adoring +human girl, ready for all that wifehood might mean. + +Robert shut up the little place by the river (where they planned to live +later), and stopped at an hotel in town, though he had never let the +flat in St. James's Square, the scene of his engagement to June. + +I began helping Joyce choose a trousseau that could be got together in +haste, for they were to go to the south of France and Italy for their +honeymoon; and one day, after shopping the whole morning and part of the +afternoon, we were to meet Robert for tea at the Savoy. + +You know that soft amber light there is in the big _foyer_ of the Savoy +at tea-time, like the beautiful subdued light in dreams? Since the war +it brings back to me ghosts of all the jolly, handsome boys one used to +see there, whose bodies sleep now under the poppies and _bluets_ of +France; and as Joyce and I walked in, rather late, the thought of those +boys and those days came over me with the sobbing music of the violins. + +"It's like the beat, beat of invisible hearts," I said to myself. And +suddenly I was sad. + +There sat Robert, waiting for us. He had taken a table for three, and +one of the chairs, I noticed, was a noble one covered with velvet +brocade--a chair like a Queen's throne. + +He rose at sight of us, and I saw that a little woman at a table close +by was looking at him with intense interest. In fact, her interest in +Robert gave her a kind of fictitious interest of her own, in my eyes, +she seemed so absorbed in him. + +She was one of those women you'd know to be American if you met them +crawling up the North Pole; and as she was in travelling dress I fancied +that it was not long since she had landed. + +"She probably admired him on the stage when she was here before the war, +and hasn't been in England since till now," I thought, to be interrupted +by Robert himself. + +"That armchair's for you, Princess," he said, as I was going to slip +into a smaller one and leave the "throne" for the bride-elect. + +For an instant we disputed; then I was about to yield, laughing, when +the little woman in brown jumped up with a gasp. + +"Oh, you _can't_ sit in that chair!" she exclaimed. "Don't you +_see_--there's someone there?" + +We all three started and stared, thinking, of course, that the creature +was mad. But her face looked sane, and pathetically pleading. + +"Do forgive me!" she begged. "I forget that everyone doesn't see what I +see. _They_ are so clear to me always. I'm not insane. But I couldn't +let you sit in that chair. You may have heard of me. I am Priscilla Hay +Reardon, of Boston. I can't at this moment give you the name of the +lovely girl--the lady in the chair--but she would tell me, I think, if I +asked her. I must describe her to you, though, she's so beautiful, and +she so wants you all--no, not _all_; only the gentleman--to recognize +her. She has red-brown hair, in glossy waves, and immense blue eyes, +like violet flame. She has a dainty nose; full, drooping red lips, the +upper one very short and haughty; a cleft in her chin; wonderful +complexion, with rosy cheeks, the colour high under the eyes; a long +throat; a splendid figure, though slim; and she is dressed in gray, with +an ostrich plume trailing over a gray hat that shades her forehead. She +has a string of gray pearls round her neck--_black_ pearls she says they +are; she wears a chiffon scarf held by an emerald brooch, and on her +hand is a ring with a marvellous square emerald." + +Robert, Joyce, and I were speechless. The description of June was +exact--June in the gray dress and hat she had worn the day we went to +Robert's rooms, the day they were engaged; the dress he had made her +wear when Sargent painted her portrait. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE SPIRIT OF JUNE + + +Before one of us could utter a word, the little woman hurried on. + +"Ah, the lovely girl has begun to talk very fast now! I can hardly +understand what she says, because she's half crying. It's to +you she speaks, sir; I don't know your name! But, yes--it's +_Robert_... 'Robert!' the girl is sobbing. 'Have you forgotten me +already?'... Do those words convey any special impression to your mind, +sir, or has this spirit mistaken you for someone else?" + +Robert was ghastly, and Joyce looked as if she were going to faint. Even +I--to whom this scene meant less than to them--even I was flabbergasted. +That is the _one_ word! If you don't know what it means, you're lucky, +because in that case you've never been it. I should translate from +experience: "FLABBERGASTED; astounded and bewildered at the same time, +with a slight dash of premature second childhood thrown in." + +I heard Robert answer in a strained voice: + +"The words do convey an impression to my mind. But--this is too +sacred--too private a subject. We can't discuss it here. I----" + +"I know!" the woman breathlessly agreed. "_She_ feels it, too. She +wouldn't have chosen a place like this. She's explaining--how for a long +time she's tried to reach you, but couldn't make you understand. Now +I've given her the chance. She's suffering terribly because of the +barrier between you. I pity her. I wish I could help! Maybe I could if +you'd care to come to my rooms. I'm staying in this hotel. I've just +arrived in England from Boston, the first visit in my life. I haven't +been in London much more than two hours now! I've got a little suite +upstairs." + +If she'd got a "little suite" at the Savoy, the woman must have money. +She couldn't be a common or garden medium cadging for mere fees. +Besides, no common or garden person, an absolute stranger to Robert +Lorillard, met by sheer accident, could have described June Dana and +that gray dress of four years ago; her jewels, too! Robert's name she +might have picked up if Joyce or I had let it drop by accident; but the +last was inexplicable. The thing that had happened--that was +happening--seemed to me miraculous, and tragic. I felt that Fate had +seized the bright bird of happiness and would crush it to death, unless +something intervened. And what could intervene? I struggled not to see +the future as a foregone conclusion. But I could see it in no other way +except by shutting my eyes. + +Robert turned to Joyce. He didn't say to her, "What am I to do?" Yet she +read the silent question and answered it. + +"Of course you must go," she said. "It--whether it's genuine or not, +you'll have to find out. You can't let it drop." + +"No, I can't let it drop," he echoed. He looked stricken. He, too, saw +the dark, fatal hand grasping the white bird. + +He had loved June passionately, but the beautiful body he'd held in his +arms lay under that sundial by the riverside. Her spirit was of another +world. And he'd not have been a human, hot-blooded man, if the +reproachful wraith of an old love could be more to him than the brave +girl who'd saved his life and won his soul back from despair. + +I saw, as if through their eyes, the thing they faced together, those +two, and suddenly I rebelled against that figure of Destiny. I was wild +to save the white bird before its wings had ceased to flutter. I didn't +know at all what to do. But I had to do something. I simply _had_ to! + +Miss Reardon rose. + +"Would you like to come with me now?" she asked, addressing Robert, not +Joyce or me. She ignored us, but not in a rude way. Indeed, there was a +direct and rather childlike simplicity in her manner, which impressed +one with her genuineness. I was afraid--horribly afraid--and almost +sure, that she _was_ genuine. I respected her against my will, because +she didn't worry to be polite; but at the same time I didn't intend to +be shunted. I determined to be in at the death--or whatever it was! + +"Aren't you going to invite us, too?" I asked. "If the--the apparition +is the spirit we think we recognize, she and I were dear friends." + +Miss Reardon's round, mild eyes searched my face. Then they turned as if +to consult another face which only they could see. It was creepy to +watch them gaze steadily at something in that big, _empty_ armchair. + +"Yes," she agreed. "The lady--Lady----Could it be 'June'?--It sounds +like June--says it's true you were her friend. But she says '_Not the +other._' The other mustn't come." + +"I wouldn't wish to come," Joyce protested. She was waxen pale. "I'll go +home," she said to Robert. "Don't bother about me. Don't think about me +at all. Afterward you can--tell me whatever you care to tell." + +"No!" Robert and I spoke together, moved by the same thought. "Don't go +home. Wait here for us." + +"Very well," the girl consented, more to save argument at such a moment, +I think, than because she wished to do what we asked. + +She sank down in one of the chairs we had taken and Robert and I +followed Miss Reardon. She appeared to think that we were sure to know +her name quite well. I didn't know it, for I was a stranger in the world +of Spiritualism. But her air of being modestly proud of the name seemed +to prove that her reputation as a medium was good--that she'd never been +found out in any fraud. And going up in the lift the words spoke +themselves over and over in my head: "She couldn't know who Robert is, +if it's true she's never been in England before, and if she has come to +London to-day. At least, I don't see how she could." + +In silence we let Miss Reardon lead us to the sitting room of her suite +on the third floor. It was small but pretty, and smelt of La France +roses, though none were visible, nor were there any other flowers there. +Robert and I looked at each other as this perfume rushed to meet us. La +France roses were June's favourites, and belonged to the month of her +birth. Robert had sent them to her often, especially when they were out +of season and difficult to get. + +"_She_ is here, waiting for us!" exclaimed Miss Reardon. "Oh, _surely_ +you must see her--on the sofa, with her feet crossed--such pretty +diamond buckles on her shoes!--and her lap full of roses. She holds up +one rose, she kisses it, to you--Robert--Robert--some name that begins +with L. I can't hear it clearly. But Robert is enough." + +Yes, Robert was enough--more than enough! + +Miss Reardon asked in an almost matter-of-fact way if he would like to +sit down on the sofa beside June, who wished him to do so. He didn't +answer; but he sat down, and his eyes stared at vacancy. I knew from +their expression, however, that he saw nothing. + +"What will be the next thing?" I wondered. + +I had not long to wait to find out! + +"_She_ asks me to take your hand and hers. Then she will talk to you +through me," Miss Reardon explained. As she spoke, she drew up a small +chair in front of the sofa, leaned forward, took Robert's right hand in +hers, and held out the left, as if grasping another hand--a hand unseen. + +As the medium did this, with thin elbows resting on thin knees, she +closed her eyes. A look of _blankness_ came over her face like a mist. I +can't describe it in any other way. Presently her chin dropped slightly. +She seemed to sleep. + +Neither Robert nor I had uttered a word since we entered the room. We +waited tensely. + +Just what I expected to happen I hardly know, for I had no experience of +"manifestations" or séances. But what did happen surprised me so that I +started, and just contrived to suppress a gasp. + +A voice. It did not sound like Miss Reardon's voice, with its rather +pleasant American accent. It was a creamy English voice, young and +full-noted. "_June!_" I whispered under my breath, where I sat across +the length of the room from the sofa. I glanced at Robert. There was +surprise on his face, and some other emotion deep as his heart. But it +was not joy. + +"Dearest, have you forgotten me so soon?" the voice asked. "Speak to me! +It's I, your June." + +It was a wrench for Robert to speak, I know. There was the pull of +self-consciousness in the opposite direction--distaste for conversation +with the Invisible while alien eyes watched, alien ears listened. And +then, to reply as if to June, was virtually to admit that he believed in +her presence, that all doubt of the medium was erased from his mind. But +after a second's pause he obeyed the command. + +"No," he said, "I've not forgotten and I never can forget." + +"Yet you are engaged to marry this Joyce Arnold!" mourned the voice that +was like June's. + +I almost jumped out of my chair at the sound of Joyce's name. It was +another proof that the medium was genuine. + +Robert's tone as he answered was more convinced than before I thought. +And the youth had died out of his eyes. They looked old. + +"Do you want me to live all my life alone, now that I've lost you, +June?" he asked. + +"Darling, you are not alone!" answered the voice. "I'm always with you. +I love you so much that I've chosen to stay near you, and be earth +bound, rather than lead my own life on the plane where I might be. I +thought you would want me here. I thought that some day, if I tried long +enough, you would feel my touch, you would see my face. After a while I +hoped I was succeeding. I looked at you from the eyes of my portrait in +your study. Now and then it seemed as if you _knew_. But then that girl +interfered. Oh, Robert, in giving up my progression from plane to plane +till you could join me, has the sacrifice been all in vain?" + +The voice wrung my heart. It shook as with a gust of fears. Its pleading +sent little stabs of ice through my veins. So what must Robert have +felt? + +"No, no! The sacrifice isn't in vain!" he cried. "I didn't know, I +didn't understand that those on the other side came back to us, and +cared for us in the same way they cared on earth. I am yours now and +always, June, of course. Order my life as you will." + +"Ah, my dear one, I thank you!" The voice rose high in happiness. "I +felt you wouldn't fail me if I could only _reach_ you, and at last my +prayer is answered. Nothing can separate us now through eternity if you +love me. You won't marry that girl?" + +"Not if it is against your wish, June. It must be that you see things +more clearly, where you are, than I can see them. If you tell me to +break my word to Joyce Arnold, I must--I will do so." + +"I tell you this, my dearest," said the voice. "If you do _not_ break +with her, you and I are lost to each other for ever. When I chose to be +earth bound I staked everything on my belief in your love. Without it in +_full_, I shall drift--drift, through the years, through ages, I know +not how long, in expiation. Besides, I am not _dead_, I am more alive +than I was in what you call life. You are my husband, beloved, as much +as you ever were. Think what I suffer seeing another woman in your arms! +My capacity for suffering is increased a thousandfold--as is my capacity +for joy. If you make her your wife----" + +"I will not!" Robert choked. "I promise you that. Never shall you suffer +through me if I can help it." + +"Darling!" breathed the voice. "My husband! How happy you make me. This +is our true _marriage_--the marriage of spirits. Oh, do not let the +barrier rise between us again. Put Joyce Arnold out of your heart as +well as your life, and talk to me every day in future. Will you do +that?" + +"How can I to talk to you every day?" he asked. + +"As we are talking now. Through a medium. This one will not always be +near you. But there will be somebody. I've often tried to get word +through to you. I never could, because you wouldn't _believe_. Now you +believe, and we need not be parted again. You know the way to _open the +door_. It is never shut. It stands ajar. Remember!" + +"I will remember," Robert echoed. And his voice was sad as the sound of +the sea on a lonely shore at night. There was no warm happiness for him +in the opening of a door between two worlds. The loss of Joyce was more +to him than the gain of this spirit-wife who claimed him from far off as +all her own. It seemed to me that a released soul should have read the +truth in his unveiled heart. But perhaps it did read--and did not care. + +The voice was talking on. + +"I am repaid for everything now," it said. "My sacrifice is no +sacrifice. For to-day I must say good-bye. Power is leaving me. I have +felt too much. I must rest, and regain vitality--for to-morrow. +_To-morrow_, Robert, my Robert! By that time we can talk with no +restraint, for you will have parted with Joyce Arnold. After to-day you +will never see her again?" + +"No. After to-day I will never see her again, voluntarily, as that is +your wish." + +"Good! What time to-morrow will you talk with me?" + +"At any time you name." + +"At this same hour, then, in this same room." + +"So be it. If the medium consents." + +"I shall make her consent. And you and I will agree upon someone else to +bring us together, when she must go elsewhere, as I can see through her +mind that she soon must. Good-bye, dearest husband, for twenty-four long +hours. Yet it isn't really good-bye, for I am seldom far from you. Now +that you _know_, you will feel me near. I----" + +The voice seemed to fade. The last words were a faint whisper. The new +sentence died as it began. The medium's eyelids quivered. Her flat +breast rose and fell. The "influence" was gone! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE BARGAIN + + +That night was one of the worst in my life. I was so fond of Robert +Lorillard, and I'd grown to love Joyce Arnold so well that the breaking +of their love idyll hurt as if it had been my own. + +Never shall I forget the hour when we three talked together at my flat +after that séance at the Savoy, or the look on those two faces as Robert +and Joyce agreed to part! Even I had acquiesced at first in that +decision--but only while I was still half stunned by the shock of the +great surprise, and thrilled by the seeming miracle. At sight of the two +I loved quietly giving each other up, making sacrifice of their hearts +on a cold altar, I had a revulsion of feeling. + +I jumped up, and broke out desperately. + +"I don't believe it's true! Something _tells_ me it isn't! Don't spoil +your lives without making sure." + +"How can we be surer than we are?" Robert asked. "You recognized June's +voice." + +"I _thought_ then that I did," I amended. "I was excited. Now, I don't +trust my own impression." + +"But the perfume of La France roses? Even if the woman could have found +out other things, how should she know about a small detail like June's +favourite flower? How could she have the perfume already in her room +when we came--as if she were sure of our coming there--which of course +she couldn't have been," Robert argued. + +"I don't _see_ how she could have been sure," I had to grant him. "I +don't see through any of it. But they're so deadly clever, these +people--the fraudulent ones, I mean. They couldn't impress the public as +they do if they weren't up to every trick. All I say is, _wait_. Don't +decide irrevocably yet. The way the voice talked didn't seem to me a bit +like June. Only the tones were like hers; and they might have been +imitated by anybody who'd known her, or who'd been coached by someone." + +"Dear Princess, you're so anxious for our happiness that I fear you're +thinking of impossible things. Who could have an object in parting Joyce +and me? I can think of no one. Still less could this stranger from +America have a motive, even if she lied, and really knew who I was +before she spoke to us at the Savoy." + +"I admit it does sound just as impossible as you say!" I agreed, +forlornly. "But things that _sound_ impossible may be possible. And we +must find out. In justice to Joyce and yourself--even in justice to +June's spirit, which I _can't_ think would be so selfish--we must find +out!" + +"What would you suggest?" Joyce asked rather timidly. But there was a +faint colour in her cheeks, like a spark in the ashes of hope. + +"Detectives!" I said. "Or rather _a_ detective. I know a good man. He +served me very well once, when some of our family treasures disappeared +from Courtenaye Abbey, and it rather looked as if I'd stolen them +myself. He can learn without any shadow of doubt when Miss Reardon did +land, and when she came to London. Besides, he's sure to have colleagues +on the other side who can give him all sorts of details about the woman: +how she's thought of at home, whether she's ever been caught out as a +cheat, and so on. Will you both consent to that? Because if you will, +I'll 'phone to my man this moment." + +They did consent. At least, Robert did, for Joyce left the decision +entirely to him. She was so afraid, poor girl, of seeming determined to +_hold_ him at any price, that she would hardly speak. As for Robert, +though he felt that I was justified in getting to the bottom of things, +I saw that he believed in the truth of the message he'd received. If it +were not the spirit of June who had come to command his allegiance, he +still had a right to his warm earthly happiness with Joyce Arnold. But +if it were indeed her spirit who claimed all he had to give for the rest +of life, it was a fair debt, and he would pay in full. + +I received the detective (my old friend Smith) alone, in another room, +when he came. The necessary discussion would have been torture for +Robert and intolerable for Joyce. When Smith left I had at least this +encouragement to give the two: it would be simple to learn what I wished +to learn about Miss Reardon, on both sides of the Atlantic. + +That was better than nothing. But it didn't make the dark watches of the +night less dark. I had an ugly presentiment that Smith, smart as he was, +would get hold of little to help us, if anything. Yet at the same time I +felt that there _was_ something to get hold of--somewhere! + +If I hadn't implored them to wait, Joyce and Robert would have decided +to publish the news that their marriage (which somehow everyone knew +about!) would "not take place." This concession they did make to me; but +they agreed together that they mustn't meet. My cheerful flat felt like +a large grave fitted with all modern conveniences, when it had been +deprived of Robert. And Joyce trying to be normal and not to shed gloom +over me, her employer, was _too_ agonizing! + +Robert didn't even write to Joyce. I suppose he couldn't trust himself. +But he wrote to me, and gave the history of his second interview with +Miss Reardon. June had come again, and had reminded him of incidents +about which, he said, "no outsider could possibly know." + +"I can't help believing now that there are more things in heaven and +earth than I'd dreamed of in my philosophy," he ended his letter. +"There's no getting round the fact that what I should have thought a +miracle has happened. The spirit of June has claimed me from the 'other +side.' And even if I were brutal enough, disloyal enough, to disown the +claim, to pretend to Joyce and myself that I _didn't_ believe, neither +Joyce nor I could have a moment's happiness, married. She knows that as +well as I do. As my wife her life would be spoiled. June would always +stand between us, separating us one from the other. I think I should be +driven mad. Joyce's heart would be broken! + +"I've promised to talk with June through a medium every day. Miss +Reardon has to leave London in a fortnight, but June's voice asked me to +go to Opal Fawcett. You remember my telling you that Opal suggested this +long ago, saying that June wanted to get in touch with me? I wouldn't +hear of it then, because at that time I had no reason to believe in the +genuineness of visits from one world to another. Now it's different. I +shall go to Opal. + +"Tell Joyce that I'll write her to-night. It won't be a letter such as I +should wish to write. But she will understand." + +Yes, she would understand! One could always trust Joyce to understand, +even if she were on the rack! + +It was the next day--the third day after the unforgettable one at the +Savoy--when my tame detective brought his budget. He would have come +even sooner, he said, if there hadn't been a delay in the cable service. + +Miss Reardon, Smith learned, had never been exposed as an impostor. She +was respected personally, and had attained a certain amount of fame both +in Boston (where she lived) and New York. She had been several times +invited to visit England, but had never been able to accept until now. +She had arrived by the ship and at the time stated. When we met her at +the Savoy, she could not have been more than two hours in London. +Therefore her story seemed to be true in every detail, and what was +more, she had not been met at ship or train by any one. + +I simply _hated_ poor dear little Smith. He ought to have nosed out +_something_ against the woman! What are detectives _for_? + +"You've been an angel to fight for my happiness," Joyce said. "I adore +you for it. And so does Robert, I know--though he mustn't put such +feelings into words, or even _have_ feelings if he can help it. There's +nothing more to fight about now. The best thing I can pray for is that +Robert may forget our--dream, and that he may be happy in this other +dream--of June." + +"And you?" I asked. "What prayer do you say for yourself? Do _you_ pray +to forget?" + +"Oh, no!" she answered. "I don't want to forget. I wouldn't forget, if I +could. You see, it wasn't a dream to me. It was--it always will be--the +best thing in my life--the glory of my life. In my heart I shall live it +all over and over again till I die. I don't mind suffering. I've seen so +much pain in the war, and the courage that went with it. I shall have my +roses--not La France; deep red roses they'll be, red as blood, and sharp +with thorns, but sweet as heaven. There!" and her voice changed. "Now +you know, Princess! We'll never speak of this again, because we don't +need to, do we?" + +"No--o," I agreed. "You're a grand girl, Joyce, worth two of----But +never mind! And I'll try to make you as happy as I can." + +She thanked me for that; she was always thanking me for something. Soon, +however, she broke the news that she must go away. She loved me and her +work, yet she couldn't stop in London; she just couldn't. Not as things +were. If Robert had been turning his back on England she might have +stayed. But his promise to communicate with June daily through Opal +bound him to London. Joyce thought that she might try India. She had +friends there in the Army and in the Civil Service. She might do useful +work as a nurse among the purdah women and their babies, where mortality +was very high, she'd heard. "I _must_ be busy--busy every minute of the +day," she cried, hiding her anguish with that smile of hers which I'd +learned to love. + +What Robert had said to her in his promised letter, the only one he +wrote, she didn't tell. I knew no more than that it had been written and +received. Probably it wasn't an ideal letter for a girl to wear over her +heart, hidden under her dress. Robert would have felt it unfair to write +that kind of letter. All the same I'm sure that Joyce _did_ wear it +there! + +As for me, I was absolutely _sick_ about everything. I felt as if my two +dearest friends had been put in prison on a false charge, and as +though--if I hadn't cotton wool for a brain--I ought to be able to get +them out. + +"There's a clue to the labyrinth if I could see it," I told myself so +often that I was tired of the thought. And the most irritating part was +that now and then I seemed to catch a half glimpse of the clue dangling +back and forth like a thread of spider's web close to my eyes. But +invariably it was gone before I'd _really_ caught sight of it. And all +the good that _concentrating_ did was to bump my intelligence against +the pale image of Opal Fawcett. + +I didn't understand how Opal, even with the best--or worst--will in the +world, could have stage-managed this drama, though I should have liked +to think she had done it. + +Miss Reardon frankly admitted having heard of Opal (who hadn't heard of +her), among those interested in spiritism, during the last few years; +but as the American woman had never before been in England, and Opal had +never crossed to America, the Boston medium hardly needed to say that +she'd never met Miss Fawcett. As for correspondence, if there _were_ a +secret between the pair, of course they'd both deny it. And so, though I +longed to fling a challenge to Opal, I saw that it would be stupid to +put the two women, if guilty, on their guard. Besides, how _could_ they, +through any correspondence, have contrived the things that had happened? + +Suddenly, through the darkness of my doubts, shot a lightning flash: the +thought of Jim Courtenaye. + +Superficially judging, Sir James Courtenaye, wild man of the West, but +lately transplanted, appeared the last person to assist in working out a +psychic problem. All the same a great longing to prop myself against him +(figuratively!) overwhelmed me; and for fear the impulse might pass, I +wired at once: + + Please come if you can. Wish to consult you. + + ELIZABETH DI MIRAMARE. + +Jim was, as usual, hovering between Courtenaye Coombe and Courtenaye +Abbey. There were hours between us, even by telegraph, and the best I +expected was an answer in the afternoon to my morning's message. But at +six o'clock his name was announced, and he walked into the drawing room +of my flat as large as life, or a size or two larger. + +"Good gracious!" I gasped. "You've _come_?" + +"You're not surprised, are you?" he retorted. + +"Why, yes," I said. "I didn't suppose----" + +"Then you're not so brainy as I thought you were," said he. "Also you +didn't look at time-tables. What awful catastrophe has happened to you, +Elizabeth, to make you want to see me?" + +I couldn't help laughing, although I didn't feel in the least like +laughter; and besides, he had no right to call me Elizabeth. + +"Nothing has happened to _me_," I explained. "It's to somebody else----" + +"Oh, somebody you've been trying to 'brighten,' I suppose?" + +"Yes, and failed," I confessed. + +He scowled. + +"A man?" + +"A man and his girl." Whereupon I emptied the whole story into the bowl +of Jim's intelligence. + +"Do you see light?" I asked at last. + +"No," he returned, stolidly. "I don't." + +Oh, how disappointed I was! I'd hardly known how much I'd counted on Jim +till I got that answer. + +"But I might find some," he added, when he'd watched the effect of his +words on me. + +"How?" I implored. + +"There's only one way, if any, to get the kind of light you want," said +Jim. "It might be a difficult way, and it might be a long one." + +"Yet you think light _could_ be got? The kind of light I want?" I +clasped my hands and deliberately tried to look irresistible. + +"Who can tell? The one thing certain is, that trying would take all my +time away from everything else, maybe for weeks, maybe for months." + +His tone made my face feel the way faces look in those awful concave +mirrors: about three feet in length and three inches in width. + +"Then you won't undertake the task?" I quavered. + +"I don't say that," grudged Jim. + +"You _wouldn't_ say it if you could meet Joyce Arnold," I coaxed. "She's +such a darling girl. Poor child, she's out now, pulling strings for a +job in India." + +"Meeting her wouldn't make any difference to me," said Jim. "It's for +you I'd try to bring off this stunt--if I tried at all." + +"Oh, then do it for me," I broke out. + +"That's what I was working up to," he replied. "I wouldn't say 'yes' and +I wouldn't say 'no' till I knew what you'd do for me in return if I +succeeded." + +"Why, I'd thank you a thousand times!" I cried. "I'd--I'd never forget +you as long as I live." + +"There's not much in that for me. I hate being thanked for things. And +what good would it do me to be remembered by you at a distance, perhaps +married to some beast or other?" + +"But if I marry I sha'n't marry a beast," I sweetly assured my +forty-fourth cousin four times removed. + +"I should think any man you married a beast, if he wasn't me," said Jim. + +"Good heavens!" I breathed. "Surely _you_ don't want to marry me!" + +"Surely I do," he retorted. "And what's more, you know it jolly well." + +"I don't." + +"You do. You've known it ever since that affair of the yacht. If you +hadn't, you wouldn't have asked me to hide the Scarlett kid. I knew then +that you knew. And you'd be a fool if you hadn't known--which you're +not." + +I said no more, because--I was found out! I _had_ known. Only, I hadn't +let myself think about it much--until lately perhaps. But now and then I +_had_ thought. I'd thought quite a good deal. + +When he had me silenced, Jim went on: + +"Just like a woman! You're willing to let me sacrifice all my +engagements and inclinations to start off on a wild-goose chase for you, +while you give nothing in return----" + +"But I would!" I cut in. + +"What would you give?" + +"What do you want?" + +"Yourself, of course." + +"Oh!" + +"If you'll marry me in case I find out that someone's been playing a +devil's trick on Lorillard," said Jim, "I'll do--my damnedest! How's +that?" + +I shrugged my shoulders, and looked debonair; which was easy, as my nose +is that shape. Yet my heart pounded. + +"You seem to think the sacrifice of your engagements and inclinations +worth a big price!" + +"I know it's a big price," he granted. "But every man has his price. +That happens to be mine. You may not have to pay, however, even in the +event of my success. Because, in the course of my operations I may do +something that'll land me in quod. In that case, you're free. I wouldn't +mate you with a gaol bird." + +I stared, and gasped. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Don't you know me intimately enough to be sure that once I'm on the +warpath I stop at nothing?" he challenged. + +"I don't think you'd be easy to stop," I said. "That's why I've called +on you to help me. But really, I can't understand what there is in the +thing to send you to prison." + +"You don't need to understand," snorted Jim. "I sha'n't get there if I +can keep out, because that would be the way to lose my prize. But I +suppose from your point of view the great thing is for your two dearest +friends to be happy ever after." + +"Not at a terrible cost to you," I just stopped myself from saying. +Instead, I hedged: "You frighten me!" I cried. "And you make me +curious--_fearfully_ curious. What _can_ you be meaning to do?" + +"That's my business!" said Jim. + +"You've got a plan--already?" + +"Yes, I've got a plan--already, if----" + +"If what?" + +"If you agree to the bargain. Do you?" + +I nodded. + +He seized my hand and squeezed it hard. + +"Then I'm off," he said. "You won't hear from me till I have news, good +or bad. And meanwhile I have no address." + +With that he was gone. + +I felt as if he had left me alone in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE LAST SÉANCE + + +The only way in which I could keep Joyce with me for a little while +longer was by pretending to be ill. _That_ fetched her. And it wasn't +all pretense, either, because I was horribly worried, not only about her +and Robert, but about Jim. And about myself. + +I said not a word to Joyce of Jim and his mission. So far as she knew +I'd abandoned hope--as she had. We heard nothing from Robert, or +concerning him, and each day that built itself up was a gloomier _cul de +sac_ than the last. + +Bye and bye there came the end of Miss Reardon's fortnight in London. +"Now Robert will be turned over to Opal," I groaned to myself. And I was +sure that the same thought was in the mind of Joyce. Just one or two +days more, and after that a long monotony of bondage for him, year in +and year out! + +As I waked in the morning with these words on my lips, Joyce herself +knocked, playing nurse, with a tray of coffee and toast. + +"I would have let you sleep on," she said, "but a note has come by +messenger for you, with 'Urgent' on the envelope in such a nice +handwriting I felt you'd want to have it. So I brought your breakfast at +the same time." + +The nice handwriting was Jim's. He had vowed not to write till there was +"news, good or bad." My fingers trembled as I tore open the letter. I +read: + + Make Lorillard invite you and Miss Arnold _and your fiancé_ to a + séance before Miss Reardon goes. It will have to be to-day or + to-morrow. Don't take "no" for an answer. Manage it somehow. If you + insist, Lorillard will force Reardon to consent. When the stunt's + fixed up, let me hear at once. + + Yours, Jim. + +L---- is at his flat. You know the address. + +By Jove! This was a facer! Could I bring the thing off? But I simply +_must_. I knew Jim well enough to be sure that the clock of fate had +been wound up by him, ready to strike, and that it wouldn't strike if I +didn't obey orders. + +I pondered for a minute whether or no to tell Joyce, but quickly decided +_no_. The request must first come from Robert. + +I braced myself with hot coffee, and thought hard. Then I asked Joyce +for writing materials, and scribbled a note to Robert. I wrote: + + There is a reason why you _must_ get us invited by Miss Reardon to + the last séance she gives before leaving. When I say "us," I mean + _Joyce_ as well as myself, and the man I've just promised to marry. + I know this will seem shocking to you, perhaps impossible, as you + agreed not to see Joyce again, "_voluntarily_." But oh, Robert, + trust me, and _make_ it possible for the sake of a brave girl who + once saved your life at the risk of her own. Seeing her this time + won't count as "voluntary" on your part. It is necessary. + +When the note was ready I said to Joyce that I'd just had news of Robert +Lorillard from a great friend of mine who was much interested in his +welfare. This news necessitated my writing Robert, and as I was still in +bed I must request her to send the letter by hand. + +"Go out to the nearest post office yourself, and have a messenger take +it," I directed. + +While she was gone I got up, bathed, and put on street dress for the +first time since I'd been "playing 'possum." + +I felt much better, I explained when Joyce came back, and added that, +later in the day, I might even be inclined "for a walk or something." + +"If you're so well as that, you'll be ready to let me go to India soon, +won't you, dear?" she hinted. No doubt my few words about Robert, and +the sight of his name on a letter, had made the poor girl desperate +under her calm, controlled manner. + +I was desperate, too, knowing that her whole future depended on the +success of Jim's plan. If it failed, I should have to let her go, and +all would be over! + +"You must do what's best for you," I answered. "But don't talk about it +now. Wait till to-morrow." + +Joyce was dumb. + +Hours passed, and no reply from Robert. I began to fear he'd gone +away--or that he was hideously offended. We'd got through a pretence of +luncheon, when at last a messenger came. Thank heaven, Robert's +handwriting was on the envelope! + +He wrote: + + I don't understand your wish, dear Princess. It seems like + deliberate torture of Joyce and me that she should be present when + I am visited by the spirit of June--for that is what actually + happens. June materializes. I see her, as well as hear her voice. + Can Joyce bear this? You seem to think she can, and so I must. For + you are a friend of friends, and you wouldn't put me to such a test + without the best of reasons. + + I expected that Miss Reardon would refuse to receive strangers on + such an occasion. But rather to my surprise she has consented, and + a séance is arranged for this evening at nine o'clock in her rooms. + To-morrow would have been too late, as she is leaving for the south + of France, to stay with some American millionairess at Cannes, who + hopes to get into touch with a son on the Other Side. You see, I + don't use that old, cold word "dead." I couldn't now I know how + near, and how like their earthly selves, are those who go beyond. + + So you are engaged to be married! Don't think I'm indifferent + because I leave mention of your news till the last. I'm deeply + interested. Bless you, Princess! + + Yours ever, R. L. + +I read this letter, destroying it (in case Joyce became importunate), +and then broke it to her that Robert earnestly wished us to attend the +last séance with Miss Reardon. + +She turned sickly white. + +"I can't go!" she almost sobbed. "I simply can't." + +Then I said that it would hurt Robert horribly if she didn't. He +wouldn't have asked such a thing without the strongest motive. I would +be with her, I went on; and tried to pull her thoughts up out of tragic +gulfs by springing the news of my engagement upon her. It may have +sounded irrelevant, almost heartlessly so, but it braced the girl. And +she little guessed that the engagement would not exist save for Robert +and her! + +I 'phoned Jim at the address on his letter, a house in Westminster +which--when I happened to notice--was in the same street as Opal +Fawcett's. It was a relief to hear his voice answer "Hello!" for he had +demanded immediate knowledge of our plans; and goodness knew what +mysterious preparations for his _coup_ he might have to elaborate. + +He would meet us at the Savoy, he said, at 8:45, and I could introduce +him to Miss Reardon before the séance began. + +Joyce and I started at 8:30, in a taxi, having made a mere stage +pretence of dinner. We hardly spoke on the way, but I held her hand, and +pressed it now and then. + +Jim was waiting for us just inside the revolving doors of the hotel. + +"I'd have liked to come for you in a car," he said aside to me, "but I +thought it would be hard on Miss Arnold--and maybe on you--to have more +of my society than need be, you know!" + +"Why on me?" I hastily inquired. + +His black eyes blazed into mine. + +"Well, I've sort of blackmailed you, haven't I?" + +"Have you?" + +"Into this engagement of ours." + +"Oh, I haven't got time to think of that just now!" I snapped. "Let's go +to Miss Reardon's rooms." + +We went. Jim said no more, except to mention that Captain Lorillard had +already gone up. + +Joyce may have imagined Jim to be the "great friend interested in +Robert's welfare," but as for me, I wondered how he knew Robert by +sight. Then I scolded myself: "Silly one! Hasn't he been +watching--playing detective for you?" + +It was poignant, remembering the last time when Robert, Joyce, and I had +met in Miss Reardon's sitting room--the last day of their happiness. But +we greeted each other quietly, like old friends, though Joyce's heart +must have contracted at sight of the man's changed face. All the renewed +youth and joyous manhood her love had given him had burned out of his +eyes. He looked as he'd looked when I saw him that day at River Orchard +Cottage. + +Miss Reardon was slightly nervous in manner, and flushed like a girl +when I introduced Sir James Courtenaye to her. But soon she recovered +her prim little poise, and began making arrangements for the séance. + +"Mr. Lorillard has already tested my _bona fides_ to his own +satisfaction," she said. "He has examined my small suite, and knows that +no person, no theatrical 'properties' are concealed about the place. If +any of you would like to look around, however, before we start, I'm more +than willing. Also if you'd care to bind my hands and feet, or sit in a +circle and hold me fast, I've no objection." + +As she made this offer, she glanced from one to the other of us. Pale, +silent Joyce shook her head. Jim "left it to Princess di Miramare," and +I decided that if Captain Lorillard was satisfied, we were. + +"Very well," purred Miss Reardon. "In that case there's nothing more to +wait for. Captain Lorillard, will you switch off the lights as usual?" + +"Oh!" I broke in, surprised, "I thought you'd told us that the +'influence' was just as strong in light as darkness?" + +"That is so," replied the medium, "except for materialization. For that, +darkness is essential. There's some _quality_ in darkness that They +need. They can't get the _strength_ to materialize in light conditions." + +"How can we see anything if the room's pitch-black?" I persisted. + +"Explain to your friends, Captain Lorillard, what takes place," bade +Miss Reardon. + +"When--June comes--she brings a faint radiance with her--seems to evolve +it out of herself," Robert said in a low voice. + +As he spoke he switched off the light, and profound silence fell upon +us. + +Some moments passed, and nothing happened. + +Joyce and I sat with locked cold hands. I was on the right of the +medium, and from my chair quite close to hers could easily have reached +out and touched her, if I'd wished. On her left, at about the same +distance, sat Robert. Jim was the only one who stood. He had refused a +chair, and propped his long length against the wall between two doors: +the door opening into the hall outside the suite, and that leading to +Miss Reardon's bedroom and bath. + +We could faintly hear each other breathe. Then, after five or six +minutes, perhaps, I heard odd, gasping sounds as if someone struggled +for breath. These gasps were punctuated with moans, and I should have +been frightened if the direction and nearness of the queer noise hadn't +told me at once that it came from the medium. I'd never before been to a +materializing séance, yet I felt instinctively that this was the +convulsive sort of thing to expect. + +Suddenly a dim light--oh, hardly a light!--a pale greenish glimmer, as +if there were a glowworm in the room--became faintly visible. It seemed +to swim in a delicate gauzy mist. Its height above the floor (this was +the thought flashing into my mind) was about that of a tall woman's +heart. A perfume of La France roses filled the room. + +At first our eyes, accustomed to darkness, could distinguish nothing +except this glowworm light and the surrounding haze of lacy gray. Then, +gradually, we became conscious of a figure--a slender shape in floating +draperies. More and more distinct it grew, as slowly it moved toward +us--toward Robert Lorillard; and my throat contracted as I made out the +semblance of June Dana. + +The form was clad in the gray dress which Miss Reardon had so +surprisingly described when we met her first--the dress June had worn +the day of her engagement--the dress of the portrait at River Orchard +Cottage. The gray hat with the long curling plume shaded the face, and +so obscured it that I should hardly have recognized it as June's had it +not been for the thick wheel of bright, red-brown hair on each side +bunching out under the hat exactly as June had worn her hair that year. +A long, thin scarf filmed like a cloud round the slowly moving figure, +looped over the arms, which waved gracefully as if the spirit-form swam +in air rather than walked. There was an illusive glitter of rings--just +such rings as June had worn: one emerald, one diamond. A dark streak +across the ice-white throat showed her famous black pearls; +and--strangest thing of all--the green light which glimmered through +filmy folds of scarf was born apparently in a glittering emerald brooch. + +At first the vision (which might have come through the wall of the room, +for all we could tell) floated toward Robert. None save spirit-eyes +could have made him out distinctly in the darkness that was lit only by +the small green gleam. But I fancied that he always sat in the same seat +for these séances; he had taken his chair in a way so matter of course. +Therefore the spirit would know where to find him! + +Within a few feet of distance, however, the form paused, and swayed as +if undecided. "She has seen that there are others in the room besides +Robert and the medium," I thought. "Will she be angry? Will she vanish?" + +Hardly had I time to finish the thought, however, when the electricity +was switched on with a click. The light flooding the room dazzled me for +a second, but in the bright blur I saw that Jim Courtenaye had seized +the gray figure. All ghostliness was gone from it. A woman was +struggling with him in dreadful silence--a tall, slim woman with June +Dana's red-bronze hair, June Dana's gray dress and hat and scarf. + +She writhed like a snake in Jim's merciless grasp, but she kept her head +bent not to show her face, till suddenly in some way her hat was knocked +off. With it--caught by a hatpin, perhaps--went the gorgeous, bunched +hair. + +"A wig!" I heard myself cry. And at the same instant Joyce gasped out +"_Opal!_" + +Yes, it was Opal, disguised as June, in the gray dress and hat and +scarf, with black pearls and emeralds all copied from the portrait--and +the haunting fragrance of roses that had been June's. + +The likeness was enough to deceive June's nearest and dearest in that +dimmest of dim lights which was like the ghost of a light, veiled with +all those chiffon scarves. But with the room bright as day, all +resemblance, except in clothes and wig and height, vanished at a glance. + +The woman caught in her cruel fraud was a pitiable sight, yet I had no +pity for her then. Staring at the whitened face, framed in dishevelled, +mouse-brown hair, the long upper lip painted red in a high Cupid's bow +to resemble June's lovely mouth, I was sick with disgust. As at last she +yielded in despair to Jim's fierce clutch, and dropped sobbing on the +sofa, I felt I could have struck her. But she had no thought for me nor +for any of us--not even for Jim, who had ruined the game, nor for Miss +Reardon, who must have sold her to him at a price; for no one at all +except Robert Lorillard. + +When she'd given up hope of escape, and lay panting, exhausted, flung +feebly across the sofa, she looked up at Robert. + +"I loved you," she wept. "That's why I did it; I couldn't let you go to +another woman. I thought I saw a way to keep you always near me--almost +as if you were mine. You can't _hate_ a woman who loves you like that!" + +Robert did not answer. I think he was half dazed. He stood staring at +her, frozen still like the statue of a man. I was frightened for him. He +had endured too much. Joyce couldn't go to him yet, though he would be +hers--all hers, for ever--bye and bye--but _I_ could go, as a friend. + +I laid my hand on his arm, and spoke his name softly. + +"Robert, I always felt there was fraud," I said. "Now, thank Heaven, we +know the truth before it's too late for you to be happy, as June herself +would want you to be happy, if she knew. She wasn't cruel--the _real_ +June. She wasn't like this false one at heart. Go, now, I beg, and take +Joyce home to my flat--she's almost fainting. You must look after her. I +will stay here. Jim Courtenaye'll watch over me--and later we'll bring +you explanations of everything." + +So I got them both away. And when they were gone the whole story was +dragged from Opal. Jim forced her to confess; and with Robert out of +sight--lost for ever to the wretched woman--the task wasn't difficult. +You see, Miss Reardon _had_ sold her beforehand. Jim doesn't care what +price he pays when he wants a thing! + +First of all, he'd taken a house that was to let furnished, near Opal's. +She didn't know him from Adam, but he had her description. He followed +her several times, and saw her go to the Savoy; even saw her go to Miss +Reardon's rooms. Then, to Miss Reardon he presented himself, _en +surprise_, and pretended to know five times as much as he did know; in +fact, as much as he suspected. By this trick he broke down her guard; +and before she had time to build it up again, flung a bribe of two +thousand pounds--ten thousand dollars--at her head. She couldn't resist, +and eventually told him everything. + +Opal and she had corresponded for several years, it seemed, as fellow +mediums, sending each other clients from one country to another. When +Opal learned that the Boston medium was coming to England, she asked if +Miss Reardon would do her a great favour. In return for it, the American +woman's cabin on shipboard and all expenses at one of London's best +hotels would be paid. + +This sounded alluring. Miss Reardon asked questions by letter, and by +letter those questions were answered. A plan was formed--a plan that was +a _plot_. Opal kept phonographic records of many voices among those of +her favourite clients--did this with their knowledge and consent, making +presents to them of their own records to give to friends. It was just an +"interesting fad" of hers! Such a record of June's voice she had posted +to Boston. Miss Reardon, who was a clever mimic (a fine professional +asset!) learned to imitate the voice. She had a description from Opal of +the celebrated gray costume with the jewels June wore, and knew well how +to "work" her knowledge of June's favourite perfume. + +As to that first meeting at the Savoy, Opal was aware that Joyce and I +met Robert there on most afternoons. A suite was taken for Miss Reardon +in the hotel, and the lady was directed to await developments in the +_foyer_ at a certain hour--an old stage photograph of Robert Lorillard +in her hand-bag. The rest had been almost simple, thanks to Opal's +knowledge of June's life and doings; to her deadly cleverness, and the +device of a tiny electric light glimmering through a square of emerald +green glass on the "spirit's" breast, under scarves slowly unfolded. If +it had not been for Jim, Robert would have become her bond-slave, and +Joyce would have fled from England. + + * * * * * + +"Well, are you satisfied?" Jim asked, spinning me home at last in his +own car. + +"More than satisfied," I said. "Joyce and Robert will marry after all, +and be the happiest couple on earth. They'll forget this horror." + +"Which is what you'd like to do if I'd let you, I suppose," said Jim. + +"Forget! You mean----?" + +"Yes. The promise I dragged out of you, and everything." + +"I never forget my promises," I primly answered. + +"But if I let you off it? Elizabeth, that's what I'm going to do! I love +you too much, my girl, to blackmail you permanently--to get you for my +wife in payment of a bargain. I may be pretty bad, but I'm hanged if I'm +as bad as that." + +I burst out laughing. + +"_Idiot!_" I gurgled. "Haven't you the wits to see I _want_ to marry +you? I'm in love with you, you fool. Besides, I'm tired of being matron +of honour, and you being best man every time people I 'brighten' marry!" + +"It sha'n't happen again!" said Jim. + +And then he almost took my breath away. _What_ a strong man he is! + + + + +BOOK IV + +THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BRANDRETH + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE MAN IN THE CUSHIONED CHAIR + + +"Nice end of a honeymoon I'm having!" Jim grumbled. "With my wife +thinking and talking all the time about another fellow." + +"My darling, adored man!" I exclaimed. "You know perfectly well that +you're the background and undercurrent and foundation of all my +thoughts, every minute of the day and night. And this 'other fellow' is +_dying_." + +Yes; "darling, adored" were my adjectives for Jim Courtenaye, whom I had +once abused. + +All the same, if a cat may look at a king, a bride may just glance at a +man who isn't her bridegroom. + +"Ruling passion strong in--marriage, I suppose," said Jim. "I bet you'd +like to try your hand at 'brightening' that chap--though judging from +his face, he's almost past even your blandishments. _I_ wouldn't be past +'em--not in my _coffin_! But it isn't every blighter who can love as I +do, you minx." + +"And 'tisn't every blighter who has such a perfect woman to love," I +capped him with calm conceit. + +"But I wish I _could_ 'brighten' that poor fellow. Or else I wish that +someone else would!" + +And at this instant my wish was granted in the most amazing way! + +A girl appeared--but no, I mustn't let her arrive upon the scene just +yet. First, I must explain that Jim and I were on shipboard, coming back +to England from America, where we had been having the most wonderful +honeymoon. Jim had taken me out West, and showed me the places where he +had lived in his cowboy days. We had ridden long trails together, in the +Grand Canyon of Arizona, and in the Yosemite Valley of California. I had +never imagined that life could be so glorious, and our future +together--Jim's and mine--stretched before us like a dream of joy. We +were going to live in the dear old Abbey which had been the home of the +Courtenayes for hundreds and hundreds of years, and travel when we +liked. Because we were so much in love and so happy, I yearned to make a +few thousand other people happy also--though it did seem impossible that +any one on earth could be as joyous as we were. + +This was our second day out from New York on the _Aquitania_, and my +spirits had been slightly damped by discovering that two +fellow-passengers if not more were extremely miserable. One of these +lived in a stateroom next to our suite. In my cabin at night I could +hear her crying and moaning to herself in a fitful sleep. I had not seen +her, so far as I knew, but I fancied from the sound of those sobs that +she was young. + +When I told Jim, he wanted to change cabins with me, so that I should +not be disturbed. But I refused to budge, saying that I _wasn't_ +disturbed. My neighbour didn't cry or talk in her sleep all through the +night by any means. Besides, once I had dropped off, the sounds were not +loud enough to wake me. This was true enough not to be a fib, but my +_realest_ reason for clinging to the room was an odd fascination in that +mysterious sorrow on the other side of the wall; sorrow of a woman I +hadn't seen, might perhaps never see, yet to whom I could send out warm +waves of sympathy. I felt as if those waves had colours, blue and gold, +and that they would soothe the sufferer. + +Her case obsessed me until, in the sunshine of a second summer day at +sea, the one empty chair on our crowded deck was filled. A man was +helped into it by a valet or male nurse, and a steward. My first glimpse +of his face as he sank down on to carefully placed cushions made my +heart jump in my breast with pity and protest against the hardness of +fate. + +If he'd been old, or even middle-aged, or if he had been one of those +colourless characters dully sunk into chronic invalidism, I should have +felt only the pity without the protest. But he was young, and though it +was clear that he was desperately ill, it was clear, too, in a more +subtle, psychic way, that he had not been ill long; that love of life or +desire for denied happiness burned in him still. + +Of course Jim was not really vexed because I discussed this man and +wondered about him, but my thoughts did play round that piteously +romantic figure a good deal, and it rather amused Jim to see me forget +the mystery of the cabin in favour of the cushioned chair. + +"Once a Brightener, always a Brightener, I suppose!" he said. Now that +I'd dropped my "Princesshood" to marry James Courtenaye, I need never +"brighten" any one for money again. But I didn't see why I should not go +sailing along on a sunny career of brightening for love. According to +habit, therefore, my first thought was: What _could_ be done for the man +in the cushioned chair? + +Maybe Jim was right! If he hadn't been young and almost better than +good-looking, my interest might not have been so keen. He was the wreck +of a gorgeous creature--one of those great, tall, muscular men you feel +were born to adorn the Guards. + +The reason (the physical reason, not the psychic one) for thinking he +hadn't been ill long was the colour of the invalid's face. The pallor of +illness hadn't had time to blanch the rich brown that life in the open +gives. So thin was the face that the aquiline features stood out +sharply; but they seemed to be carved in bronze, not moulded in plaster. +As for the psychic reason, I found it in the dark eyes that met mine now +and then. They were not black like those of my own Jim, which contrasted +so strikingly with auburn hair. Indeed, I couldn't tell whether the eyes +were brown or deep gray, for they were set in shadowy hollows, and the +brows and thick lashes were even darker than the hair, which was lightly +silvered at the temples. Handsome, arresting eyes they must always have +been; but what stirred me was the violent _wish_ that seemed actually to +speak from them. + +Whether it was a wish to live, or a haunting wish for joy never +gratified, I could not decide. But I felt that it must have been burnt +out by a long illness. + +I had only just learned a few things about the man, when there came that +surprising answer to my prayer for someone to "brighten" him. My maid +had got acquainted with his valet-nurse, and had received a quantity of +information which she passed to me. + +"Mr. Tillett's" master was a Major Ralston Murray, an Englishman, who +had gone to live in California some years ago, and had made a big +fortune in oil. He had been in the British Army as a youth, Tillett +understood, and when the European war broke out, he went home to offer +himself to his country. He didn't return to America till after the +Armistice, though he had been badly wounded once or twice, as well as +gassed. At home in Bakersfield, the great oil town where he lived, +Murray's health had not improved. He had been recommended a long sea +journey, to Japan and China, and had taken the prescription. But instead +of doing him good, the trip had been his ruin. In China he was attacked +with a malady resembling yellow fever, though more obscure to +scientists. After weeks of desperate illness, the man had gained +strength for the return journey; but, reaching California, he was told +by specialists that he must not hope to recover. After that verdict his +one desire was to spend the last days of his life in England. Not long +before a distant relative had left him a place in Devonshire--an old +house which he had loved in his youth. Now he was on his way there, to +die. + +So this was the wonderful wish, I told myself. Yet I couldn't believe it +was all. I felt that there must be something deeper to account for the +burning look in those tortured eyes. And of course I was more than ever +interested, now that his destination proved to be near Courtenaye Abbey. +Ralston Old Manor was not nearly so large nor so important a place +historically as ours, but it was ancient enough, and very charming. +Though we were not more than fifteen miles away, I had never met the old +bachelor, the Mr. Ralston of my day. He was a great recluse, supposed to +have had his heart broken by my beautiful grandmother when they were +both young. It occurred to me that this Ralston Murray must be the old +man's namesake, and the place had been left him on that account. + +Now, at last, having explained the man in the cushioned chair, I can +come back to the moment when my wish was granted: the wish that, if not +I, someone else might "brighten" him. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MRS. BRANDRETH + + +You know, when you're on shipboard, how new people appear from day to +day, long after you've seen everyone on the passenger list! It is as if +they had been dropped on deck from stealthy aeroplanes in the dark +watches of the night. + +And that was the way in which this girl appeared--this girl who worked +the lightning change in Major Murray. It didn't seem possible that she +could have come on board the ship nearly two days ago, and we not have +heard of her, for she was the prettiest person I'd ever seen in my life. +One would have thought that rumours of her beauty would have spread, +since _someone_ must have seen her, even if she had been shut up in her +cabin. + +Heads were turned in her direction as she came walking slowly toward us, +and thanks to this silent sensation--like a breeze rippling a field of +wheat--I saw the tall, slight figure in mourning while it was still far +off. + +The creature was devastatingly pretty, too pretty for any one's peace of +mind, including her own: the kind of girl you wouldn't ask to be your +bridesmaid for fear the bridegroom should change his mind at the altar! + +"Jim," I exclaimed, "the prettiest girl in the world is now coming +toward you." + +"Really?" said he. "I was under the impression that she sat beside me." + +I suppose I must have spoken rather more loudly than I meant, for my +excited warning to Jim caught the ear of Major Murray. My deep interest +in the invalid had woven an invisible link between him and me, though we +had never spoken, nor even smiled at each other: for sympathy inevitably +has this effect. Therefore his hearing was attuned to my voice more +readily than to others in his neighbourhood. He had apparently been half +asleep; but he opened his eyes wide just in time to see the girl as she +approached his chair. Never had I beheld such a sudden change on a human +face. It was a transfiguration. + +The man was very weak, but he sat straight up, and for a moment all look +of illness was swept away. "Rosemary!" he cried out, sharply. + +The girl stopped. She had been pale, but at sight of him and the sound +of his voice she flushed to her forehead. I thought that her first +impulse was to escape, but she controlled it. + +"Major Murray!" she faltered. "I--I didn't dream of--seeing you here." + +"I have dreamed many times of seeing you," he answered. "And I wished +for it--very much." + +"Ah," thought I, "_that_ is the real wish! _That's_ what the look in his +eyes means, not just getting back to England and dying in a certain +house. Now I _know_." + +Everyone near his chair had become more or less interested in Murray, +romantic and pathetic figure that he was. Now, a middle-aged man whose +chair was near to Murray's on the right, scrambled out of a fur rug. "I +am off to the smoking room," he said. "Won't you" (to the girl) "take my +chair and talk to your friend? I shall be away till after lunch, maybe +till tea-time." + +I fancied that the girl was divided in her mind between a longing to +stay and a longing to flee. But of course she couldn't refuse the offer, +and presently she was seated beside Major Murray, their arms touching. I +could hear almost all they said. This was not eavesdropping, because if +they'd cared to be secretive they could have lowered their voices. + +Soon, to my surprise, I learned that the girl was married. She didn't +look married, or have the air of being married, somehow, and in the +conversation that followed she contradicted herself two or three times. +Perhaps it was only because I confused my brain with wild guesses, but +from some things she said one would think she was free as air; from +others, that she was tied down to a rather monotonous kind of existence. +She spoke of America as if she knew it only from a short visit. Then, in +answer to a question of Murray's, she said, as if reluctantly, that she +had lived there, in New York, and Baltimore, and Washington, for years. + +It was quite evident to me--whether or not it was to Murray--that Mrs. +Brandreth (as he called her after the first outburst of "Rosemary!") +disliked talking of herself and her way of life. She wanted to talk +about Major Murray, or, failing that subject, of almost anything that +was remote from her own affairs. + +I gathered, however, that she and Murray had known each other eight +years ago or more, and that they had met somewhere abroad, out of +England. There had been an aunt of Rosemary's with whom she had +travelled as a young girl. The aunt was dead; but even the loss of a +loved relative didn't account to my mind for this girl's sensitiveness +about the past. + +"They must have been engaged, these two, and something happened to break +it off," I thought. "But _he_ can bear to talk of old times, and she +can't. Odd, because she must have been ridiculously young for a love +affair all those years ago. She doesn't look more than twenty-one now, +though she must be more, of course--at least twenty-four. And he is +probably thirty-two or three." + +I am often what Jim calls "intuitive," and I had a strong impression +that there was something the beautiful Mrs. Brandreth was desperately +anxious to conceal, desperately afraid of betraying by accident. Could +it have to do with her husband? I wondered. She seemed very loth to +speak of him, and I couldn't make out from what she said whether the man +was still in existence. Her mourning--so becoming to her magnolia skin, +great dark eyes, and ash-blonde hair--didn't look like widow's mourning. +Still, it might be, with the first heaviness of crêpe thrown off. Or, of +course, the girl's peculiar reticence might mean that there had been, or +was to be, a divorce. + +I didn't move from my deck-chair till luncheon time, but I had to go +then with Jim; and we left Mrs. Brandreth ordering her food from the +deck steward. She would have it with Major Murray, who, poor fellow, was +allowed no other nourishment than milk. + +When we came back on deck it was to walk. We had been below for an hour +or more, but the girl and the man were still together. As Jim and I +passed and repassed those chairs, I could throw a quick glance in their +direction without being observed. Mrs. Brandreth's odd nervousness and +shy distress seemed to have gone. The two were talking so earnestly that +a school of porpoises might have jumped on deck without their knowing +that anything out of the way had happened. + +Later in the afternoon, the owner of Mrs. Brandreth's chair appeared; +but when she would blushingly have given up her place, he refused to +take it. "I've only come to say," he explained, "that one seat on deck +is the same to me as any other. So why shouldn't I have _your_ chair, +wherever it is, and you keep mine? It's very nice for the Major here to +have found a friend, and it will do him a lot of good. I'm a doctor, and +if I were his physician, such society would be just what I should +prescribe for him." + +Mrs. Brandreth had a chair, it seemed, though she said she'd come on +board so tired that she had stayed in her cabin till this morning. +Whether or not she were pleased at heart with the proposal, she accepted +it after a little discussion, and Murray's tragic eyes burned with a new +light. + +I guessed that his wish had been to see this beautiful girl again before +he died. The fact that he was doomed to death no doubt spiritualized his +love. He no longer dreamed of being happy in ways which strong men of +his age call happiness; and so, in these days, he asked little of Fate. +Just a farewell sight of the loved one; a new memory of her to take away +with him. And if I were right in my judgment, this was the reason why, +even if Mrs. Brandreth had a husband in the background, these hours with +her would be hours of joy for Murray--without thought of any future. + +That evening, as Jim and I were strolling out of our little salon to +dinner, the door of the cabin adjoining mine opened, and it was with a +shock of surprise that I saw Mrs. Brandreth. So _she_ was my mysterious +neighbour who cried and moaned in her sleep!... I was thrilled at the +discovery. But almost at once I told myself that I ought to have +Sherlocked the truth the moment this troubled, beautiful being had +appeared on deck. + +Mrs. Brandreth was in black, of course, but she had changed into +semi-evening dress, and her white neck was like swansdown in its folded +frame of filmy black gauze. Over the glittering waves of her ash-blonde +hair she had thrown a long black veil of embroidered Spanish lace, which +fell nearly to her knees, and somehow, before she could close the door, +a gust blew it back, shutting in the veil. The girl was struggling to +free herself when Jim said, "Let me help you." + +Naturally, she had to thank him, and explain how she ought to have +fastened her window, as ours was the windy side of the ship to-night. +She and I smiled at each other, and so our acquaintance began. I guessed +from the veil that she was dining in Murray's company, and pictured them +together with the deck to themselves, moonlight flooding the sea. + +Next day the smile and nod which Mrs. Brandreth and I exchanged won a +pleasant look from Major Murray for me. We began speaking soon after +that; and before another day had passed Jim or I often dropped into the +empty chair, if Mrs. Brandreth was not on deck. Murray was interested to +know that we would be neighbours of his, and that I was the +grand-daughter of the famous beauty his old bachelor cousin had loved. + +I remember it was the night after my first real talk with him that I met +Mrs. Brandreth again as we both opened our doors. Jim was playing bridge +or poker with some men, and hadn't noticed the dressing bugle. I was +ready, and going to remind him of the hour; yet I was charmed to be +delayed by Mrs. Brandreth. Hitherto, though friendly when we were with +our two men, or only one of them, she had seemed like a wild bird trying +to escape if we happened to be alone. It was as if she were afraid I +might ask questions which she would not wish to answer. But now she +stopped me of her own accord. + +"I--I've been wanting to tell you something," she began, with one of her +bright blushes. "It's only this: when I'm tired or nervous I'm afraid I +talk in my sleep. I came on board tired out. I had--a great grief a few +months ago, and I can't get over the strain of it. Sometimes when I wake +up I find myself crying, and have an impression that I've called out. +Now I know that you're next door, I'm rather worried lest I have +disturbed you." + +I hurried to reassure her. She hadn't disturbed me at all. I was, I +said, a splendid sleeper. + +"You haven't heard anything?" she persisted. + +I felt she would know I was fibbing if I did fib, so it wasn't worth +while. "I _have_ heard a sound like sobbing now and then," I admitted. + +"But no words? I hope not, as people say such _silly_ things in their +sleep, don't they?--things not even true." + +"I think I've heard you cry out 'Mother!' once or twice." + +"Oh! And that is all?" + +"Really, that's all--absolutely!" It was true, and I could speak with +such sincerity that I forced belief. + +Mrs. Brandreth looked relieved. "I'm glad!" she smiled. "I hate to make +myself ridiculous. And I'm trying very hard now to control my +subconscious self, which gets out of hand at night. It's simply the +effect of my--grief--my loss I spoke of just now. I'm fairly normal +otherwise." + +"I hope you're not entirely normal!" I smiled back. "People one speaks +of as 'normal' are so bromidic and dull! You look far too interesting, +too individual to be normal." + +She laughed. "So do you!" + +"Oh, I'm not normal at all, thank goodness!" + +"Well, you're certainly interesting--and individual--far more than _I_ +am." + +"Anyhow, I'm sympathetic," I said. "I'm tremendously interested in other +people. Not in their _affairs_, but in themselves. I never want to know +anything they don't want me to know, yet I'm so conceited, I always +imagine that I can help when they need help--just by sympathy alone, +without a spoken word. But to come back to you! I have a lovely remedy +for restlessness at night; not that I need it often myself, but my +French-Italian maid carries dried orange leaves and blossoms for me. She +thinks _tisanes_ better than doctor's medicines. May she make some +orange-flower tea for you to-night at bedtime?" + +Mrs. Brandreth had shown signs of stiffening a little as I began, but +she melted toward the last, and said that she would love to try the +poetic-sounding tea. + +It was concocted, proved a success, and she was grateful. Perhaps she +remembered my hint that I never wanted to know things which my friends +didn't want me to know, because she made some timid advances as the days +went on. We had quite intimate talks about books and various views of +life as we walked the deck together; and I began to feel that there was +something else she longed to say--something which rose constantly to her +lips, only to be frightened back again. What could it be? I wondered. +And would she in the end speak, or decide to be silent? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CONDITION SHE MADE + + +I think she meant to be silent, but desperation drove her to speak, and +she spoke. + +I had a headache the last day out but one, and stayed in my cabin all +the afternoon. It seems that Mrs. Brandreth asked Jim if she might visit +me for a little while, and he consented. + +I was half dozing when she came, with a green silk curtain drawn across +the window. I suggested that she should push this curtain back, so that +we might have light to see each other. + +"Please, no!" she said. "I don't want light. I don't want to be seen. +Dear Lady Courtenaye--may I really call you 'Elizabeth,' as you asked me +to do?--I need so much to talk to you. And the darker it is, the +better." + +"Very well--Rosemary!" I answered. "I've guessed that you are +worried--or not quite happy. There's nothing I should like so much as to +help you if I could. I believe you know that." + +"Yes, I know--I feel it," she said. "I want your advice. I think you're +the only person whose advice I would take whether I liked it or not. I +don't understand why that is so. But it is. You're probably younger than +I am----" + +"I'm getting on for twenty-three," I informed the girl, when I had made +her sit down beside my bed. + +"And I'm nearly twenty-six!" + +"You look twenty-one." + +"I'm afraid I look lots of things that I'm not," she sighed, in a voice +too gloomy for the half-joking words. "Oh, now that I'm trying to speak, +I don't know how to begin, or how far to go! I must confess one thing +frankly: and that is, I can't tell you _everything_." + +"Tell me what you want to tell: not a word more." + +"Thank you. I thought you'd say that. Well, suppose you loved a man who +was very ill--so ill he couldn't possibly get well, and he begged you to +marry him--because then you might be in the same house till the end, and +he could die happily with you near: what would you do?" + +"If I loved him _enough_, I would marry him the very first minute I +could," was my prompt answer. + +"I do love him enough!" she exclaimed. + +"But you hesitate?" + +"Yes, because----Oh, Elizabeth, there's a terrible obstacle." + +"An obstacle!" I echoed, forgetting my headache. "I can't understand +that, if--forgive me--if you're free." + +"I am free," the girl said. "Free in the way you mean. There's no _man_ +in the way. The obstacle is--a woman." + +"Pooh!" I cried, my heart lightened. "I wouldn't let a woman stand +between me and the man I loved, especially if he needed me as much +as--as----" + +"You needn't mind saying it. Of course you know as well as I do that +we're talking about Ralston Murray. And I believe he does need me. I +could make him happy--if I were always near him--for the few months he +has to live." + +"He would have a new lease of life given him with you," I ventured. + +The girl shook her head. "He says that the specialists gave him three +months at the most. And twelve days out of those three months have gone +already, since he left California." + +For an instant a doubt of her shot through me. Ralston Murray had been a +get-rich-quick oil speculator, so I had heard, anyhow, he was supposed +to be extremely well off. Besides, there was that lovely old place in +Devonshire, of which his widow would be mistress. I knew nothing of +Rosemary Brandreth's circumstances, and little of her character or +heart, except as I might judge from her face, and voice, and charming +ways. Was I _wrong_ in the judgment I'd impulsively formed? Could it be +that she didn't truly care for Murray--that if she married him in spite +of the mysterious "obstacle," it would be for what she could get? + +Actually I shivered as this question asked itself in my mind! And I was +ashamed of it. But her tone and look had been strange. When I tried to +cheer her by hinting that Murray's lease of life might be longer because +of her love, she had looked frightened, almost horrified. + +For the first time I deliberately tried to read her soul, whose +sincerity I had more or less taken for granted. I stared into her eyes +through the green dusk which made us both look like mermaids under +water. Surely that exquisite face couldn't mask sordidness? I pushed the +doubt away. + +"All the more reason for you to make radiant the days that are left, if +you're strong enough to bear the strain," I said. And Rosemary answered +that she was strong enough for anything that would help him. She would +tell Ralston, she added, that she had asked my advice. + +"He wanted me to do it," she said. "He thought I oughtn't to decide +without speaking to a sweet, wise woman. And _you_ are a sweet, wise +woman, although you're so young! When you are better, will you come on +deck and talk to Ralston?" + +"Of course I will, if you think he'd care to have me," I promised. And +it was extraordinary how soon that headache of mine passed away! I was +able to talk with Ralston that evening, and assure him that, in my +opinion, he wasn't _at all_ selfish in wanting Rosemary Brandreth to +"sacrifice" herself for him. It would be no sacrifice to a woman who +loved a man, I argued. He had done the right thing, it seemed to me, in +asking Mrs. Brandreth to marry him. If Jim were in his place, and I in +Rosemary's, I should have proposed if he hadn't! + +But while I was saying these things, I couldn't help wondering +underneath if she had mentioned the "obstacle" to Ralston, and if he +knew precisely what kind of "freedom to marry" her freedom was--whether +Mr. Blank Brandreth were dead or only divorced? + +Somehow I had the strongest impression that Rosemary had told Major +Murray next to nothing about herself--had perhaps begged him not to ask +questions, and that he had obeyed for fear of distressing--perhaps even +losing--the woman he adored. + +"Of course, I shall leave her everything," he announced, when Mrs. +Brandreth had strolled away with Jim in order to give me a few minutes +alone with Major Murray. "While she's gone, I'd like to talk with you +about that, because I want you to consult your husband for me. Rosemary +can't bear to discuss money and that sort of thing. I had almost to +force her to it to-day; for you see, I haven't long at best--and the +time may be shorter even than I think. At last I made her see my point +of view. I told her that I meant to make a new will, here on shipboard, +for fear I should----Well, you understand. I said it would be in her +favour, as Rosemary Brandreth, and then, after we were married--provided +I live to marry her, as I hope to do--I ought to add a codicil or +something--I don't quite know how one manages such things--changing +'Rosemary Brandreth' to 'my wife, Rosemary Murray.'" + +"Yes," I agreed. "I suppose you would have to do that. I don't know very +much about wills, either--but I remember hearing that a legacy to a wife +might be disputed if the will were in her favour as an engaged girl, and +mentioning her by her maiden name." + +"Brandreth isn't Rosemary's maiden name," he reminded me. "That was +Hillier. But it's the same thing legally. And disputes are what I want +to avoid. Still, I daren't delay, for fear of something happening to me. +There's a doctor chap in Devonshire, who would have inherited Ralston +Old Manor and the money that goes with it if my cousin hadn't chosen to +leave all he had to me instead. I believe, as a matter of fact, he's my +only living relative. I haven't seen him many times in my life, but we +correspond on business. Every penny I possess might go to Paul Jennings, +as well as the Ralston property--by some trick of the law--if I don't +tie it up for Rosemary in time. You see why I'm impatient. I want you +and Sir Jim to witness a will of sorts this very night. I shall sleep +better if it's done. But--there's a funny thing, Lady Courtenaye: a whim +of Rosemary's. I can't see light on it myself. Perhaps you could lead up +to the subject, and get her to explain." + +"What is the funny thing?" I asked. + +"Why, at first she implored me not to leave money to her--actually +begged, with tears in her eyes. However, I explained that if she didn't +get what I have, a stranger would, which would make me unhappy. My being +'unhappy' settled the matter for her! But she made a queer condition. If +she allowed me to leave everything to her, the legacy must be arranged +somehow without altering it to her married name when she is my wife. It +must be in favour of 'Rosemary Brandreth,' not 'Rosemary Murray.' I +begged her to tell my why she wanted such an odd thing, and she said it +was a prejudice she had about women changing their names and taking +their husbands' names. Well, as a matter of fact, I believe a woman +marrying _can_ keep her own name legally if she likes. Taking the +husband's name is a custom, not a necessity for a woman, I remember +hearing. But I'm not sure. Sir Jim may know. If not, he'll find out for +me. I haven't much strength, and it would be the greatest favour if he +would get some first-rate legal opinion about carrying out this wish of +Rosemary's." + +"Jim will be glad to do anything he can," I said, warmly. "We shall be +neighbours, you know." + +"Yes, thank Heaven!" he exclaimed. "I used not to think much about such +things, but I do feel as if you two had been sent me in my need, by +Providence. There was the wonderful coincidence of Rosemary being on my +ship--at least, one _calls_ it a coincidence, but it must be something +deeper and more mysterious than that. Then, finding such friends as you +and Sir Jim--neighbours on deck, and neighbours on shore. I can't tell +you the comfort it is to know that Rosemary won't be left alone when I'm +gone." + +"Count on us," I repeated, "now and always." + +"I do," Murray answered. "As for the present, my first will in favour of +Rosemary Brandreth will be clear sailing. It is the second one--or the +codicil--after marriage, that raises a question. I suppose I needn't +worry about that till the time comes: yet I do. I want to be sure that +Rosemary is safe. I wish you could persuade her not to stick to the +point she's so keen on." + +"If you can't persuade her, it's not likely that I can," I objected. I +tried to keep my voice quite natural, but something in my tone must have +struck him. + +"You have an idea in your mind about this condition Rosemary makes!" he +challenged. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE OLD LOVE STORY + + +"Oh--one simply wonders a little!" I stammered. + +Major Murray's face changed. "Of course, there's one idea which presents +itself instantly to the mind," he said. "But it's such an obvious one! I +confess I had it myself at first--just for a moment. I even asked +Rosemary, because--well, she might have been in trouble that wasn't her +fault. I asked her if she were sure that she was free to marry--that +there was no legal hitch. I said that if there were, she must tell me +the truth without fear, and I would see if it couldn't be made right. +But she assured me that, so far as the law is concerned, she's as free +as though she were a girl. I believe her, Lady Courtenaye; and I think +you would believe if you could have looked into her eyes then. No, +there's another reason--not obvious like the first; on the contrary, +it's obscure. I wish you'd try to get light on it." + +"I'll try if you want me to," I promised. "But I don't expect to +succeed." + +Major Murray looked more anxious than I had seen him since Mrs. +Brandreth appeared on deck that second day at sea. "Hasn't she confided +in you at all?" he asked. + +"Only"--I hesitated an instant--"only to tell me of her love, and her +engagement to you." This was the truth, with one tiny reservation. I +couldn't give Rosemary away, by mentioning the "obstacle" at which she'd +hinted. + +"She never even told you about our first engagement, eight years ago?" +he persisted. + +"No." + +"Well, I'd like to tell you that, if the story won't bore you?" + +"It will interest me," I said. "But perhaps Mrs. Brandreth mightn't----" + +"She won't mind; I'm sure of that, from things she's said. But it's a +subject easier for me to talk about than for her. She was travelling in +Italy with an aunt--a sister of her mother's--when we met. She was just +seventeen. I fell in love with her at first sight. Do you wonder? It was +at Bellagio, but I followed her and the aunt from place to place. The +aunt was a widow, who'd married an American, and I imagined that she +wasn't kind to her niece--the girl looked so unhappy. But I did Mrs. +Brandreth an injustice----" + +"Mrs. Brandreth?" I had to interrupt. "Rosemary was already----" + +"No, no! The aunt's name was Mrs. Brandreth. The man Rosemary married a +few weeks later was the nephew of her aunt's American husband. When I +asked Rosemary to be my wife, I heard the whole story. Rosemary told me +herself. The aunt, Mrs. John Brandreth, came to England to visit her +sister. It wasn't long after her husband had died, and she wasn't +strong, so the nephew--Guy Brandreth--travelled with her. He was a West +Point graduate, it seems; probably you know that West Point is the +American Sandhurst? He was still in the Army and on long leave. He and +the aunt both stayed at Mrs. Hillier's house in Surrey, and--I suppose +you can guess what happened?" + +"A--love affair?" I hesitated. + +"Yes. It didn't take Brandreth long to make up his mind what he wanted, +and to go for it. He proposed. Rosemary said 'Yes.' It was her first +love. But Brandreth had been practically engaged to an American girl--a +great heiress. He hadn't much himself beyond his pay, I fancy. Money was +an object to him--but Rosemary's beauty bowled him over, and he lost his +head. Bye and bye, when he began to see the light of common sense again, +and when he realized that Rosemary wouldn't have a red cent of her own, +he weakened. There was some slight lover's quarrel one day. Rosemary +broke off the engagement for the pleasure of hearing Brandreth beg to be +taken back. But he didn't beg. He took her at her word and went to +London, where the American girl had arrived. That same night he wrote +Rosemary that, as she didn't want him, he had offered himself to someone +who did. So ended the love story--for a time. And that's where I came +in." + +"Rosemary went to Italy?" I prompted him. + +"Yes. Her aunt felt responsible, and carried the girl away to help her +to forget. Rosemary told me this, but thought she had 'got over it,' and +said she would marry me if I wanted her. Of course, I did want her. I +believed--most men would--that I could teach her to love me. She was so +young. And even then I wasn't poor. I could give her a good time! The +poor child was keen on letting Brandreth know she wasn't mourning his +loss, and she'd heard he was still in London with his fiancée and her +millionaire papa. So she had our engagement announced in the _Morning +Post_ and other London papers." + +"Well--and then?" I broke into a pause. + +"Guy Brandreth couldn't bear to let another fellow have the girl. He +must have loved her really, I suppose, with what was best in him. +Anyhow, he asked for his release from the heiress, and found out from +Mrs. Hillier where her daughter was. As soon as he could get there, he +turned up at the Villa d'Este, where Rosemary and her aunt were staying +then." + +"And you--were you there?" + +"No. If I had been, perhaps everything would have been different. I was +in the Army, and on leave, like Brandreth. I had to go back to my +regiment, but Rosemary'd promised to marry me on her eighteenth +birthday, which wasn't far off. I'd made an appointment to go and see +Mrs. Hillier on a certain day. But before the day came a telegram +arrived from the aunt, Mrs. Brandreth, to say that Rosemary had run away +with Guy. + +"It was a deadly blow. I went almost mad for a while--don't know what +kept me from killing myself, except that I've always despised suicide as +a coward's way out of trouble. I chucked the Army--had to make a +change--and went to California, where an old pal of mine had often +wanted me to join him. I knew that Brandreth was stationed down south +somewhere, so in California I should be as far from him and Rosemary as +if I stayed in England. Well--now you know the story--for I never saw +Rosemary or even heard of her from that time till the other day on board +this ship. Does what I've told help you at all to understand the +condition she wants me to make about her name, in my will?" + +"No, it doesn't," I had to confess. "You must just--_trust_ Rosemary, +Major Murray." + +"I do," he answered, fervently. + +"I wish I did!" I could have echoed. But I said not a word, and tried to +remember only how sweet Rosemary Brandreth was. + +Before it was time for us to witness the will I repeated to Jim all that +Murray had told me, and watched his face. His eyebrows had drawn +together in a puzzled frown. + +"I hope she isn't going to play that poor chap another trick," he +grumbled. "It would finish him in an hour if she did." + +"Oh, she _won't_!" I cried. "She loves him." + +I was sure I was right about _that_. But I was sure of nothing else. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE MAN WITH THE BRILLIANT EYES + + +Jim and I witnessed Ralston Murray's will, which left all he possessed +to "Mrs. Rosemary Brandreth." No reference was made in the document to +the fact that Rosemary was engaged to marry him. + +Next day we landed, and Murray was so buoyed up with happiness that he +was able to travel to London without a rest. He stayed at a quiet hotel +in St. James's Square, and we took Rosemary Brandreth with us to the +Savoy. Murray applied for a special licence, and the marriage was to +take place in town, as soon as possible, so that they two might travel +to Devonshire as husband and wife. Jim and I both pined for Courtenaye +Abbey, but we wouldn't desert our new friends. Besides, their affairs +had now become as exciting to us as a mystery play. There were many +questions we asked ourselves and each other concerning obscure and +unexplained details. But--if Murray didn't choose to ask them, they were +no business of ours! + +Jim consulted a firm considered to be among the smartest solicitors in +London; and thanks to their "smartness," by hook or by crook the +difficulty of the codicil was got over. + +The wedding was to take place at Major Murray's hotel, in the salon of +his suite, as he was not able to go through a ceremony in church. Jim +and I were the only invited guests; but at the last moment a third guest +invited himself: the cousin to whom the Ralston property would have gone +if its owner hadn't preferred Ralston Murray for his heir. + +It seemed that the distant relatives had always kept up a +correspondence--letters three or four times a year; and I imagine that +Murray made the disappointed man a consolation allowance, though he +hinted at nothing of the kind to me. In any case, Doctor Paul Jennings +(who lived and practised at Merriton, not far from Ralston Old Manor) +reported unofficially on the condition of the place at stated intervals. +Murray had wired the news of his arrival in England to Jennings, and +that he would be bringing a wife to Devonshire; whereupon the doctor +asked by telegram if he might attend the wedding. Neither Murray nor the +bride-elect could think of any reason why he should not come, so he was +politely bidden to be present. + +I was rather curious about the cousin to whom Murray had referred on +shipboard; and as the acquaintanceship between the two men seemed to be +entirely impersonal, I thought it "cheeky" of Jennings to wangle himself +to the wedding. Jim agreed with me as to the cheekiness. He said, +however, that the request was natural enough. This poor country doctor +had heard, no doubt, that Murray was doomed to death, and had +accordingly hoped great things for himself. There had seemed to be no +reason why these great things shouldn't happen: yet now the dying man +was about to take a wife! Jennings had been too impatient to wait till +the couple turned up in Devonshire to see what the lady was like. + +"Besides," Jim went on (with the shrewdness I always accused him of +picking up in America), "besides, the fellow probably hopes to make a +good impression on the bride, and so get taken on as family physician." + +"He'll be disappointed about _that_!" I exclaimed, with a flash of +naughty joy, for somehow I'd made up my mind not to like Doctor +Jennings. "Major Murray has promised Rosemary and me to consult Beverley +Drake about himself. It's the most perfect thing that Sir Beverley +should be in Exeter! Not to call him to the case would be tempting +Providence!" + +Jim doesn't know or care much about doctors, but even he knew something +of Sir Beverley Drake. He is the man, of course, who did such wonders in +the war for soldiers who'd contracted obscure tropical diseases while +serving in Egypt, India, Mesopotamia, Salonika, and so on. + +You could bet pretty safely that a person named Drake would be of +Devonshire extraction, and you would not lose your money on Beverley of +that ilk. + +He had spent half his life in the East, and hadn't been settled down as +a Harley Street specialist for many years when the war broke out. +Between 1914 and 1919 he had worn himself to a thread in France, and had +temporarily retired from active life to rest in his native town, Exeter. +But he had known both my wonderful grandmother and old Mr. Ralston. He +wasn't likely to refuse his services to Ralston Murray. Consequently, I +didn't quite see Doctor Paul Jennings getting a professional foothold in +Major Murray's house, no matter what his personal charm might be. + +As it turned out, the personal charm was a matter of opinion. Jennings +had the brightest eyes and the reddest lips ever seen on a man. He was +youngish, and looked more like a soldier than a doctor. Long ago some +Ralston girl had married a Jennings; consequently, the cousinship, +distant as it was. But though you can't associate Spain with a +"Jennings," there was Spanish blood in the man's veins. If you had met +him in Madrid, he would have looked more at home than as a doctor in a +Devonshire village. Not that he had stuck permanently to the village +since taking up practice there. He had gone to the Front, and brought +back a decoration. Also he had brought back a French wife, said to have +been an actress. + +I heard some of these things from Murray, some from Jennings himself on +the day of the wedding. And they made me more curious about the man than +I should have been otherwise. Why, for instance, the Parisian wife? Do +Parisian women, especially actresses, marry obscure English doctors in +country villages which are hardly on the map? + +No. There must be a very special reason for such a match; and I sought +for it when I met Paul Jennings. But his personality, though attractive +to many women, no doubt, wasn't quite enough to account for the +marriage. I resolved to look for something further when I got to +Devonshire and met Mrs. Jennings. + + * * * * * + +You wouldn't believe that a wedding ceremony in a private sitting room +of an old-fashioned hotel, with the bridegroom stretched on a sofa, +could be the prettiest sight imaginable; but it was. I never saw so +charming or so pathetic a picture! + +Jim and I had sent quantities of flowers, and Doctor Jennings had sent +some, too. Rosemary and I arranged them, for there was no conventional +nonsense about this bride keeping herself in seclusion till the last +minute! Her wish was to be with the man she loved as often as she could, +and to belong to him with as little delay as possible. + +We transformed the room into a pink-and-white bower, and then taxied +back to the Savoy to dress. There had been no time for Rosemary to have +a gown made, and as she had several white frocks I advised her to wear +one which Murray hadn't seen. But no! She wouldn't do that. She must be +married in something new; in fact, _everything_ new, nothing she'd ever +worn before. The girl seemed superstitious about this: and her pent-up +emotion was so intense that the least opposition would have reduced her +to tears. + +Luckily she found in a Bond Street shop an exquisite model gown just +over from Paris. It was pale dove-colour and silver, and there was an +adorable hat to match. The faint gray, which had a delicate suggestion +of rose in its shadows, enhanced the pearly tints of the bride's +complexion, the coral of her lips, and the gold of her ash-blonde hair. +She was a vision when I brought her back to her lover, just in time to +be at his side before the clergyman in his surplice appeared from the +next room. + +To see her kneeling by Murray's sofa with her hand in his sent the tears +stinging to my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. She looked like an +angel of sweetness and light, and I reproached myself bitterly because I +had half suspected her of mercenary plans. + +Once during the ceremony I glanced at Doctor Jennings. He was gazing at +the bride as I had gazed, fixedly, absorbedly, with his brilliant eyes. +So intent was his look that I wondered its magnetism did not call +Rosemary's eyes to his; but she was as unconscious of his stare as he of +mine. He must have admired her; yet there was something deeper than +admiration; and I would have given a good deal to know what it +was--whether benevolent or otherwise. His expression, however, told no +tale beyond its intense interest. + +There was a little feast after the wedding, with an imposing cake, and +everything that other, happier brides have. It seemed a mockery to drink +health to the newly married pair, knowing as we did that Ralston Murray +had been given three months at most to live. Yet we drank, and made a +brave pretence at all the conventional wedding merriment; for if we +hadn't laughed, some of us would have cried. + +An hour later Major and Mrs. Murray started off on the first stage of +their journey to Devonshire. They went by car, a magnificent Rolls-Royce +rather like a travelling boudoir; and in another car was Murray's +nurse-valet, with the comfortable elderly maid I had found for Rosemary. + +They were to travel at a moderate pace, to stay a night at Glastonbury, +and go on next morning to Ralston Old Manor, which they expected to +reach early in the afternoon. As for Jim and me, we were too keen on +seeing the dear old Abbey together, as our future home, to waste a +minute more than need be _en route_, no matter how beautiful the journey +by road. + +Our packing had been done before the wedding, and we were in a fast +express tearing westward an hour after the Murrays had set off by car. + +Ours had been such a long honeymoon--months in America--that outsiders +considered it over and done with long ago. We two knew that it wasn't +over and done with, and never would be, but we couldn't go about +proclaiming that fact; therefore we made no objection when Doctor +Jennings proposed travelling in the train with us. We reflected that, if +he were in the same train he would be in the same compartment, and so it +happened; but, though I didn't warm to the man, I was interested in +trying to study the character behind those brilliant eyes. + +Some people's eyes seem to reveal their souls as through clear windows. +Other eyes conceal, as if they were imitation windows, made of mirrors. +I thought that Paul Jennings' were the mirror windows; but he had a +manner which appeared almost ostentatiously frank. He told us of the +difficulties he had had in getting on, before the war, and praised +Ralston Murray's generosity. "Ralston would never tell you this," he +said, "but it was he who made it possible for me to marry. He has been +awfully decent to me, though we hardly know each other except through +letters; and I only wish I could do something for him in return. All +I've been able to do so far is very little: just to look after the +Manor, and now to get the place ready for Murray and his bride: or +rather, my wife has done most of that. I wish I were a great doctor, and +my joy would be to put my skill at Ralston's service. But as it is, +he'll no doubt try to get an opinion from Beverley Drake?" + +Jennings put this as a question rather than stating it, and I guessed +that there had been no talk on the subject between him and Murray. But +there could be no secret: and Jim answered promptly that we were staying +in Exeter on purpose to see Sir Beverley. We'd made an appointment with +him by telegram, Jim added, and would go on the rest of the way, which +was short, by car. Even with that delay we should reach the Abbey in +time for dinner. + +"My wife is meeting me at Exeter, as I have business there," Doctor +Jennings replied. "She will come to the train. I hope you will let me +introduce her to you, Lady Courtenaye?" + +I murmured that I should be charmed, and felt in my bones that he hoped +we would invite them to motor with us. Jim glanced at me for a +"pointer," but I looked sweetly blank. It would not have taken us far +out of our way to drop the Jenningses at Merriton. But I just didn't +want to do it. So _there_! + +All the same, I was curious to see what the Parisian wife was like; and +at Exeter we three got out of the train together. "There she is!" +exclaimed Jennings suddenly, and his face lit up. + +"He's in love!" I thought, and caught sight of the lady to whom he was +waving his hand. + +"Why, you've married Gaby Lorraine!" I cried, before I had stopped to +think. + +But the doctor was not offended. "Yes, I have, and I'm jolly proud of +her!" he said. "It's she, not I, who keeps dark in Merriton about her +past glories.... She wants only to be Mrs. Paul Jennings here in the +country. Hello, chérie! Here I am!" + +Gaby Lorraine was a well-known musical comedy actress; at least _had_ +been. Before the war and even during the first year of the war she had +been seen and heard a good deal in England. Because of her pretty +singing voice and smart recitations, she had been taken up by people +more or less in Society. Then she had disappeared, about the time that +Grandmother took me to Rome, and letters from friends mentioning her had +said there was some "hushed-up scandal." Exactly what it was nobody +seemed to know. One thought it had to do with cocaine. Another fancied +it was a question of kleptomania or "something really weird." The world +had forgotten her since, but here she was, a Mrs. Jennings, married to a +Devonshire village doctor, greeting her husband like a good wife at the +railway station. + +Nothing could have been more perfect than her conception of this new +part she'd chosen to play. Neat, smooth brown hair; plain tailor-made +coat and skirt; little white waistcoat; close-fitting toque; low-heeled +russet shoes; gloves to match: admirable! Only the "liquid powder" which +gives the strange pallor loved in Paris suggested that this _chic_ +figure had ever shown itself on the stage. + +"I wish I knew _what_ the scandal had been!" I murmured half to myself +and half to Jim, as we parted in the station after introductions. + +"That sounds unlike you, darling," Jim reproached me. "Why should you +want to know?" + +"Because," I explained, "whatever it was, is the reason why she married +this country doctor. If there'd been no scandal, Mademoiselle Gaby +Lorraine wouldn't be Mrs. Paul Jennings." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE PICTURES + + +Our interview with Sir Beverley Drake was most satisfactory. Because he +had known old Mr. Ralston and Grandmother, the great specialist granted +my earnest request. + +"I had almost vowed not to receive one solitary patient," he laughed, +"yet here I am promising to motor thirty miles for the pleasure of +calling on one." + +"You won't regret it," I prophesied. "You will find Major Murray an +interesting man, and as enthralling a case as you ever met. As for the +bride, you'll fall in love with her. Every man must." + +It was finally arranged that he should visit Ralston Murray early in the +following week. He could not go before, as he was expecting visitors; +but it was already Wednesday, so there were not many days to wait. + +Jim and I had decided not to run over to see the Murrays at once, but to +give them time to "settle in." We would go on Sunday afternoon, we +thought; but on Saturday I had a telegram from Rosemary. "Would Sir +Beverley be offended if we asked him not to come, after all? Ralston +thinks it not worth while." + +I was utterly amazed, for in London she had seemed as keen on consulting +the specialist as I was, and had thanked us warmly for the offer of +breaking our journey at Exeter. + +"We can't force Sir Beverley on Murray," Jim said. "It wouldn't be fair +to either of them." But I insisted. + +"There's something odd about this," I told him. "Let's spin over to-day +instead of to-morrow, and tell the Murrays that Sir Beverley _would_ be +offended. I shall say to Rosemary that as we asked him to call, it would +be humiliating to us to have him treated in such a way." + +I think Jim has laid down for himself a certain line of action with me. +He yields to me on all matters as to which he's comparatively +indifferent, so that I won't notice much when he turns into the Rock of +Gibraltar over big issues. + +This was one of the occasions when he yielded, and we flashed to Ralston +Old Manor directly after luncheon. There wasn't time for a telegram to +be delivered there before our arrival, and the Manor had no 'phone, so +we appeared _en surprise_. And the "surprise" was a double one, for I +was amazed to come upon Mrs. Jennings walking with Rosemary down the elm +avenue. Evidently the visitor was going home, and her hostess was +accompanying her as far as the gate. Our car running along the drive +startled them from what seemed to be the most intimate talk. At sight of +us they both looked up, and their manner changed. Rosemary smiled a +welcome. Gaby smiled, in politeness. But before the smile there was the +fraction of a second when each face revealed something it didn't mean to +reveal--or I imagined it. Rosemary's had lost the look of exalted +happiness which had thrilled me on her wedding day. For that instant it +had a haunted look. As for Gaby, the fleeting expression of her face was +not so hard to understand. For some reason she was annoyed that we had +come, and felt an impulse of dislike toward us. + +"Can those two have met before?" I asked myself. It seemed improbable: +yet it was odd that strangers who had known each other only a couple of +days should be on such terms. + +They parted on the spot, when we had slowed down, Mrs. Jennings walking +on alone the short distance to the gate, and Rosemary getting into the +car with us, to drive to the house. I couldn't resist asking the +question, "Had you ever seen Mrs. Jennings before she was married?" For, +after all, there was no reason why I should not ask it. But Rosemary +looked me full in the face as she answered: + +"No, I never met her until she and her husband called the day before +yesterday. She had been very kind about getting the house beautifully +ready for us, and finding servants. I feel I know her quite well, +because she has come in every day to explain about repairs that have had +to be made, and that sort of thing." + +"Do you like her?" I asked. + +"I think she's tremendously clever," Rosemary said. + +I was inclined to think so, too. "It's _she_ who has been trying to +persuade the Murrays not to have Sir Beverley Drake," I told myself. +"She wants the job for her husband." + +Happiness had had a wonderful effect upon Murray, even in this short +time. It seemed to have electrified him with a new vitality. He had +walked a few steps without any help, and for the first time in many +weeks felt an appetite for food. + +"If I didn't _know_ there was no hope for me, I should almost think +there was some!" he said, laughing. "Of course there isn't any! This is +only a flash in the pan, but I may as well enjoy it while it lasts, and +it makes things a little less tragic for my angel of mercy. I feel that +it might be best to 'let well alone,' as they say, and not disturb +myself with a new treatment. All the American specialists agreed that +nothing on earth could change the course of events, so why fuss, as I'm +more comfortable than I hoped to be? If you don't think it would be rude +to Sir Beverley----" + +But there I broke in upon him, and Jim helped me out. We _did_ think it +would be rude. Sir Beverley would be wounded. For our sakes, if for +nothing else, we asked that Sir Beverley should be allowed to make his +call and examination as arranged. + +Murray did not protest much when he saw how we took his suggestion; and +Rosemary protested not at all. She simply sat still with a queer, +_fatal_ look on her beautiful face; and suspicions of her began to stir +within me again. Did she not _want_ to give her husband a chance of +life? + +The answer to that question, so far as Sir Beverley came into it, was +that she could easily have influenced Murray not to heed us if she had +been determined to do so. But that was just the effect she gave; lack of +determination. It was as if, in the end, she wanted Murray to decide for +himself, without being biassed by her. + +"That Gaby Lorraine _is_ in it somehow, all the same," I decided. "She +was able to make Rosemary send us the telegram, and if we hadn't come +over, and argued, she would have got her away." + +It seemed rather sinister. + +Ralston Murray was charmed with his heritage, and wanted Rosemary to +show us all over the house, which she did. It was beautiful in its +simple way: low-ceilinged rooms, many with great beams, and exquisite +oak panelling of linen-fold and other patterns. But the fame of the +Manor, such as it was, lay in its portraits and pictures by famous +artists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Rosemary frankly +confessed that she knew very little about Old Masters of any age; and +Jim had been, as he said, in the same boat until the idea had struck him +of renewing the past glories of the family place, Courtenaye Abbey. +After renting the Abbey from me, and beginning to restore its +dilapidations, he had studied our heirlooms of every sort; had bought +books, and had consulted experts. Consequently, he had become as good a +judge of a Lely, a Gainsborough, a Romney, a Reynolds, and so on, as I +had become, through being my grandmother's grand-daughter. + +I wondered what was in his mind as we went through the hall and the +picture gallery, and began to be so excited over my own thoughts that I +could hardly wait to find out his. + +"Well, what is your impression of the famous collection?" I asked, the +instant our car whirled us away from the door of Ralston Old Manor. +"What do you think of everything?" + +"_Think_, my child?" echoed Jim. "I'm bursting with what I think; and +so, I expect, are you!" + +"I wonder how long it is since the pictures were valued?" I muttered. + +"I suppose they must have been done," said Jim, "at the time of old +Ralston's death, so that the amount of his estate could be judged." + +"Yes," I agreed; "I suppose the income-tax people, or whoever the fiends +are that assess heirs for death duties, would not have accepted any old +estimates. But that would mean that the pictures were all right ten +months ago." + +We looked at each other. "There's been some queer hocus-pocus going on," +mumbled Jim. + +"It sounds like black magic!" I breathed. + +"Black fraud," he amended. "Ought we to speak to Murray--just drop him a +hint, and suggest his getting an expert to have a look round?" + +"It would worry him, and he oughtn't to be worried now," I said. + +"Still, he wants everything to be all right for his wife when he goes +west." + +"I know," said I; "but I don't feel that these happy days of his--his +last days, perhaps--ought to be disturbed. If--if Rosemary loves him as +much as we believe she does, she'd rather have a fuss after he's gone +than before. We might be breaking open a wasp's nest if we spoke. And it +isn't our _business_, is it?" + +"Unless we could find out something on the quiet," thoughtfully +suggested Jim. "For instance, is there anybody in this neighbourhood +who's a pretty good artist and a smart copyist--anybody, I mean, who +could have had the run of the Manor while the house was unoccupied +except by a caretaker?" + +"Yes, we might set ourselves to find out that," I assented. "And, by the +way--apropos of nothing, of course!--I think we might call on the +Jenningses, don't you?--as the doctor intimated that they didn't 'feel +grand enough' to call on us." + +"I think we might," echoed Jim. "And why not to-day, while we're close +to Merriton?" + +Quick as a flash I seized the speaking-tube and directed the chauffeur. +We had gone only a mile out of the way, and that was soon retraced. + +Both the doctor and his wife were at home, in their rather ugly modern +villa, which was one of the few blots on the beauty of Merriton. But +there were no pictures at all in the little drawing room. The +distempered walls were decorated with a few Persian rugs (not bad, +though of no great interest) given to Doctor Jennings, it seemed, by a +grateful patient now dead. By round-about ways we tried to learn whether +there was artistic talent in the family, but our efforts failed. As Jim +said later, when the call had ended in smoke, "There was nothing doing!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SIR BEVERLEY'S IMPRESSIONS + + +Jim is not a bad amateur detective, and he didn't abandon his efforts to +get behind the portrait mystery. But we had decided that, for Murray's +sake, "discretion was the better part of valour" for us; and the care +with which he had to work added a lot to his difficulties. Besides, +there were a good many other things to think of just then: things +concerning ourselves, also things concerning the Murrays. And those +things which concerned them were a thousand times more important than +any faked heirlooms. + +Sir Beverley Drake gave some faint hope that Ralston Murray's life might +be saved. There was a serum upon which he had been experimenting for +years, and in which he had begun enthusiastically to believe, for +obscure tropical maladies resembling Murray's. + +We had asked him to motor on to the Abbey and luncheon, after his visit +to Ralston Old Manor, hardly daring to think that he would accept. But +he did accept; and I saw by his face the moment we met that the news he +had to give was, at the worst, not bad. I was so happy when I heard what +he had to say that I could have danced for joy. + +"Mind, I don't promise anything," Sir Beverley reminded me. "But there +_is_ hope. Murray must have had a marvellous constitution to have gone +through what he has, in the war and since. If he hadn't had that, he'd +be dead now. And then, of course, this amazing romance of his--this +deathbed marriage--as you might call it--has given him a wonderful +fillip. Happiness is an elixir of life, even in the most desperate cases +at times, so I've got something hopeful to work on. I don't feel _sure_ +even of a partial success for my treatment, and I told them that. It's +an experiment. If it fails, Murray may burn out rather than flicker out, +and go a few weeks sooner than he need if let alone. If it +succeeds--why, there's no limit to the success it _might_ have!" + +"You mean, he might be entirely cured--a well man again?" I almost +gasped. + +"Yes, it's just on the cards," Sir Beverley answered. + +"Of course, Murray decided at once to run the risk?" asked Jim. + +"Of course," replied the specialist. But he looked thoughtful. + +"And Rosemary?" I added. "Couldn't she have kissed your feet for the +blessed message of hope you gave her?" + +Sir Beverley smiled at the picture. "I saw no sign of such a desire on +the part of the beautiful lady," he said. + +"She's rather shy of expressing her emotions," I explained Rosemary to +the great man. "But she has the _deepest_ feelings!" + +"So I should judge," he answered rather drily. "Perhaps, though, she has +no great faith in the experiment, and would prefer for her husband's +peace to let 'well enough alone,' as people vaguely say." + +Again I felt the disagreeable shock I'd experienced when Rosemary had +first spoken to me of Murray's death as certain. "It must be that," I +said, quickly. "She adores him." + +"She gave me proof of that, in case I'd doubted," Sir Beverley answered. +"I told them that before beginning the hypodermic injections of serum I +should like to change and purify Murray's blood by transfusion, and so +give him an extra chance. Mrs. Murray instantly offered her blood, and +didn't flinch when I told her a pint would be necessary. Her husband +refused to let her make such a sacrifice for him, and was quite +indignant that I didn't protest against it. But she begged, coaxed, +insisted. It was really a moving scene, and--er--went far to remove my +first impression." + +"What was your first impression?" I catechized. "Oh, don't think I ask +from curiosity! I'm Rosemary's friend. Jim and I are both as much +interested in Ralston Murray's case as if he were our brother. In a way, +we're responsible for the marriage--at least, we advised it. I know +Rosemary well, I believe, though she has a hard nature to understand. +And if you had an unfavourable impression of her, perhaps out of my +knowledge I might explain it away." + +"Well, to tell the truth," said Sir Beverley bluntly, "when I gave the +verdict which I'd thought would enchant her, Mrs. Murray seemed--not +happy, but terrified. I expected for a second or two that she would +faint. I must confess, I felt--chilled." + +"What--did she say?" I faltered. + +"She said nothing at all. She looked--frozen." + +"I hope poor Murray didn't get the same impression you got?" said Jim. + +"I don't think he did. She was sitting on the edge of his sofa, holding +his hand, after I'd made my examination of the patient, and had called +her back into the room. And when I told them what I hoped, I saw Mrs. +Murray squeeze his fingers suddenly very tight with her small ones. To +me--combined with the staring look in her eyes--the movement seemed +convulsive, such as you might see in a prisoner, pronounced guilty by +the foreman of the jury. But naturally no thought of that kind jumped +into Murray's head! When she pressed his hand, he lifted hers to his +lips and kissed it. All the same, my impression remained--like a lump of +ice I'd swallowed by mistake--until Mrs. Murray so eagerly offered her +blood for her husband. Then I had to acknowledge that she must be truly +in love with him--for some women, even affectionate wives, wouldn't have +the physical or mental courage for such an ordeal." + +"I hope she won't weaken when the time comes!" exclaimed Jim. + +"I don't somehow think she will weaken," Sir Beverley replied, a puzzled +frown drawing his thick eyebrows together. + +I was puzzled, too, but I praised Rosemary, and gave no hint of my own +miserable, reawakened suspicions. What I wanted to do was to see her as +soon as possible, and judge for myself. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHILE WE WAITED + + +When Sir Beverley Drake undertakes a case, he puts his whole soul into +it, and no sacrifice of time or trouble is too much. I loved the dear +man when he quietly announced that he would live at Ralston Old Manor, +coming in the day before the transfusion, and remaining till what he +called the "end of the treatment, first phase." + +This meant that he would be on the spot for a month. By that time he +could be practically certain whether or not the serum had "gripped" the +disease, and would at last conquer it. If "success" were the verdict, +Sir Beverley would instruct another doctor how to continue the +hypodermics and other treatment, and observe results. + +"Selfishly, I should have liked to put the patient into a nursing home +at Exeter," he said, "where I could stay at home and visit him once a +day. But I didn't feel that would be giving the man his best chance. +He's in love with his wife, and in love with his house. I wouldn't +separate him from either." + +This was splendid of Sir Beverley, and splendid for Murray--except for +one possibility which I foresaw. What if Rosemary or Murray himself +should suggest Paul Jennings as the doctor understudy? I was afraid that +this might happen, both because Jennings lived so near the Manor, and +because of the friendship which Rosemary had oddly struck up with the +French wife. + +I dared not prejudice Sir Beverley against Murray's distant cousin, for +I'd _heard_ nothing to Paul's disadvantage--rather the contrary. He was +said to be a smart doctor, up to date in his methods, and "sure to get +on." Still, I thought of the changed portraits, and tried to put the +microbe of an idea into Sir Beverley's head. I told him that, if it +hadn't been for Ralston Murray, Jennings would without much doubt have +inherited the Manor, with a large sum of money. + +The specialist's quick brain caught what was in mine as if I'd tossed it +to him, like a ball. "I suppose, if Murray died now, Jennings could hope +for nothing," he said, "except perhaps a small legacy. Murray will have +made a will in his wife's favour?" + +"Yes," I replied, "or he made a will when he was engaged to her, and has +added a codicil since. But it's unusual in some ways, and might be +disputed." + +Sir Beverley smiled. "Well, don't worry," he reassured me. "I have my +own candidate to take over the job when I leave the Manor. I wouldn't +trust a stranger, no matter how good a doctor he might be. So that's +that." + +It was! I felt satisfied; and also more than satisfied with Rosemary. I +went to see her the day before the transfusion experiment, and found her +radiant in a strange, spiritual way. It seemed to me more like +exaltation than any earthly sort of happiness; and her words proved that +my feeling about it was right. + +"Whether Ralston lives or dies, I shall always be so thankful that I +could do this thing for him. I don't think it's a _big_ thing, though he +does, and it was hard to persuade him. But to do it gives me the most +divine joy, which I can't describe. If I'd been born for that and +nothing else, it would be enough." + +"How you love him!" The words broke from me. + +"I do love him," she answered in a low voice, as if she spoke more to +herself than me. "Whatever may happen, I have loved him, and always will +in this world and the next." + +"Aren't you frightened?" I asked. + +"Frightened?" she echoed. "Oh, _no_!" + +And quite a new sort of respect for her grew up within me--respect for +her physical courage. She was such a tall lily-in-silver-moonlight +creature, and so sensitive, that one could not have been disgusted with +her, as one can with some women, for cowardice; but she was brave in her +love. When she said that she was not frightened, I knew she wasn't +trying to make herself think so. She had no fear at all. She was eager +for the moment when she could make the gift. + +Jim and I were allowed to be in the house when the experiment was tried, +not with the hope of seeing Murray or Rosemary afterward, but in order +to know the result without waiting. + +We sat in the library, and were presently joined by Paul Jennings and +Gaby. They had grown so fond of "the hero and heroine of this romance" +(as Gaby put it) that they hadn't been able to keep away. + +Jennings explained to us in detail the whole process of transfusion, and +why it was more effectual in a case like Murray's than the saline +injections given by some modern men. I felt rather faint as I listened, +seeing as if in a picture what those two devoted ones were going +through. But I knew that they were in the hands of a master, and that +the assistant and nurses he had brought would be the most efficient of +their kind. + +"Would you do for me what your friend is doing for her husband?" Paul +Jennings suddenly flung the question at his wife. And she answered him, +not in words, but with a smile. I couldn't read what that smile meant, +and I wondered if he could. + +Jim would not have needed to _ask_ me a thing like that! + +After what seemed a long time of suspense Sir Beverley came to tell us +the news--looking like a strong-faced, middle-aged pierrot in his +surgeon's "make-up." + +"All's well," he said. "They've both stood it grandly; and now they're +asleep. I thought you'd like to hear it from me, myself." + +Then he looked from us to the Jenningses, whom he had never seen before. +I introduced them, and for the first time I became aware of what Gaby +Lorraine could be when she wished intensely to charm a man. She radiated +some subtle attraction of sex--deliberately radiated it, and without one +spoken word. She hadn't tried that "stunt" on my Jim, and if she had on +Ralston Murray I hadn't been there to see. There was something she +wanted to get out of Sir Beverley! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE GOOD NEWS + + +I thought I knew what that "something" was. I thought that Gaby wished +to "tame" Sir Beverley, and make him so much her slave that he would +appoint Paul to understudy him with Murray. I chuckled as I "deduced" +this ambition, for poor Gaby was in blissful ignorance of a certain +conversation I'd had with Sir Beverley. + +"She'll find him a hard nut to crack," I said to myself. Still, I +suffered some bad moments in the month that followed. The Jenningses +were as often at the Manor as we were, and Gaby came frequently alone, +seldom failing to see Sir Beverley. He did seem to admire her, and to +like Paul well enough to worry me. + +"Will he stick to his point about his own doctor?" I wondered. But when +the time came to prove his strength of mind, he did stick. + +When he had been at Ralston Old Manor four weeks and two days there was +a letter for me from him in my morning post at the Abbey. "I want you to +come along as soon as you can and break something to Mrs. Murray," he +wrote. "I think she would rather hear it from you than me." + +I hardly waited to finish breakfast; but I was more excited than +frightened. If the news had been bad, I thought that Sir Beverley was +the man to have told it straight out. If it were good, he wouldn't mind +tantalizing me a little. + +Sir Beverley was walking under the elms, his hands behind his back, +taking his early stroll, when my car drove up. I got out at once and +joined him. + +"The man's going to get well--_well_, I tell you!" he joyously +announced. "No dreary semi-invalid for a devoted wife to take care of, +but a man in the prime of life, for a woman to adore. I'm sure of it." + +"But how wonderful!" I cried, ecstatically squeezing his arm. "What a +triumph, after dozens of great doctors had given him up! Does he know +yet?" + +Sir Beverley shook his head. "I'm going to tell him this morning. I +wanted to wait till Mrs. Murray had been told." + +"Why on earth didn't you tell her yourself--tell them both together?" I +asked. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I only thought she'd rather get the good +news from an intimate friend like you. If it makes her break down a bit +she won't mind before you as she would before me, and it wouldn't be +wise to surprise her in front of the invalid. When Murray hears from my +lips, and Mrs. Murray from yours, there won't have to be any +preliminaries: they can just fall into each other's arms." + +I argued no further. Indeed, there was no need. I knew as well as if +he'd had the embarrassment of putting it into words, how Sir Beverley +had feared that Rosemary might disappoint her husband, if the great news +were told in his presence. I thought also that if she were "strange" in +the way she had been strange before, he didn't want to see her being it! + +All my lurking suspicions of Rosemary had died an ignominious death at +the moment when, radiant with the light of her own devotion, she had +tried to define the love she felt. I was sure that what Sir Beverley had +mistaken for "horror" was only an effort at self-control when--perhaps +rather suddenly--he had given his first hint of hope. But I didn't +insist to Sir Beverley. Rosemary would soon prove to him that I was +right. + +He and I walked into the house together, and as he went to his patient, +I inquired for Mrs. Murray. Her boudoir opened off a corridor which ran +at right angles out of the panelled hall where many of the once famous, +now infamous, portraits hung. Murray had been moved down to a wing on +the ground floor after Sir Beverley came to the Manor, and this boudoir +of Rosemary's had a door opening into that wing. It was a charming, +low-ceilinged room, with a network of old beams, leaded windows with +wide sills where bowls of flowers stood, and delightful chintz chosen by +Rosemary herself. She came almost at once, through the door leading from +the invalid's wing; and as the sunlight touched her bright hair and +white dress I was thrilled by her ethereal beauty. Never had she been +more lovely, but she looked fragile as a crystal vase. + +"Darling!" I exclaimed, snatching her in my arms. "You are a dream +to-day--but I want to see you more solid. You _will_ be soon--a strong +pink rose instead of a white lily--because there's the most gorgeous +news to-day. I met Sir Beverley and he gave me leave to tell you, +because I love you so much. Your dear man is saved. _You've_ helped to +save him, and----" + +The words died on my lips. I had to put out all my strength with a +sudden effort to keep her from falling. She didn't faint, but her knees +collapsed. I held her for an instant, then supported her till she had +sunk into a chair which was luckily near. If she hadn't been in my arms +I think she would have fallen. Her head lay against the high back of the +grandfather chair, and her face was so white that she reminded me of a +snow-wreath flitting past one's window, ghostlike at twilight. + +Her eyes were half closed. She didn't look at me, nor seem to be any +longer conscious of my presence; but I dropped on my knees beside her, +and covered her cold hands with my own. + +"I oughtn't to have told you so abruptly," I said. "Sir Beverley trusted +me. I've betrayed his trust. But I thought, as you knew there was hope, +hearing that now it was certainty wouldn't excite you too much. Oh, +Rosemary, dear, think how glorious it will be! No more fears, no more +anxieties. Instead of saying to yourself, 'I have him only for a few +weeks,' you will know that you have years together to look forward to. +You will be like Jim and me. You can travel. You can----" + +"Yes," Rosemary almost whispered. "Yes, it is glorious--for Ralston. I +am thankful. You are--good to sympathize so much, and I'm grateful. +I--I'd hardly dreamed before that he _could_ get well. All those +specialists, they were so sure; many of them very celebrated--as +celebrated as Sir Beverley--and he is only one against a dozen. That's +why it is--a surprise, you see." + +She was making so violent an effort to control herself that I felt +guiltily conscious of my eyes upon her face. One would have thought +that, instead of giving her the key to happiness, I had handed her that +of a dungeon where she would be shut up for life. + +"Would you rather I'd go?" I stammered. "Would you like to be alone?" + +She nodded, moistening her lips. "Yes, thank you, Elizabeth," she +breathed. "I--yes, for a little while I'd like to be alone--with my +joy--to pray." + +I jumped up like a marionette. "Of course," I said. "I understand." + +But I didn't understand, as perhaps she guessed from my quivering voice. + +"I wish I could make you--_really_ understand," she sighed. "I--I'm +different from other women. I can't take things as they do--as you +would. But--I told you once, before, _whatever happens I love him_." + +"I'm sure you do," I answered, as I opened the door and slipped softly +out. Yet that wasn't so true as it had been a few minutes ago. I felt as +if I'd been through an earthquake which had shaken me up without +warning. + +"I'm glad that it was I and not Sir Beverley who told her," I said to +myself. But I said it sadly. The sunshine was dimmed. I longed like a +child to escape from that house--escape quickly, and run to Jim's arms +as to a fortress. + + * * * * * + +Sir Beverley kept his promise, and sent for a man who had worked with +him in his experiments. Then he went back to Exeter, promising to return +if he were sent for, or in any case to look in once a fortnight. + +There was no need, however, to send for him. Ralston Murray got on--as +the new man, Doctor Thomas, said--"like a house on fire." + +At first there was little change to be noticed in his appearance. It was +only that the bad symptoms, the constant high temperature, the agonizing +pains in all the bones, and the deadly weakness, diminished and +presently ceased. Then, the next time Jim and I called, I cried out: +"Why, you are _fatter_!" + +Murray laughed with a gay, almost boyish ring in his laugh. +"Transformation of the Living Skeleton into the Fat Man!" he cried. +"What a happy world this is, after all, and I'm the happiest man in it; +that is, I would be, if Rosemary weren't shrinking as rapidly as I +increase. What _are_ we to do with her? She says she's perfectly well. +But look at her little face." + +We looked at it, and though she smiled as brightly as she could, the +smile was camouflage. Always pearly, her skin was dead white now. Even +the lips had lost their coral red, though she bit them to bring back the +blood, and a slight hollow had broken the exquisite oval of her cheeks. +Her eyes looked far too big; and even her hair had dulled, losing +something of its moonlight sheen. + +"I'm perfectly all right!" she insisted. "It's only the reaction after +so much anxiety. _Anybody_ would feel it, in my place." + +"Yes, of course," I soothed her. But I knew that there must be more than +that. She looked as if she never slept. My heart yearned over her, yet I +despaired of doing any good. She would not confide in me. All my +confidence in myself as a "Brightener" was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE CLIMAX + + +From that time on I was haunted by Rosemary's thin, beautiful face, the +suppressed anguish in her eyes, and the wretched conviction that I was +of no use--that I'd stumbled against a high, blank wall. Often at night +I dreamed of her in a feverish way, queer dreams that I couldn't +remember when I waked, though they left me depressed and anxious. And +then, one night nearly four weeks after Murray had been pronounced a +saved man, came the climax. + +As usual, I was thinking of the Murrays when I went to bed--how well and +handsome and happy he was, how mysteriously and silently the girl was +fading. I must have dropped off to sleep with these thoughts in my mind, +and how long I slept I don't know, but I waked, sitting up, hearing loud +sobs. At first I imagined they were Rosemary's. Then I realized that +they were my own. + +In a moment Jim was with me, holding me tight, as if I were a child. +"Darling one, what is it? Tell Jim!" he implored. + +"I don't know," I wailed. "Except the letter--or was it a telegram? And +then that dark precipice! She was on the edge. She called to me: +'Elizabeth--help! help!' But the whole ocean came rolling between us. +Oh, Jim, I _must_ get to her!" + +"I suppose it's Rosemary you're talking about," Jim said. "But it was +only a dream, dearest child. You're not awake yet. Nothing has happened +to Rosemary." + +But I couldn't be consoled. "I suppose it was a dream," I wept. "But +it's true; I know it is. I _know_ something has happened--something +terrible." + +"Well, let's hope it hasn't," soothed Jim. "What could happen in the +middle of the night? It's a quarter to three. We can't do anything till +morning. Then, if you still feel anxious, I'll take you over to the +Manor in the car as early as you like. That is, I will if you're good +and do your best to go to sleep again now." + +How I adored him, and how sorry I was for Rosemary because a black cloud +obscured the brightness of her love, which might have been as sweet as +mine! + +I couldn't sleep again as Jim wished me to do, but he comforted me, and +the dark hours passed. As soon as it was light, however, I bounded up, +bathed and dressed, and Jim did the same for the sake of "standing by"; +which was silly of us, perhaps, because it would be hardly decent to +start before half-past nine. If we did we should reach the Manor at an +absurd hour, especially as Ralston and Rosemary were lazy creatures, +even now, when he was rejoicing in this new lease of life. She hated to +get up early, and he liked to do what she liked. + +"If anything had been wrong, I think we should have got a telegram by +this time," said Jim, as he tried to make me eat breakfast. "You know +how quickly a wire is delivered at our office from Merriton, and----" + +At that instant a footman appeared with a brown envelope on a silver +tray. It was addressed to "Lady Courtenaye," but I asked Jim to open it +and read the message first. + +"Rosemary has--gone," he told me. "Murray asks if, by any chance, she +has come here. There's a 'reply-paid' form; but he wants us to run over +to him if we can." + +Jim scrawled an answer: + + Deeply regret she is not here. Will be with you shortly. + +and sent it off by the post-office boy who waited, though it was +probable that we should see Murray before our response to his question +reached him. + +I think I was never so sorry for any man in my life! + +"I have been too happy!" he said, when he had come to meet us in the +hall--walking firmly in these days--and had led us into his study or +"den." "She's such a friend of yours, Elizabeth. Has she consciously or +unconsciously given you some clue?" + +"No real clue," I told him, regretfully; "though I may think of a +forgotten hint when we've talked things over. But you must tell us +exactly what has happened." + +Poor Murray held himself in iron control. Perhaps he even "hoped for the +best," as Jim urged him to do. But I saw through the false calmness into +a despairing soul. Already the newly lit flame of restored vitality +burned low. He looked years older, and I would have given much if Sir +Beverley or even the understudy had been in the house. Doctor Thomas had +gone a week ago, however, Sir Beverley judging that Murray could now get +on by himself. Alas, he had not guessed how literally the man would be +left alone to do this! + +The morning of yesterday had passed, Murray said, in an ordinary way. +Then, by the second post, which arrived after luncheon, a registered +letter had come for Rosemary. Such letters appeared now and then, at +regular intervals, and Rosemary had explained that they were sent on by +her bank in London, and contained enclosures from America. Rosemary +never talked to him of these letters, or of America at all, having told +him once, before their marriage, that her one link with that country now +was her sister. Whether or not she was fond of the sister he could not +say; but she always seemed restless when one of these registered letters +arrived. + +Yesterday was no exception to the rule. When the letter was handed to +Rosemary she and her husband were having coffee and cigarettes in her +boudoir. She flushed at sight of the envelope, but tossed it aside +unopened, as though she took no interest in its contents, and continued +the conversation as if it had not been broken off. Murray felt uneasily +conscious, however, that she was thinking of the letter, and made an +excuse to leave her alone so that she might read it in peace. Depressed +and anxious, he strolled out on the lawn with the dogs. One of them made +a rush at the open bay window into the boudoir; and, snatching the +animal back by its collar, Murray caught a glimpse of Rosemary burning +something in the grate. + +Soon after she had joined him out of doors, and had made an effort to be +gay. He had thought, however, that she was absent-minded, and he longed +to ask what the trouble was; but America as a subject of conversation +was taboo. + +For the rest of the day they were mostly together, and never had +Rosemary been so loving or so sweet. + +At night Ralston had remained with his wife in her room till twelve. +They had talked of their wonderful meeting on the _Aquitania_, and the +life to which it had led. Then the clock striking midnight reminded +Rosemary that it was late. She had a headache, she said, and would take +some aspirin. Murray was banished to his own room, which adjoined hers, +but the door was left open between. + +It was some time before Ralston went to sleep, yet he heard no sound +from Rosemary's room. At last, however, he must have slumbered heavily, +for he knew no more till dawn. Somehow, he had got into the habit of +rousing at six, though he generally dozed again. This time he waked as +usual, and, remembering Rosemary's headache, tiptoed to the door and +peeped into the darkened room. To his surprise she was not in bed. +Still, he was not worried. His thought was that she had risen early and +stealthily, not to rouse him, and that she had gone to the bathroom next +door to bathe and dress for an early walk. + +He tapped at the bathroom door, but getting no answer, turned the +handle. Rosemary was not in the room, and there were no towels lying +about. + +Murray's next move was to draw back the curtains across one of the open +windows; and it was then that he saw an envelope stuck into the mirror +over the dressing table. His name was on it, and with a stab of +apprehension he broke the seal. + +The letter which this envelope had contained he showed to Jim and me. It +was written in pencil, and was very short. It said: + + Good-bye, my Beloved. I must go, and I cannot even tell you why. + You may find out some day, but I hope not, for both our sakes. It + would only make you more unhappy. You would hate me, I think, if + you knew the truth. But oh, try not to do that. I love you so much! + I am so happy that you are growing well and strong, yet if I had + known I should not have dared to marry you, because from the first + this that has happened was bound to happen. Forgive me for hurting + you. I didn't mean to do it. I thought only to make your last days + on this earth happier, and to keep a blessed memory for myself. + While I live I shall love you, but it will be best for you to + forget. + + Rosemary. + +In spite of this farewell, Ralston had hoped to hear something of +Rosemary from me. At all events, he wanted our advice, Jim's and mine. + +It was a blow to him that we had no news to give; and it was hard even +to offer advice. What could we say? I had known for long that the girl +was miserable, and this sudden break-up of everything was more of a +shock than a surprise. I was afraid to say: "Get her back at any price!" +for--the price (not in money but in heart's blood) might prove too high. +Instead I hedged. + +"What if Rosemary is right?" I ventured. "What if it _would_ be best as +she says, for both your sakes, to let her go?" + +Murray's eyes flashed rage. "Is that your _real_ advice?" he flung at +me. "If it is, you're not the woman I thought you. I'll move heaven and +earth to get Rosemary back, because we love each other, and nothing else +matters." + +"Well, that's what I wanted to find out!" I exclaimed in a changed tone. +"That's the way I should feel in your place----" + +"I, too!" chimed in Jim. + +"And since that _is_ the way you feel," I went on, "I've thought of +something, or rather, _someone_, that may help. Mrs. Paul Jennings." + +Ralston stared, and repeated the name. + +"Mrs. Paul Jennings? What is she likely to know about Rosemary's secrets +that you don't know?" + +"That's for you to find out," I answered. "It's an impression I have. I +may be mistaken. But it's worth trying. I should send for Mrs. Paul +Jennings if I were you." + +"I will!" cried Murray. "I'll send a note now--and the car to fetch her +here." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +WHAT GABY TOLD + + +It seemed to us that hours dragged heavily by, between the time that the +motor left and the time when we heard it draw up at the front door. A +moment later, and Gaby Jennings was shown into Murray's den, where we +three were waiting. + +Ralston had said in his short note that Rosemary had gone away suddenly, +and that he was most anxious. But there was no sign of distress on the +Frenchwoman's face. On the contrary, those big dark eyes of hers, which +could be so languorous, looked hard as glass as she smiled at me and +nodded at Jim. + +Her voice was soft, however, when she answered Ralston's question. + +"Ah, my poor Major!" she gently bleated. "You have all my sympathy. I +could say nothing. But I always feared--I feared this would come!" + +Ralston braced himself. "You know something, then?" he exclaimed. "You +have something to tell me!" + +"I do know something--yes," she said. "But whether I have something to +tell--ah, that is different. I must think first." + +"You mean, you wish to consult Paul," he prompted her. "But I can't wait +for that. For heaven's sake, Mrs. Jennings, speak out; don't keep me in +suspense." + +"I did not mean to consult Paul," Gaby replied. "When I read your note I +told Paul you asked me to come over alone, though it was not true. It is +better that we talk without Paul listening." + +"Shall Jim and I go away?" I asked quickly, speaking not to her, but to +Ralston. + +"No," he answered. "Mrs. Jennings can have nothing to say about Rosemary +which I wouldn't care for you and Jim to hear." + +I saw from Gaby's face that this verdict annoyed her, but she shrugged +her pretty shoulders. "As you will," she said. "For me, I would rather +Sir James and Lady Courtenaye were not here. But what matter? You would +repeat to them what passes between us." + +"Doubtless I should," Ralston agreed. "Now tell me what you have to +tell, I beg." + +"It is a very big thing," Gaby began. "Rosemary did not want me to tell. +She offered me bribes. I refused, because I would not bind myself. Yet +there is a favour you could do for me--for us--Major Murray. If you +would promise--I could not resist giving up Rosemary's secret." + +Ralston's face had hardened. I saw his dislike of her and what she +suggested. But he could not afford to refuse, and perhaps lose all +chance of finding his wife. + +"Will what you have to tell help me to get Rosemary back?" he asked. + +"Yes--if after you have heard you still want her back," Gaby hedged. "I +can tell you where she is likely to be." + +"Nothing on God's earth you could tell would make me not want her back!" +he cried. "What is this favour you speak of?" + +"It is only that I ask you to take my husband as your doctor. Oh, do not +think it is from Paul I come! He does not know Rosemary's secret, or +that I make a price for this. If you do this--and why not, since Paul is +a good doctor, and you have now finished with others?--I will tell you +all I know about your wife." + +As she went on I was thinking fast. Poor Rosemary! I was sure that Gaby +had tried to work upon her fears--had promised secrecy if Mrs. Murray +would get Doctor Jennings taken on as Ralston's physician. At first +Rosemary had been inclined to yield. That must have been at the time +when she wired to stop Sir Beverley's visit, if not too late. Then we +had appeared on the scene, saying that it _was_ too late, and urging +that Sir Beverley might offer Ralston a chance of life. At this +Rosemary's love for her husband had triumphed over fears for her own +sake. She had realized that by keeping Sir Beverley away she might be +standing between her husband and life itself. If there were a ray of +hope for him, she determined to help, not hinder, no matter what the +cost. + +Once she had refused Mrs. Jennings' request, she had been at the woman's +mercy; but Gaby had waited, expecting the thing that had happened +to-day, and seeing that her best chance for the future lay with Murray. +As for Jennings, it might be true that he wasn't in the plot; but if my +theory concerning the portraits were correct, he certainly _was_ in it, +and had at least partially planned the whole scheme. + +I was so afraid Ralston might accept the bargain without stopping to +think, that I spoke without giving him time to open his lips. "Before +you decide to take Paul Jennings as your doctor, send for an expert to +look through your collection of portraits!" + +"What have the portraits to do with Doctor Jennings?" asked Ralston, +astonished. + +I stared at Gaby Jennings as I answered; but a woman who uses liquid +powder is fortified against a blush. + +"That's what I want you to find out before making a bargain with his +wife. All I know is, there are modern copies in the frames which once +held your greatest treasures. Only a person free to come and go here for +months could bring off such a fraud without too much risk. And if Doctor +Jennings _had_ brought it off, would he be a safe person to look after +the health of the man he'd cheated?" + +Gaby Jennings sprang to her feet. "Lady Courtenaye, my husband can sue +you for slander!" she cried. + +"He can; but will he?" I retorted. + +"I go to tell him of what he is accused by you!" she said. "There is no +fear for us, because you have no proof. But it is finished now! I leave +this house where I have been insulted, and Major Murray may search the +world. He will never find his lost wife!" + +"Stop, Mrs. Jennings!" Murray commanded, sharply. "The house is mine, +and _I_ have not insulted you. I thank Lady Courtenaye for trying to +protect me. But I don't intend to make any accusations against your +husband or you. Tell me what you know, and I will write a letter asking +Jennings to attend me as my doctor. That I promise." + +Gaby Jennings threw me a look of triumph; and I am ashamed to say that +for a minute I was so angry at the man's foolhardiness that I hardly +cared what happened to him. But it was for a minute only. I felt that +Jim would have done the same in his place; and I was anxious to help him +in spite of himself. + +The Frenchwoman accepted the promise, but suggested that Major Murray +might now wish to change his mind: he might like to be alone with her +when she made her revelations. Ralston was so far loyal to us, however, +that he refused to let us go. We were his best friends, and he was +deeply grateful, even though he had to act against our advice. + +"Let them hear, then, that Rosemary Brandreth is Rosemary Brandreth to +this hour--not Rosemary Murray," Gaby Jennings snapped out. "She is not +your wife, because Guy Brandreth is not dead, and they are not divorced. +She does not even love you, Major Murray. She loves madly her real +husband, and left him only because she was jealous of some flirtation he +had with another woman. Then she met you--on shipboard, was it not?--and +this idea came into her head: to go through a ceremony of marriage, and +get what she could to feather her nest when you were dead, and she was +free to return home." + +"My God! You lie!" broke out Ralston. + +"I do not lie. I can prove to you that I do not. I knew Guy and Rosemary +Brandreth before I left the stage. I was acting in the States. People +made much of me there, as in England, in those days. In a big town +called Baltimore, in Maryland, I met the Brandreths. I met them at their +own house and at other houses where I was invited. There could be no +mistake. But when I saw the lady here, as your wife, I might have +thought her husband was dead; I might have thought that, and no +more--except for one thing: she was foolish: she showed that she was +afraid of me. Because of her manner I suspected something wrong. Letters +take ages, so I cabled to a man who had been nice to me in Baltimore. It +was a long message I sent, with several questions. Soon the answer came. +It told me that Captain Guy Brandreth is now stationed in Washington. He +is alive, and not divorced from his wife. They had a little quarrel, and +she sailed for Europe, to stay three or four months, but there was not +even gossip about a separation when she went away. My friend said that +Captain Brandreth talked often about being anxious for his wife to come +back, and instead of taking advantage of her absence, he no longer +flirted with the lady of whom Mrs. Brandreth had been jealous. Now you +have heard all--and you _see_ all, don't you? I know about the codicil +added to your will. You remember, my husband witnessed it, one day when +Sir James Courtenaye had meant to come over, but could not? Mrs. +Brandreth arranged cleverly. If you had died, as she was sure you would +die before the time when she was expected back, she could easily have +got your money--everything of which you had been possessed. She +waited--always hoping that you might die. But at last she had to give +up. She could stay no longer without fear of what her American husband +might do. If you don't believe, I will show you the cablegrams I have +received. But, in any case, you must read them!" And pulling from her +hand-bag several folded papers, Gaby forced them upon Ralston. + +Oh, with what horrible plausibility the story hung together! It fitted +in with everything I had ever guessed, suspected, or known of +Rosemary--except her ethereal sweetness, her seeming love for the man +she had now deserted. Could she have pretended well enough to deceive me +in spite of my suspicions? Above all, would she have offered the blood +from her veins to save Ralston Murray if she had not wanted him to live? + +My head buzzed with questions, and no answers were ready. Still I could +see, confusedly, that the terrible imposture Rosemary was accused of +might have been committed by a woman who loved its victim. Meeting him +on shipboard, old feelings might have crept back into her heart. On a +mad impulse she might have agreed to make his last weeks on earth happy. +As for the money, that extra temptation might have appealed to the worst +side of her nature. + +When Ralston implored desperately, "Do _you_ believe this of Rosemary?" +I could not speak for a moment. I glanced from his despairing face to +Jim's perplexed one. Almost, I stammered, "I'm afraid I do believe!" But +the look I caught in Gaby's eyes as I turned stopped the words on my +lips. + +"No, I _don't_ believe it of her--I can't, and won't!" I cried. + +"God help me, I do!" groaned Ralston, and breaking down at last, he +covered his face with his hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE + + +Well, there we had to leave matters for the moment. + +Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice. +Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one--except to be let +alone. + +He had said to Gaby Jennings that he would always want Rosemary back +whatever he heard about her past; but now, believing Gaby's story with +its additional proofs, at all events he had no more hope of getting her +back. In his eyes she was another man's wife. He did not expect to see +her again in this world. + +Jim and I could do nothing with him: Jim was helpless because he also, +at heart, believed Gaby, and defended Rosemary only to please me; I had +ceased to be of use, because I could give no reason for my faith in her. +What good to say: "There must be some awful misunderstanding!" when +there were those cablegrams from Baltimore and Washington? Gaby would +not have shown copies of her own messages with the address of her +correspondent, if she hadn't been willing that Murray should make +inquiries as to the man's identity and bona fides. + +We could not persuade him to wait, before keeping his promise to Mrs. +Jennings, until he had heard from America. He knew what he should hear, +he said. Besides, a promise was a promise. He didn't care whether Paul +had stolen his heirlooms or not, but there was no proof that he had, and +people must be presumed innocent until they were found to be guilty. Nor +did he care what Jennings' designs on him might be. It was too +far-fetched to suppose that the man had any designs; but no greater +kindness could now be done to him, Ralston, than to put him for ever out +of his misery. + +This was mad talk; but in a way Ralston Murray went mad that day when he +lost Rosemary. No doctor, no alienist, would have pronounced him mad, of +course. Rather would I have seemed insane in my defence of Rosemary +Brandreth. But when the man's heart broke, something snapped in his +brain. All was darkness there. He had turned his back on hope, and could +not bear to hear the word. + +We did persuade him, in justice to Rosemary, to let us cable a New York +detective agency whose head Jim had known well. This man was instructed +to learn whether Gaby's friend had told the truth about Captain +Brandreth and his wife: whether she had sailed for Europe on the +_Aquitania_, upon a certain date; and whether the pair had been living +together before Mrs. Brandreth left for Europe. + +When news came confirming Gaby's story, and, a little later, mentioning +that Mrs. Brandreth had returned from abroad, Ralston said: "I knew it +would be so. There's nothing more to do." But I felt that there was a +great deal more to do; and I was bent on doing it. The next thing was to +induce Jim to let me do it. + +To my first proposition he agreed willingly. Now that I had shot my +bolt, there was no longer any objection to employing detectives against +the Jenningses. Indeed, there was a strong incentive. If their guilt +could be proved, Ralston Murray would not be quite insane enough to keep +Paul on as his doctor. + +We both liked the idea of putting my old friend Mr. Smith on to the +case, and applied to him upon our own responsibility, without a word to +Murray. But this was nothing compared with my second suggestion. I +wanted to rush over to America and see for myself whether Rosemary was +living in Washington as the wife of Guy Brandreth. + +"What! You'd leave me here, and go across the Atlantic without me on a +wild-goose chase?" Jim shouted. + +"Who said anything about my going without you?" I retorted. "Oh, darling +Man, _do_ take me!" + +That settled it: and as soon as the thing was decided, we were both keen +to start. Our one cause for hesitation was fear for Ralston Murray's +safety, now that he had so recklessly flung himself into Paul Jennings' +hands. Still, in the circumstances, we could do little good if we stayed +at home. Ralston had shut himself up, refusing to see any one--including +ourselves. His mental state was bad enough to sap his newly restored +health, even if I did Doctor Paul Jennings a grave injustice; and Mr. +Smith could watch the Jenningses better than we could. + +I did take the precaution to write Sir Beverley that his late patient +had fallen into the clutches of the Merriton doctor, and beg him to call +at the Manor some day, declining to take 'no' for an answer if he were +refused at the door: and then we sailed. It was on the _Aquitania_ +again, and every moment brought back some recollection of Rosemary and +Ralston Murray. + +We travelled straight to Washington after landing, and were met at the +station by the young detective Jim's friend had engaged. He had +collected the information we needed for the beginning of our campaign, +and had bought tickets for the first performance of a new play that +night. + +"The Brandreths have a party going," he said, "and your places are next +to theirs. Yours are at the end of the row, so they'll have to pass you +going in, if you're early on the spot." + +I liked that detective. He had "struck" a smart idea! + +We had only just time to dress and dine at our hotel, and dash to the +theatre in a taxi, if we wished to arrive when the doors were opened. + +It was lucky we did this, for the audience assembled promptly, in order +to hear some music written for the new play by a popular composer. We +had hardly looked through the programme after settling down in our +chairs when a familiar fragrance floated to me. It was what I had always +called "Rosemary's _leitmotif_," expressed in perfume. I turned my head, +and--there she was in great beauty coming along the aisle with three or +four men and as many pretty women. + +I had got myself up that night expressly to attract +attention--Rosemary's attention. I was determined that she should not, +while laughing and talking with her friends, pass me by without +recognition. Consequently, I was dressed more suitably for a ball than a +play. I had on a gown of gold tissue, and my second best tiara, to say +nothing of a few more scattered diamonds and a double rope of pearls. It +was impossible for the most absent-minded eye to miss me, or my +black-browed, red-haired giant in evening dress--Jim. As I looked over +my shoulder at Rosemary, therefore, she looked at me. Our gaze +encountered, and--my jaw almost dropped. She showed not the slightest +sign of surprise; did not start, did not blush or turn pale. Her lovely +face expressed good-natured admiration, that was all. + +She glanced at Jim, too--as all women do glance--with interest. But it +was purely impersonal interest, as if to say, "There's a _man_!" + +Those black brows of his drew together in disapproval, because she had +no right to be so rosy and happy, so much more voluptuous in her beauty +than she had been when with Ralston Murray. Rosemary, however, seemed +quite unconscious of Jim's disgust. She had an air of conquering, +conscious charm, as if all the world must love and admire her--such an +air as she had never worn in our experience. Having looked us over with +calm admiration she marshalled her guests, and was especially charming +to one of the women, a dark, glowing creature almost as beautiful as +herself. Something within me whispered: "_That's_ the woman she was +jealous of! This party is meant to advertise that they're the best of +friends." + +"Guy, you're to sit next Mrs. Dupont," she directed; and at the sound of +her voice my heart gave a little jump. There was a different quality +about this voice--a contralto quality. It was heavier, richer, less +flutelike than Rosemary's used to be. + +Mrs. Dupont and Guy Brandreth passed us to reach their chairs. Guy was a +square-jawed, rather ugly, but extremely masculine young man of a type +intensely attractive to women. + +"She wants to show everyone how she trusts him now!" I thought. "She's +giving him Mrs. Dupont practically to himself for the evening." + +All the party pushed by, Rosemary and an elderly man, who, it appeared, +was Mr. Dupont, coming last. He sat between her and me, and they chatted +together before the music began; but now and then she looked past him at +me, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. + +"Jim," I whispered, "_it isn't Rosemary_!" + +"Well--I was wondering!" he answered. "But--it _must_ be." + +"It simply _isn't_," I insisted. "To-morrow I'm going to call on Mrs. +Guy Brandreth." + +"Supposing she won't see you?" + +"She will," I said. "I shall ring her up early before she can possibly +be out, and make an appointment." + +"If it is Rosemary, when she knows who you are she won't----" began Jim, +but I cut him short. I repeated again the same obstinate words: "It is +_not_ Rosemary." + + * * * * * + +I called up Mrs. Guy Brandreth at nine o'clock next morning, and heard +the rich contralto voice asking "_Who_ is it?" + +"Lady Courtenaye at Willard's Hotel," I boldly answered. "I've come from +England on purpose to see you. I have very important things to say." + +There was a slight pause; then the voice answered with a new vibration +in it: "When can you come? Or--no! When can you have me call on you? +That would be better." + +"I can have you call as soon as you care to start," I replied. "The +sooner the better." + +"I'm not dressed," said the quivering voice. "But I'll be with you at +ten o'clock." + +I told Jim, and we arranged that he should be out of the way till +ten-thirty. Then he was to walk into our private sitting room, where I +would receive Mrs. Brandreth. I thought that by that time we should be +ready for him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MRS. BRANDRETH'S STORY + + +She came--into a room with all the blinds up, the curtains pushed back, +and floods of sunshine streaming in. + +Just for an instant I was chilled with doubt of last night's impression, +for her face was so pale and anxious that she was more like Rosemary +than had been the red-rose vision at the theatre. But she was genuinely +surprised at sight of me. + +"Why!" she exclaimed. "You are the lovely lady who sat next us at the +play!" + +"Does my name suggest nothing to you?" I asked. + +"Nothing," she echoed. + +"Then we'll sit down, and I'll tell you a story," I suggested. + +I began with the _Aquitania_: the man in the cushioned deck-chair, going +home condemned to die; the beautiful girl who appeared on the second day +out; the recognition. I mentioned no names. When I said, however, that +years ago the two had been engaged, a sudden light flashed into my +visitor's eyes. She would have interrupted, but I begged her to let me +go on; and she sat silent while I told the whole story. Then, before she +had time to speak, I said: "There's just _one_ thing I know! You are not +the woman who came to England and married Ralston Murray. If you have a +heart in your breast, you'll tell me where to find that woman. He will +die unless she goes back to him." + +Her lips parted, but she pressed them tightly together again. I saw her +muscles stiffen in sympathy with some resolve. + +"The woman, whoever she was, must have personated me for a reason of her +own," she answered. "It's as deep a mystery to me as to you." + +I looked her in the eyes. "That's not true. Mrs. Brandreth," I flung at +her, brutally. "In spite of what I've said, you're afraid of me. I give +you my most sacred word that you shall be protected if you will help, as +you alone can, to save Ralston Murray. It is only if you _refuse_ your +help that you may suffer. In that case, my husband and I will fight for +our friend. We won't consider you at all. Now that we have a strong clue +to this seeming mystery, and it is already close to our hands, +everything that you have done or have not done will soon come out." + +The beautiful woman broke down and began to cry. "What I did I had a +right to do!" she sobbed. "There was no harm! It was as much for the +sake of my husband's future happiness as my own, but if he finds out +he'll never love or trust me again. Men are so cruel!" + +"Tell me who went to England in your place, when you pretended to sail, +and he sha'n't find out. Only ourselves and Ralston Murray need ever +know," I urged. + +"It was--my twin sister," she gasped, "my sister Mary-Rose Hillier, who +sailed on the _Aquitania_ as Mrs. Guy Brandreth. It was the only way I +could think of, so that I could be near my husband and watch him without +his having the slightest suspicion of what was going on. Mary-Rose owed +me a lot of money which I couldn't really afford to do without. It was +when she was still in England, before she came to America, that I let +her have it. My mother was dreadfully ill, and Mary-Rose adored her. She +wanted to call in great specialists, and begged me to help her. At first +I thought I couldn't. Guy and I are not rich! But he was flirting with a +woman--a cat of a woman: you saw her last night. I was nearly desperate. +Suddenly an idea came to me. I sold a rope of pearls I had, first +getting it copied, and making my sister promise she would do whatever I +asked if I sent her the thousand pounds she wanted. You look shocked--I +suppose because I bargained over my mother's health. But my husband was +more to me than my mother or any one else. Besides, Mother hadn't wished +me to marry Guy. She didn't want me to jilt Ralston Murray. I couldn't +forgive her for the way she behaved, and I never saw her after my +runaway wedding." + +"So it was you, and not your sister, who was engaged to Ralston Murray +eight years ago!" I couldn't resist. + +"Yes. It happened abroad--as you know, perhaps. Mary-Rose was away at a +boarding school, and they never met. The whole affair was so short, so +quickly over, I doubt if I ever even told Ralston that my sister and I +were twins. But he gave me a lot of lovely presents, and refused to take +them back--wrote that he'd burn them, pearls and all, if I sent them to +him. Yes, the pearls I sold were a gift from him when we were engaged. +And there were photographs of Ralston that Mary-Rose wouldn't let me +destroy. She kept them herself. She was sorry for Ralston--hearing the +story, and seeing some of his letters. She was a romantic girl, and +thought him the ideal man. She was half in love, without having seen him +in the flesh." + +"That is why she couldn't resist, on the _Aquitania_," I murmured. "When +Ralston asked her to marry him, she fell in love with the reality, I +suppose. Poor girl, what she must have gone through, unable to tell him +the truth, because she'd pledged herself to keep your secret, whatever +happened! I begin to see the whole thing now! When your mother died in +spite of the specialists, you made the girl come over to this side, +without your husband or any one knowing. You hid her in New York. You +planned your trip to Europe. You left Washington. Your cabin was taken +on the _Aquitania_, and Mary-Rose Hillier sailed as Rosemary Brandreth, +wearing clothes of yours, and even using the same perfume." + +"You've guessed it," she confessed. "We'd arranged what to do, in case +Guy went to the ship with me. But he and I were rather on official terms +because of things I'd said about Mrs. Dupont, and he let me travel to +New York alone. I learned from a famous theatrical wig-maker how to +disguise myself, and I lived in lodgings not half a mile from our house +for three months, watching what he did every day. At first I didn't find +out much, but later I began to see that I'd done him an injustice. He +didn't care seriously for the Dupont woman. It was only a flirtation. So +I was in a hurry to get Mary-Rose over here again, and reappear myself." + +"Why did you have to insist on her coming back to America?" I asked, +trying not to show how disgusted I was with the selfishness of the +creature--selfishness which had begun long ago, in throwing Ralston +over, and now without a thought had wrecked her sister's life. + +"Oh, to have her book her passage in my name and sail for home was the +only safe way! All had gone so well, I wouldn't spoil it at the end." + +"All had gone well with _you_," I said. "But what about _her_?" + +"She didn't tell me what you've told me to-day. I supposed till almost +the last that she was just travelling about, as we planned for her to +do. The only address I had was Mother's old bank, which was to forward +everything to Mary-Rose, on her own instructions. Then, a few weeks ago, +she wrote and asked if I could manage without her coming back to +America. She said it would make a lot of difference in her life, but she +didn't explain what she meant. If she'd made a clean breast of +everything I might have thought of some other way out; but----" + +"But as _she_ didn't, _you_ didn't," I finished the sentence. "Oh, how +different Mary-Rose Hillier is in heart from her sister Rosemary +Brandreth, though their faces are almost identical! She was always +thinking of you, and her promise to you. That promise was killing +her--that and her love for Ralston Murray. She didn't want his money, +and when she found he was determined to make a will in her favour she +thought of a way in which everything would come to _you_. It was you he +really loved--no doubt she argued with herself--and he wanted you to +inherit his fortune. Oh, poor tortured girl!--and I used to suspect that +she was mercenary. But, thank Heaven, Ralston didn't die, as he expected +so soon to do when he made that hurried will. The woman he truly loves +was never married before, and is his legal wife. Now, when she goes back +to him and he hears the whole truth he will be so happy that he'll live +for years, strong and well." + +"I don't believe even you can induce Mary-Rose to go back to Ralston +Murray," Mrs. Brandreth said. "She wouldn't think he could forgive her +for deceiving him." + +"He could forgive her anything after what he went through in losing +her," I said. "When you've told me where to find your sister, I will +tell her that--and a lot more things besides." + +"Well, if you can make her see your point of view!" Mrs. Brandreth +grudged. "If _my_ secret is kept, I hope Mary-Rose may be happy. I don't +grudge her Ralston Murray or his fortune; but when she feels herself +_quite_ safe as his wife she can pay me my thousand pounds." + +"She _has_ paid you, and more, with her heart's blood!" I exclaimed. +"Where is she?" + +"In New York. She told me she could never go to England again after what +had happened there. She seems awfully down, and I left her deciding +whether she should enter a charitable sisterhood. They take girls +without money, if they'll work in the slums, and Mary-Rose was anxious +to do that." + +"She won't be when she understands what work lies before her across the +sea," I retorted. + +Even as I spoke--and as Mrs. Guy Brandreth was writing down her sister's +address--I mentally marshalled the arguments I would use: the need to +save Ralston from himself, and above all from Paul and Gaby Jennings. +But, oh, the sudden stab I felt as those names came to my mind! + +_How_ keep the secret when Gaby Jennings had known the real Rosemary +Brandreth in Baltimore? All the complications would have to be explained +to her, if she were not to spread scandal--if she were not to whisper +revengefully among her friends: "Ralston Murray isn't really married to +his wife. I could have her arrested as a bigamist if I chose!" + +It was an awful question, that question of Gaby Jennings. But the answer +came like balm, after the stab, and that answer was--"_The pictures._" + +By the time Jim and I reached England again, taking Mary-Rose with us, +my tame detective would have got at the truth about the stolen +treasures, and who had made the copies. Then all that Ralston need do +would be to say: "Tell the lies you want to tell about my wife (who _is_ +my wife!); spread any gossip at all--and you go to prison, you and your +husband. Keep silence, and I will do the same." + +Well, we found Mary-Rose in New York. At first she was horrified at +sight of us. Her one desire had been to hide. But after I had talked +myself nearly dumb, and Jim had got in a word or two edgewise, she began +to hope. Even then she would not go back, though, until I had written +out her story for Ralston to read. He was to decide, and wire either +"Come to me," or "I cannot forgive." + +We took her to our hotel, to await the answer; but there something +happened which changed the whole outlook. A long cablegram was delivered +to me some days before it would be possible to hear from Ralston. It was +from Mr. Smith, and said: + + G. J. and husband proved guilty portrait fraud. Woman's father + clever old Parisian artist smuggled to England copy pictures. Her + career on stage ruined by cocaine and attempt to change friend's + jewels for false. When she attempted nursing in war, went to pieces + again; health saved by P. J., but would not have married him if he + had not pretended to be R. M.'s heir. R. M. so ill I took liberty + send for Sir B. D. as you directed. Sir B. D. proved nothing + positive against P. J., but suspicion so strong I got rid of couple + by springing portrait discoveries on them and threatening arrest. + They agreed leave England if allowed do so quietly. Consulted R. + M., who wished them to go, and they have already gone. Sir B. D. + installed at Manor. Things going better but patient weak. Hope you + think I did right.-- + + Smith. + +I showed this message to Ralston's wife; and she said what I knew she +would say: "Oh, let's sail at once! Even if he doesn't want me, I must +be _near_." + +Of course he did want her. He loved her so much that--it seemed to +him--the only person who had to be forgiven was that creature in +Washington. Her he forgave because, if it hadn't been for her selfish +scheme he would never have met his "life-saving angel." + +Yes, that is his name for her now. It is a secret name, yet not so sweet +as Jim's for me. But that's a secret! And it's better than "The +Brightener." + +THE END + + + + +BOOKS BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON + + + A Soldier of the Legion + Everyman's Land + It Happened in Egypt + Lady Betty Across the Water + Lord Loveland Discovers America + My Friend the Chauffeur + Princess Virginia + Rosemary in Search of a Father + Secret History + Set in Silver + The Brightener + The Car of Destiny + The Chaperon + The Golden Silence + The Great Pearl Secret + The Guests of Hercules + The Heather Moon + The Lightning Conductor + The Lightning Conductor Discovers America + The Lion's Mouse + The Motor Maid + The Port of Adventure + The Princess Passes + The Second Latchkey + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Brightener, by +C. N. Williamson and A. M. 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N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Brightener + +Author: C. N. Williamson + A. M. Williamson + +Illustrator: Walter De Maris + +Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32428] +[Last updated: January 26, 2014] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHTENER *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="images/title.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>THE BRIGHTENER</h1> + +<h2>BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON</h2> + + +<h3>FRONTISPIECE<br /> +BY WALTER DE MARIS</h3> + +<h3>GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO<br /> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> +1921</h3> + +<h3>COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY<br /> +C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON</h3> + +<h3>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br /> +INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</h3> + +<h3>COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY AINSLEE's MAGAZINE CO., NEW YORK AND GREAT BRITAIN.<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + + +<h3>"A SLIGHT SOUND ATTRACTED OUR ATTENTION TO THE HISTORIC STAIRWAY"</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + +<p><i>To the Kind People Who Read Our Books:</i></p> + + +<p>I want to explain to you, in case it may interest you a little, why it +is that I want to keep the "firm name" (as we used to call it) of "C. N. +& A. M. Williamson," although my husband has gone out of this world.</p> + +<p>It is because I feel very strongly that he helps me with the work even +more than he was able to do in this world. I always had his advice, and +when we took motor tours he gave me his notes to use as well as my own. +But now there is far more help than that. I cannot explain in words: I +can only feel. And because of that feeling, I could not bear to have the +"C. N." disappear from the title page.</p> + +<p>Dear People who may read this, I hope that you will wish to see the +initials "C. N." with those of</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">A. M. Williamson</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#BOOK_I">BOOK I. THE YACHT</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IA">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">Down and out</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIA">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">Up and in</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIIA">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">Thunderbolt Six</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IVA">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">The Black Thing in the Sea</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VA">CHAPTER V. <span class="smcap">What I Found in My Cabin</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIA">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">The Woman of the Past</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIA">CHAPTER VII. <span class="smcap">The Secret Behind the Silence</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIA">CHAPTER VIII. <span class="smcap">The Great Surprise</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IXA">CHAPTER IX. <span class="smcap">The Game of Bluff</span></a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_II">BOOK II. THE HOUSE WITH THE TWISTED CHIMNEY</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IB">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">The Shell-Shock Man</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIB">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">The Advertisement</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIIB">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">The Letter with the Purple Seal</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IVB">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">The Tangled Web</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VB">CHAPTER V. <span class="smcap">The Knitting Woman of Dun Moat</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIB">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">The Lightning Stroke</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIB">CHAPTER VII. <span class="smcap">The Red Baize Door</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIB">CHAPTER VIII. <span class="smcap">"When in Doubt, Play a Trump"</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IXB">CHAPTER IX. <span class="smcap">The Rat Trap</span></a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_III">BOOK III. THE DARK VEIL</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IC">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">The Girl With the Letter</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIC">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">The Hermit</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIIC">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">The Chair at the Savoy</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IVC">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">The Spirit of June</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VC">CHAPTER V. <span class="smcap">The Bargain</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIC">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">The Last Séance</span></a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_IV">BOOK IV. THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BRANDRETH</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_ID">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">The Man in the Cushioned Chair</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IID">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">Mrs. Brandreth</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIID">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">The Condition She Made</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IVD">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">The Old Love Story</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VD">CHAPTER V. <span class="smcap">The Man with the Brilliant Eyes</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VID">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">The Pictures</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIID">CHAPTER VII. <span class="smcap">Sir Beverley's Impressions</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIID">CHAPTER VIII. <span class="smcap">While We Waited</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IXD">CHAPTER IX. <span class="smcap">The Good News</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XD">CHAPTER X. <span class="smcap">The Climax</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XID">CHAPTER XI. <span class="smcap">What Gaby Told</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIID">CHAPTER XII. <span class="smcap">The Woman in the Theatre</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIIID">CHAPTER XIII. <span class="smcap">Mrs. Brandreth's Story</span></a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOKS_BY_C_N_A_M_WILLIAMSON">BOOKS BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE BRIGHTENER</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_I" id="BOOK_I"></a>BOOK I</h2> + +<h3>THE YACHT</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IA" id="CHAPTER_IA"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>DOWN AND OUT</h3> + + +<p>"I wonder who will tell her," I heard somebody say, just outside the +arbour.</p> + +<p>The somebody was a woman; and the somebody else who answered was a man. +"Glad it won't be me!" he replied, ungrammatically.</p> + +<p>I didn't know who these somebodies were, and I didn't much care. For the +first instant the one thing I did care about was, that they should +remain outside my arbour, instead of finding their way in. Then, the +next words waked my interest. They sounded mysterious, and I loved +mysteries—<i>then</i>.</p> + +<p>"It's an awful thing to happen—a double blow, in the same moment!" +exclaimed the woman.</p> + +<p>They had come to a standstill, close to the arbour; but there was hope +that they mightn't discover it, because it wasn't an ordinary arbour. It +was really a deep, sweet-scented hollow scooped out of an immense <i>arbor +vitæ</i> tree, camouflaged to look like its sister trees in a group beside +the path. The hollow contained an old marble seat, on which I was +sitting, but the low entrance could only be reached by one who knew of +its existence, passing between those other trees.</p> + +<p>I felt suddenly rather curious about the person struck by a "double +blow," for a "fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind"; and at that +moment I was a sort of modern, female Damocles myself. In fact, I had +got the Marchese d'Ardini to bring me away from the ball-room to hide in +this secret arbour of his old Roman garden, because my mood was out of +tune for dancing. I hadn't wished to come to the ball, but Grandmother +had insisted. Now I had made an excuse of wanting an ice, to get rid of +my dear old friend the Marchese for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>"She couldn't have cared about the poor chap," said the man in a hard +voice, with a slight American accent, "or she wouldn't be here +to-night."</p> + +<p>My heart missed a beat.</p> + +<p>"They say," explained the woman, "that her grandmother practically +forced her to marry the prince, and arranged it at a time when he'd have +to go back to the Front an hour after the wedding, so they shouldn't be +<i>really</i> married, if anything happened to him. I don't know whether +that's true or not!"</p> + +<p>But I knew! I knew that it was true, because they were talking about me. +In an instant—before I'd decided whether to rush out or sit still—I +knew something more.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> ought to be well informed, though," the woman's voice continued. +"You're a distant cousin, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"'Distant' is the word! About forty-fourth cousin, four times removed," +the man laughed with frank bitterness. (No wonder, as he'd +unsuccessfully claimed the right to our family estate, to hitch on to +his silly old, dug-up title!) Not only did I know, now, of whom they +were talking, but I knew one of those who talked: a red-headed giant of +a man I'd seen to-night for the first time, though he had annoyed +Grandmother and me from a distance, for years. In fact, we'd left home +and taken up the Red Cross industry in Rome, because of him. Indirectly +it was his fault that I was married, since, if it hadn't been for him, I +shouldn't have come to Italy or met Prince di Miramare. I did not stop, +however, to think of all this. It just flashed through my subconscious +mind, while I asked myself, "What has happened to Paolo? Has he been +killed, or only wounded? And what do the brutes mean by a 'double +blow'?"</p> + +<p>I had no longer the impulse to rush out. I waited, with hushed breath. I +didn't care whether it were nice or not to eavesdrop. All I thought of +was my intense desire to hear what those two would say next.</p> + +<p>"Like grandmother, like grand-daughter, I suppose," went on the +ex-cowboy baronet, James Courtenaye. "A hard-hearted lot my only +surviving female relatives seem to be! Her husband at the Front, liable +to die at any minute; her grandmother dying at home, and our fair young +Princess dances gaily to celebrate a small Italian victory!"</p> + +<p>"You forget what's happened to-night, Sir Jim, when you speak of your +'<i>surviving</i>' female relatives," said the woman.</p> + +<p>"By George, yes! I've got but one left now. And I expect, from what I +hear, I shall be called upon to support her!"</p> + +<p>Then Grandmother was dead!—wonderful, indomitable Grandmother, who, +only three hours ago, had said, "You <i>must</i> go to this dance, Elizabeth. +I wish it!" Grandmother, whose last words had been, "You are worthy to +be what I've made you: a Princess. You are exactly what I was at your +age."</p> + +<p>Poor, magnificent Grandmother! She had often told me that she was the +greatest beauty of her day. She had sent me away from her to-night, so +that she might die alone. Or—had the news of the <i>other</i> blow come +while I was gone, and killed her?</p> + +<p>Dazedly I stumbled to my feet, and in a second I should have pushed past +the pair; but, just at this moment, footsteps came hurrying along the +path. Those two moved out of the way with some murmured words I didn't +catch: and then, the Marchese was with me again. I saw his plump figure +silhouetted on the silvered blue dusk of moonlight. He had brought no +ice! He flung out empty hands in a despairing gesture which told that he +also <i>knew</i>.</p> + +<p>"My dear child—my poor little Princess——" he began in Italian; but I +cut him short.</p> + +<p>"I've heard some people talking. Grandmother is dead. And—Paolo?"</p> + +<p>"His plane crashed. It was instant death—not painful. Alas, the +telegram came to your hotel, and the Signora, your grandmother, opened +it. Her maid found it in her hand. The brave spirit had fled! Mr. +Carstairs, her solicitor, and his kind American wife came here at once. +How fortunate was the business which brought him to Rome just now, +looking after your interests! A search-party was seeking me, while I +sought a mere ice! And now the Carstairs wait to take you to your hotel. +I cannot leave our guests, or I would go with you, too."</p> + +<p>He got me back to the old palazzo by a side door, and guided me to a +quiet room where the Carstairs sat. They were not alone. An American +friend of the ex-cowboy was with them—(another self-made millionaire, +but a <i>much</i> better made one, of the name of Roger Fane)—and with him a +school friend of mine he was in love with, Lady Shelagh Leigh. Shelagh +ran to me with her arms out, but I pushed her aside. A darling girl, and +I wouldn't have done it for the world, if I had been myself!</p> + +<p>She shrank away, hurt; and vaguely I was conscious that the dark man +with the tragic eyes—Roger Fane—was coaxing her out of the room. Then +I forgot them both as I turned to the Carstairs for news. I little +guessed how soon and strangely my life and Shelagh's and Roger Fane's +would twine together in a Gordian knot of trouble!</p> + +<p>I don't remember much of what followed, except that a taxi rushed +us—the Carstairs and me—to the Grand Hotel, as fast as it could go +through streets filled with crowds shouting over one of those October +victories. Mrs. Carstairs—a mouse of a woman in person, a benevolent +Machiavelli in brain—held my hand gently, and said nothing, while her +clever old husband tried to cheer me with words. Afterward I learned +that she spent those minutes in mapping out my whole future!</p> + +<p>You see, <i>she</i> knew what I didn't know at the time: that I hadn't enough +money in the world to pay for Grandmother's funeral, not to mention our +hotel bills!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A clock, when you come to think of it, is a fortunate animal.</p> + +<p>When it runs down, it can just comfortably stop. No one expects it to do +anything else. No one accuses it of weakness or lack of backbone because +it doesn't struggle nobly to go on ticking and striking. It is not +sternly commanded to wind itself. Unless somebody takes that trouble off +its hands, it stays stopped. Whereas, if a girl or a young, able-bodied +woman runs down (that is, comes suddenly to the end of everything, +including resources), she mayn't give up ticking for a single second. +<i>She</i> must wind herself, and this is really quite as difficult for her +to do as for a clock, unless she is abnormally instructed and +accomplished.</p> + +<p>I am neither. The principal things I know how to do are, to look pretty, +and be nice to people, so that when they are with me they feel purry and +pleasant. With this stock-in-trade I had a perfectly gorgeous time in +life, until—Fate stuck a finger into my mechanism and upset the working +of my pendulum.</p> + +<p>I ought to have realized that the gorgeousness would some time come to a +bad and sudden end. But I was trained to put off what wasn't delightful +to do or think of to-day, until to-morrow; because to-morrow could take +care of itself and droves of shorn lambs as well.</p> + +<p>Grandmother and I had been pals since I was five, when my father (her +son) and my mother quietly died of diphtheria, and left me—her +namesake—to her. We lived at adorable Courtenaye Abbey on the +Devonshire Coast, where furniture, portraits, silver, and china fit for +a museum were common, every-day objects to my childish eyes. None of +these things could be sold—or the Abbey—for they were all heirlooms +(of <i>our</i> branch of the Courtenayes, not the Americanized ex-cowboy's +insignificant branch, be it understood!). But the place could be let, +with everything in it; and when Mr. Carstairs was first engaged to +unravel Grandmother's financial tangles, he implored her permission to +find a tenant. That was before the war, when I was seventeen; and +Grandmother refused.</p> + +<p>"What," she cried (I was in the room, all ears), "would you have me +advertise the fact that we're reduced to beggary, just as the time has +come to present Elizabeth? I'll do nothing of the kind. You must stave +off the smash. That's your business. Then Elizabeth will marry a title +with money, or an American millionaire or someone, and prevent it from +<i>ever</i> coming."</p> + +<p>This thrilled me, and I felt like a Joan of Arc out to save her family, +not by capturing a foe, but a husband.</p> + +<p>Mr. Carstairs did stave off the smash, Heaven or its opposite alone +knows how, and Grandmother spent about half a future millionaire +husband's possible income in taking a town house, with a train of +servants; renting a Rolls-Royce, and buying for us both the most divine +clothes imaginable. I was long and leggy, and thin as a young colt; but +my face was all right, because it was a replica of Grandmother's at +seventeen. My eyes and dimples were said to be Something to Dream About, +even then (I often dreamed of them myself, after much flattery at +balls!), and already my yellow-brown braids measured off at a yard and a +half. Besides, I had Grandmother's Early Manner (as one says of an +artist: and really she <i>was</i> one), so, naturally, I received proposals: +<i>lots</i> of proposals. But—they were the wrong lots!</p> + +<p>All the good-looking young men who wanted to marry me had never a penny +to do it on. All the rich ones were so old and appalling that even +Grandmother hadn't the heart to order me to the altar. So there it +<i>was</i>! Then Jim Courtenaye came over from America, where, after an +adventurous life (or worse), he'd made pots of money by hook or by +crook, probably the latter. He stirred up, from the mud of the past, a +trumpery baronetcy bestowed by stodgy King George the Third upon an +ancestor in that younger, less important branch of the Courtenayes. Also +did he strive expensively to prove a right to Courtenaye Abbey as well, +though not one of <i>his</i> Courtenayes had ever put a nose inside it and I +was the next heir, after Grandmother. He didn't fight (he kindly +explained to Mr. Carstairs) to snatch the property out of our mouths. If +he got it, we might go on living there till the end of our days. All he +wanted was to <i>own</i> the place, and have the right to keep it up +decently, as we'd never been able to do.</p> + +<p>Well, he had to be satisfied with his title and without the Abbey; which +was luck for us. But there our luck ended. Not only did the war break +out before I had a single proposal worth accepting, but an awful thing +happened at the Abbey.</p> + +<p>Grandmother had to keep on the rented town house, for patriotic motives, +no matter <i>what</i> the expense, because she had turned it into an +<i>ouvroir</i> for the making of hospital supplies. She directed the work +herself, and I and Shelagh Leigh (Shelagh was just out of the schoolroom +then) and lots of other girls slaved seven hours a day. Suddenly, just +when we'd had a big "hurry order" for pneumonia jackets, there was a +shortage of material. But Grandmother wasn't a woman to be conquered by +shortages! She remembered a hundred yards of bargain stuff she'd bought +to be used for new dust-sheets at the Abbey; and as all the servants but +two were discharged when we left for town, the sheets had never been +made up.</p> + +<p><i>She</i> could not be spared for a day, but I could. By this time I was +nineteen, and felt fifty in wisdom, as all girls do, since the war. +Grandmother was old-fashioned in some ways, but new-fashioned in others, +so she ordered me off to Courtenaye Abbey by myself to unlock the room +where the bundle had been put. Train service was not good, and I would +have to stay the night; but she wired to old Barlow and his wife—once +lodge-keepers, now trusted guardians of the house. She told Mrs. Barlow +(a pretty old Devonshire Thing, like peaches and cream, called by me +"Barley") to get my old room ready; and Barlow was to meet me at the +train. At the last moment, however, Shelagh Leigh decided to go with me; +and if we had guessed it, this was to turn out one of the most important +decisions of her life. Barlow met us, of course; and how he had changed +since last I'd seen his comfortable face! I expected him to be charmed +with the sight of me, if not of Shelagh, for I was always a favourite +with Barl and Barley; but the poor man was absent-minded and queer. When +a stuffy station-cab from Courtenaye Coombe had rattled us to the +shut-up Abbey, I went at once to the housekeeper's room and had a +heart-to-heart talk with the Barlows. It seemed that the police had been +to the house and "run all through it," because of reports that lights +had flashed from the upper windows out to sea at night—"<i>signals to +submarines</i>!"</p> + +<p>Nothing suspicious was found, however, and the police made it clear that +they considered the Barlows themselves above reproach. Good people, they +were, with twin nephews from Australia fighting in the war! Indeed, an +inspector had actually apologized for the visit, saying that the police +had pooh-poohed the reports at first. They had paid no attention until +"the story was all over the village"; and there are not enough miles +between Courtenaye Abbey and Plymouth Dockyard for even the rankest +rumours to be disregarded long.</p> + +<p>Barley was convinced that one of our ghosts had been waked up by the +war—the ghost of a young girl burned to death, who now and then rushes +like a column of fire through the front rooms of the second floor in the +west wing; but the old pet hoped I wouldn't let this idea of hers keep +me awake. The ghost of a nice English young lady was preferable in her +opinion to a German spy in the flesh! I agreed, but I was not keen on +seeing either. My nerves had been jumpy since the last air-raid over +London, consequently I lay awake hour after hour, though Shelagh was in +Grandmother's room adjoining mine, with the door ajar between.</p> + +<p>When I did sleep, I must have slept heavily. I dreamed that I was a +prisoner on a German submarine, and that signals from Courtenaye Abbey +flashed straight into my face. They flashed so brightly that they set me +on fire; and with the knowledge that, if I couldn't escape at once, I +should become a Family Ghost, I wrenched myself awake with a start.</p> + +<p>Yes, I <i>was</i> awake; though what I saw was so astonishing that I thought +it must be another nightmare. There really was a strong light pouring +into my eyes. What it came from I don't know to this day, but probably +an electric torch. Anyhow, the ray was so powerful that, though directed +upon my face, it faintly lit another face close to mine, as I suddenly +sat up in bed.</p> + +<p>Instantly that face drew back, and then—as if on a second thought, +after a surprise—out went the light. By contrast, the darkness was +black as a bath of ink, though I'd pulled back the curtains before going +to bed, and the sky was sequined with stars. But on my retina was +photographed a pale, illumined circle with a face looking out of +it—looking straight at me. You know how quickly these light-pictures +begin to fade, but, before this dimmed I had time to verify my first +waking impression.</p> + +<p>The face was a woman's face—beautiful and hideous at the same time, +like Medusa. It was young, yet old. It had deep-set, long eyes that +slanted slightly up to the corners. It was thin and hollow-cheeked, with +a pointed chin cleft in the middle; and was framed with bright auburn +hair of a curiously <i>unreal</i> colour.</p> + +<p>When the blackness closed in, and I heard in the dark scrambling sounds +like a rat running amok in the wainscot, I gave a cry. In my horror and +bewilderment I wasn't sure yet whether I were awake or asleep; but +someone answered. Dazed as I was, I recognized Shelagh's sweet young +voice, and at the same instant her electric bed-lamp was switched on in +the next room. "Coming!—coming!" she cried, and appeared in the +doorway, her hair gold against the light.</p> + +<p>By this time I had the sense to switch on my own lamp, and, comforted by +it and my pal's presence, I told Shelagh in a few words what had +happened. "Why, how weird! I dreamed the same dream!" she broke in. "At +least, I dreamed about a light, and a face."</p> + +<p>Hastily we compared notes, and realized that Shelagh had not dreamed: +that the woman of mystery had visited us both; only, she had gone to +Shelagh first, and had not been scared away as by me, because Shelagh +hadn't thoroughly waked up.</p> + +<p>We decided that our vision was no ghost, but that, for once, rumour was +right. In some amazing way a spy had concealed herself in the rambling +old Abbey (the house has several secret rooms of which we know; and +there might be others, long forgotten), and probably she had been +signalling until warned of danger by that visit from the police. We +resolved to rise at daybreak, and walk to Courtenay Coombe to let the +police know what had happened to us; but, as it turned out, a great deal +more was to happen before dawn.</p> + +<p>We felt pretty sure that the spy would cease her activities for the +night, after the shock of finding our rooms occupied. Still it would be +cowardly—we thought—to lie in bed. We slipped on dressing-gowns, +therefore, and with candles (only our wing was furnished with electric +light, for which dear Grandmother had never paid) we descended +fearsomely to the Barlows' quarters. Having roused the old couple and +got them to put on some clothes, a search-party of four perambulated the +house. So far as we could see, however, the place was innocent of spies; +and at length we crept into bed again.</p> + +<p>We didn't mean or expect to sleep, of course, but we must all have +"dropped off," otherwise we should have smelt the smoke long before we +did smell it. As it was, the great hall slowly burned until Barlow's +usual getting-up hour. Shelagh and I knew nothing until Barl came +pounding at my door. Then the stinging of our nostrils and eyelids was a +fire alarm!</p> + +<p>It's wonderful how quickly you can do things when you have to! Ten +minutes later I was running as fast as I could go to the village, and +might have earned a prize for a two-mile sprint if I hadn't raced alone. +By the time the fire-engines reached the Abbey it was too late to save a +whole side of the glorious old "linen fold" panelling of the hall. The +celebrated staircase was injured, too, and several suits of historic +armour, as well as a number of antique weapons.</p> + +<p>Fortunately the portraits were all in the picture gallery, and the fire +was stopped before it had swept beyond the hall. Where it had started +was soon learned, but "<i>how</i>" remained a mystery, for shavings and +oil-tins had apparently been stuffed behind the panelling. The theory of +the police was, that the spy (no one doubted the spy's existence now!) +had seen that the "game was up," since the place would be strictly +watched from that night on. Out of sheer spite, the female Hun had +attempted to burn down the famous old house before she lost her chance; +or had perhaps already made preparations to destroy it when her other +work should be ended.</p> + +<p>There was a hue and cry over the county in pursuit of the fugitive, +which echoed as far as London; but the woman had escaped, and not even a +trace of her was found.</p> + +<p>Grandmother openly claimed that <span class="smcap">her</span> inspiration in sending for some +dust-sheets had not only saved the Abbey, but England. It was most +agreeable to bask in self-respect and the praise of friends. When, +however, we were bombarded by newspaper men, who took revenge for +Grandmother's snubs by publishing interviews with Sir "Jim" (by this +time Major Courtenaye, D. S. O., M. C., unluckily at home with a +"Blighty" wound), the haughty lady lost her temper.</p> + +<p>It was bad enough, she complained, to have the Abbey turned prematurely +into a ruin, but for That Fellow to proclaim that it wouldn't have +happened had <i>he</i> been the owner was <i>too</i> much! The democratic and +socialist papers ("rags," according to Grandmother) stood up for the +self-made cowboy baronet, and blamed the great lady who had "thrown away +in selfish extravagance" what should have paid the upkeep of an historic +monument. This, to a woman who directed the most patriotic <i>ouvroir</i> in +London! And to pile Ossa on Pelion, our Grosvenor Square landlord was +cad enough to tell his friends (who told theirs, etc., etc.) that he had +never received his rent! Which statement, by the way, was all the more +of a libel because it was true.</p> + +<p>Now you understand how Sir James Courtenaye was responsible for driving +us to Italy, and indirectly bringing about my marriage; for Grandmother +wiped the dust of Grosvenor Square from our feet with Italian passports, +and swept me off to new activities in Rome.</p> + +<p>Here was Mr. Carstairs' moment to say, "I told you so! If only you had +left the Abbey when I advised you that it was best, all would have been +well. Now, with the central hall in ruins, nobody would be found dead in +the place, not even a munition millionaire." But being a particularly +kind man he said nothing of the sort. He merely implored Grandmother to +live economically in Rome: and of course (being Grandmother!) she did +nothing of the sort.</p> + +<p>We lived at the most expensive hotel, and whenever we had any money, +gave it to the Croce Rossa, running up bills for ourselves. But we mixed +much joy with a little charity, and my descriptive letters to Shelagh +were so attractive that she persuaded Mr. and Mrs. Pollen, her guardians +(uncle and aunt; sickening snobs!), to bring her to Rome; pretext, Red +Cross work, which covered so much frivolling in the war! Then, not long +after, the cowboy's friend, Roger Fane, appeared on the scene, in the +American Expeditionary Force; a thrilling, handsome, and mysteriously +tragic person. James Courtenaye also turned up, having been ordered to +the Italian Front; but Grandmother and I contrived never to meet him. +And when our financial affairs began to rumble like an earthquake, Mr. +Carstairs decided to see Grandmother in person.</p> + +<p>It was when she received his telegram, "Coming at once," that she +decided I must accept Prince di Miramare. She had wanted an Englishman +for me; but a Prince is a Prince, and though Paolo was far from rich at +the moment, he had the prospect of an immediate million—liras, alas! +not pounds. An enormously rich Greek offered him that sum for the +fourteenth-century Castello di Miramare on a mountain all its own, some +miles from Rome. In consideration of a large sum paid to Paolo's younger +brother Carlo, the two Miramare princes would break the entail; and this +quick solution of our difficulties was to be a surprise for Mr. +Carstairs.</p> + +<p>Paolo and I were married as hastily as such matters can be arranged +abroad, between persons of different nations; and it was true (as those +cynics outside the arbour said) that my soldier prince went back to the +Front an hour after the wedding. It was just after we were safely +spliced that Grandmother ceased to fight a temperature of a hundred and +three, and gave up to an attack of 'flu. She gave up quite quietly, for +she thought that, whatever happened, I would be rich, because she had +browbeaten lazy, unbusinesslike Paolo into making a will in my favour. +The one flaw in this calculation was, his concealing from her the fact +that the entail was not yet legally broken. No contract between him and +the Greek could be signed while the entail existed; therefore Paolo's +will gave me only his personal possessions. These were not much; for I +doubt if even the poor boy's uniforms were paid for. But I am thankful +that Grandmother died without realizing her failure; and I hope that her +spirit was far away before the ex-cowboy began making overtures.</p> + +<p>If it had not been for Mrs. Carstairs' inspiration, I don't know what +would have become of me!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIA" id="CHAPTER_IIA"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>UP AND IN</h3> + + +<p>You may remember what Jim Courtenaye said in the garden: that he would +probably have to support me.</p> + +<p>Well, he dared to offer, through Mr. Carstairs, to do that very thing, +"for the family's sake." At least, he proposed to pay off all our debts +and allow me an income of four hundred a year, if it turned out that my +inheritance from Paolo was nil.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Carstairs passed on the offer to me, as he was bound to do, I +said what I felt dear Grandmother would have wished me to say: "I'll see +him d—d first!" And I added, "I hope you'll repeat that to the +<i>Person</i>."</p> + +<p>I think from later developments that Mr. Carstairs cannot have repeated +my reply verbatim. But I have not yet quite come to the part about those +developments. After the funeral, when I knew the worst about the entail, +and that Paolo's brother Carlo was breaking it wholly for his <i>own</i> +benefit, and not at all for mine, Mrs. Carstairs asked sympathetically +if I had thought what I should like to do.</p> + +<p>"Like to do?" I echoed, bitterly. "I should like to go home to the dear +old Abbey, and restore the place as it ought to be restored, and have +plenty of money, without lifting a finger to get it. What I <i>must</i> do is +a different question."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, my dear, supposing we put it in that brutal way. Have you +thought—er——"</p> + +<p>"I've done nothing except think. But I've been brought up with about as +much earning capacity as a mechanical doll. The only thing I have the +slightest talent for being, is—a detective!"</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" was Mrs. Carstairs' comment on that.</p> + +<p>"I've felt ever since spy night at the Abbey that I had it in me to make +a good detective," I modestly explained.</p> + +<p>"'Princess di Miramare, Private Detective,' would be a distinctly +original sign-board over an office door," the old lady reflected. "But I +believe <i>I've</i> evolved something more practical, considering your +name—and your age—(twenty-one, isn't it?)—and your <i>looks</i>. Not that +detective talent mayn't come in handy even in the profession I'm going +to suggest. Very likely it will—among other things. It's a profession +that'll call for all the talents you can get hold of."</p> + +<p>"Do you by chance mean marriage?" I inquired, coldly. "I've never been a +wife. But I suppose I <i>am</i> a sort of widow."</p> + +<p>"If you weren't a sort of widow you couldn't cope with the profession +I've—er—invented. You wouldn't be independent enough."</p> + +<p>"Invented? Then you <i>don't</i> mean marriage! And not even the stage. I +warn you that I solemnly promised Grandmother never to go on the stage."</p> + +<p>"I know, my child. She mentioned that to Henry—my husband—when they +were discussing your future, before you both left London. My idea is +<i>much</i> more original than marriage, or even the stage. It popped into my +mind the night Mrs. Courtenaye died, while we were in a taxi between the +Palazzo Ardini and this hotel. I said to myself, 'Dear Elizabeth shall +be a Brightener!'"</p> + +<p>"A Brightener?" I repeated, with a vague vision of polishing windows or +brasses. "I don't——"</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't! I told you I'd invented the profession expressly for you. +Now I'm going to tell you what it is. I felt that you'd not care to be a +tame companion, even to the most gilded millionairess, or a social +secretary to a——"</p> + +<p>"Horror!—no, I couldn't be a tame anything."</p> + +<p>"That's why brightening is your line. A Brightener couldn't <i>be</i> a +Brightener and tame. She must be brilliant—winged—soaring above the +plane of those she brightens; expensive, to make herself appreciated; +capable of taking the lead in social direction. Why, my dear, people +will fight to get you—pay any price to secure you! <i>Now</i> do you +understand?"</p> + +<p>I didn't. So she explained. After that dazzling preface, the explanation +seemed rather an anti-climax. Still, I saw that there might be something +in the plan—if it could be worked. And Mrs. Carstairs guaranteed to +work it.</p> + +<p>My widowhood (save the mark!) qualified me to become a chaperon. And my +Princesshood would make me a gilded one. Chaperonage, at its best, might +be amusing. But chaperonage was far from the whole destiny of a +Brightener. A Brightener need not confine herself to female society, as +a mere Companion must. A young woman, even though a widow and a +Princess, could not "companion" a person of the opposite sex, even if he +were a <i>hundred</i>. But she might, from a discreet distance, be his +Brightener. That is, she might brighten a lonely man's life without +tarnishing her own reputation.</p> + +<p>"After all," Mrs. Carstairs went on, "in spite of what's said against +him, Man <i>is</i> a Fellow Being. If a cat may look at a King, Man may look +at a Princess. And unless he's in her set, he can be made to pay for the +privilege. Think of a lonely button or boot-maker! What would he give +for the honour of invitations to tea, with introductions and social +advice, from the popular Princess di Miramare? He might have a wife or +daughters, or both, who needed a leg up. <i>They</i> would come extra! He +might be a widower—in fact, I've caught the first widower for you +already. But unluckily you can't use him yet."</p> + +<p>"Ugh!" I shuddered. "Sounds as if he were a fish—wriggling on a hook +till I'm ready to tear it out of his gills!"</p> + +<p>"He is a fish—a big fish. In fact, I may as well break it to you that +he is Roger Fane."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" I cried. "It would take more electricity than I'm fitted +with to brighten his tragic and mysterious gloom!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. In fact, you are the only one who can brighten it."</p> + +<p>"What are you driving at? He's dead in love with Shelagh Leigh."</p> + +<p>"That's just <i>it</i>. As things are, he has no hope of marrying Shelagh. +She likes him, as you probably know better than I do, for you're her +best pal, although she's a year or so younger than you——"</p> + +<p>"Two years."</p> + +<p>"Well, as I was going to say, in many ways she's a child compared to +you. She's as beautiful as one of those cut-off cherubs in the +prayer-books, and as old-fashioned as an early Victorian sampler. These +blonde Dreams with naturally waving golden hair and rosebud mouths, and +eyes big as half-crowns, <i>have</i> that drawback, as I've discovered since +I came to live in England. In <i>my</i> country we don't grow early Victorian +buds. You know perfectly well that those detestable snobs, the Pollens, +don't think Fane good enough for Shelagh in spite of his money. Money's +the <i>one</i> nice thing they've got themselves, which they can pass on to +Shelagh. Probably they forced the wretched Miss Pollen, who was the male +snob's sister, to marry the old Marquis of Leigh just as they wish to +<i>compel</i> Shelagh to marry some other wreck of his sort—and die young, +as her mother did. The girl's a dear—a perfect <i>lamb</i>!—but lambs can't +stand up against lions. They generally lie down inside them. But with +<i>you</i> at the helm, the Pollen lions could be forced——"</p> + +<p>"Not if they knew it!" I cut in.</p> + +<p>"They wouldn't know it. Did <i>you</i> know that you were being forced to +marry that poor young prince of yours?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't forced. I was persuaded."</p> + +<p>"We won't argue the point! Anyhow, the subject doesn't press. The scheme +I have in my head for you to launch Fane on the social sea (the <i>sea</i> in +every sense of the word, as you'll learn by and by) can't come off till +you're out of your deepest mourning. I'll find you a quieter line of +goods to begin on than the Fane-Leigh business if you agree to take up +Brightening. The question is, <i>do</i> you agree?"</p> + +<p>"I do," I said more earnestly than I had said "I will" as I stood at +Paolo's side in church. For life hadn't been very earnest then. Now it +was.</p> + +<p>"Good!" exclaimed Mrs. Carstairs. "Then that's <i>that</i>! The next thing is +to furnish you a charming flat in the same house with us. You must have +a background of your own."</p> + +<p>"You forget—I haven't a farthing!" I fiercely reminded her. "But Mr. +Carstairs won't forget! I've made him too much trouble. The best +Brightening won't run to <i>half</i> a Background in Berkeley Square."</p> + +<p>"Wait," Mrs. Carstairs calmed me. "I haven't finished the whole +proposition yet. In America, when we run up a sky-scraper, we don't +begin at the bottom, in any old, commonplace way. We stick a few steel +girders into the earth; then we start at the top and work down. That's +what I've been doing with my plan. It's perfect. Only you've got to +support it with something."</p> + +<p>"What is it you're trying to break to me?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>The dear old lady swallowed heavily. (It must be something pretty awful +if it daunted <i>her</i>!)</p> + +<p>"You like Roger Fane," she began.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I admire him. He's handsome and interesting, though a little too +mysterious and tragic to live with for my taste."</p> + +<p>"He's not mysterious at all!" she defended Fane. "His tragedy—for there +<i>was</i> a tragedy!—is no secret in America. I often met him before the +war, when I ran over to pay visits in New York, though he was far from +being in the Four Hundred. But at the moment I've no more to say about +Roger Fane. I've been using him for a handle to brandish a friend of his +in front of your eyes."</p> + +<p>My blood grew hot. "<i>Not</i> the ex-cowboy?"</p> + +<p>"That's no way to speak of Sir James Courtenaye."</p> + +<p>"Then <i>he's</i> what you want to break to me?"</p> + +<p>"I want—I mean, I'm <i>requested</i>!—to inform you of a way he proposes +out of the woods for you—at least, the darkest part of the woods."</p> + +<p>"I told Mr. Carstairs I'd see James Courtenaye d—d rather than——"</p> + +<p>"<i>This</i> is a different affair entirely. You must listen, my dear, unless +I'm to wash my hands of you! What I have to describe is the foundation +for the Brightening."</p> + +<p>I swallowed some more of Grandmother's expressions which occurred to me, +and listened.</p> + +<p>Sir James Courtenaye's second proposition was not an offer of charity. +He suggested that I let Courtenaye Abbey to him for a term of years, for +the sum of one thousand five hundred pounds per annum, the first three +years to be paid in advance. (This clause, Mrs. Carstairs hinted, would +enable me to dole out crumbs here and there for the quieting of +Grandmother's creditors.) Sir James's intention was, not to use the +Abbey as a residence, but to make of it a show place for the public +during the term of his lease. In order to do this, the hall must be +restored and the once-famous gardens beautified. This expense he would +undertake, carrying the work quickly to completion, and would reimburse +himself by means of the fees—a shilling a head—charged for viewing the +house and its historic treasures.</p> + +<p>When I had heard all this, I hesitated what to answer, thinking of +Grandmother, and wondering what she would have said had she been in my +shoes. But as this thought flitted into my mind, it was followed by +another. One of Grandmother's few old-fashioned fads was her style of +shoe: pattern 1875. The shoes I stood in, at this moment, were pattern +1918. In <i>my</i> shoes Grandmother would simply scream! And I wouldn't be +at my best in hers. This was the parable which commonsense put to me, +and Mrs. Carstairs cleverly offering no word of advice, I paused no +longer than five minutes before I snapped out, "Yes! The horrid brute +can have the darling place till I get rich."</p> + +<p>"How sweet of you to consent so <i>graciously</i>, darling!" purred Mrs. +Carstairs. Then we both laughed. After which I fell into her arms, and +cried.</p> + +<p>For fear I might change my mind, Mr. Carstairs got me to sign some +dull-looking documents that very day, and the oddness of their being all +ready to hand didn't strike me till the ink was dry.</p> + +<p>"Henry had them prepared because he knew how <i>sensible</i> you are at +heart—I mean <i>at head</i>," his wife explained. "Indeed, it is a +compliment to your intelligence."</p> + +<p>Anyhow, it gave me a wherewithal to throw sops to a whole Zooful of +Cerberuses, and still keep enough to take that flat in the Carstairs' +house in Berkeley Square. Of course to do all this meant leaving Italy +for good and going back to England. But there was little to hold me in +Rome. My inheritance from my husband-of-an-hour could be packed in a +suitcase! Shelagh and her snobs travelled with us. And as soon as they +were demobilized, Roger Fane and James Courtenaye followed, if not us, +at least in our direction.</p> + +<p>I don't think that Aladdin's Lamp builders "had anything on" Sir Jim's +(as he himself said), judging by the way the restorations simply flew. +From what I heard of the sums he spent, it would take the shillings of +all England and America as sightseers to put him in pocket. But as Mr. +Carstairs pointed out, that was <i>his</i> business.</p> + +<p>Mine was to gird my loins at Lucille's and Redfern's, in order to become +a Brightener. For my pendulum was ticking regularly now. I was no longer +down and out. I was up and in. Elizabeth, Princess di Miramare, was +spoiling for her first job.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIA" id="CHAPTER_IIIA"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THUNDERBOLT SIX</h3> + + +<p>Looking back through my twenty-one-and-three-quarter years, I divide my +life, up to date, into thunderbolts.</p> + +<blockquote><p>Thunderbolt One: Death of my Father and Mother.</p> + +<p>Thunderbolt Two: Spy Night at the Abbey.</p> + +<p>Thunderbolt Three: My Marriage to Paolo di Miramare.</p> + +<p>Thunderbolt Four: The "Double Blow."</p> + +<p>Thunderbolt Five: Beggary!</p></blockquote> + +<p>Which brings me along the road to Thunderbolt Six.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mrs. Percy-Hogge was, and is, exactly what you would think from her +name; which is why I don't care to dwell at length on the few months I +spent brightening her at Bath. It was bad enough <i>living</i> them!</p> + +<p>Now, if I were a Hogge instead of a Courtenaye, plus Miramare, I would +<i>be</i> one, plain, unadulterated, and unadorned. <i>She</i> adulterated her +Hogg with an "e," and adorned it with a "Percy," her late husband's +Christian name. He being in heaven or somewhere, the hyphen couldn't +hurt him; and with it, and his money, <i>and</i> Me, she began at Bath the +attempt to live down the past of a mere margarine-making Hogg. Whole +bunches of Grandmother's friends were in the Bath zone just then, which +is why I chose it, and they were so touched by my widow's weeds that +they were charming to Mrs. P.-H. in order to please me. As most of +them—though stuffy—were titled, and there were two Marchionesses and +one Duchess, the result for Mrs. Percy-Hogge was brilliant. She, who had +never before known any one above a knight-ess, was in Paradise. She had +taken a fine old Georgian house, furnished from basement to attic by +Mallet, and had launched invitations for a dinner-party "to meet the +Dowager-Duchess of Stoke," when—bang fell Thunderbolt Six!</p> + +<p>Naturally it fell on me, not her, as thunderbolts have no affinity for +Hoggs. It fell in the shape of a telegram from Mrs. Carstairs.</p> + +<p>She wired:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Come London immediately, for consultation. Terrible theft at Abbey. +Barlows drugged and bound by burglars. Both prostrated. Affair +serious. Let me know train. Will meet. Love.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Caroline Carstairs.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p>I wired in return that I would catch the first train, and caught it. The +old lady kept her word also, and met me. Before her car had whirled us +to Berkeley Square I had got the whole story out of her; which was well, +as an ordeal awaited me, and I needed time to camouflage my feelings.</p> + +<p>I had been sent for in haste because the news of the burglary was not to +leak into the papers until, as Mrs. Carstairs expressed it, "those most +concerned had come to some sort of understanding." "You see," she added, +"this isn't an ordinary theft. There are wheels within wheels, and the +insurance people will kick up a row rather than pay. That's why we must +talk everything over; you, and Sir James, and Henry—and Henry is never +<i>quite</i> complete without me, so I intend to be in the offing."</p> + +<p>I knew she wouldn't stay there; but that was a detail!</p> + +<p>The robbery had taken place the night before, and Sir James himself had +been the one to discover it. Complication number one (as you'll see in a +minute).</p> + +<p>He, being now "demobbed" and a man of leisure, instead of reopening his +flat in town, had taken up quarters at Courtenaye Coombe to superintend +the repairs at the Abbey. His ex-cowboy habits being energetic, he +usually walked the two miles from the village, and appeared on the scene +ahead of the workmen.</p> + +<p>This morning he arrived before seven o'clock, and went, according to +custom, to beg a cup of coffee from Mrs. Barlow. She and her husband +occupied the bedroom and sitting room which had been the housekeeper's; +but at that hour the two were invariably in the kitchen. Sir Jim let +himself in with his key, and marched straight to that part of the house. +He was surprised to find the kitchen shutters closed and the range +fireless. Suspecting something wrong, he went to the bedroom door and +knocked. He got no answer; but a second, harder rap produced a muffled +moan. The door was not locked. He opened it, and was horrified at what +he saw: Mrs. Barlow, on the bed, gagged and bound; her husband in the +same condition, but lying on the floor; and the atmosphere of the closed +room heavy with the fumes of chloroform.</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Barlow who managed to answer the knock with a moan. Barlow +was deeper under the spell of the drug than she, and—it appeared +afterward—in a more serious condition of collapse.</p> + +<p>The old couple had no story to tell, for they recalled nothing of what +had happened. They had made the rounds of the house as usual at night, +and had then gone to bed. Barlow did not wake from his stupor until the +village doctor came to revive him with stimulants, and Mrs. Barlow's +first gleam of consciousness was when she dimly heard Sir James +knocking. She strove to call out, felt aware of illness, realized with +terror that her mouth was distended with a gag, and struggled to utter +the faint groan which reached his ears.</p> + +<p>As soon as Sir Jim had attended to the sufferers, he hurried out, and, +finding that the workmen had arrived, rushed one of them back to +Courtenaye Coombe for the doctor and the village nurse. The moment he +(Sir Jim) was free to do so, he started on a voyage of discovery round +the house, and soon learned that a big haul had been brought off. The +things taken were small in size but in value immense, and circumstantial +evidence suggested that the thief or thieves knew precisely what they +wanted as well as where to get it.</p> + +<p>In the picture gallery a portrait of King Charles I (given by himself to +a General Courtenaye of the day) had been cleverly cut out of its frame, +also a sketch of the Long Water at Hampton Court, painted and signed by +King Charles. The green drawing room was deprived of its chief treasure, +a quaint sampler embroidered by the hand of Mary Queen of Scots for her +"faithful John Courtenaye." From the Chinese boudoir a Buddha of the +Ming period was gone, and a jewel box of marvellous red lacquer +presented by Li Hung Chang to my grandmother. The silver cabinet in the +oak dining room had been broken open, and a teapot, sugar bowl, and +cream-jug, given by Queen Anne to an ancestress, were absent. The China +cabinet in the same room was bared of a set of green-and-gold coffee +cups presented by Napoleon I to a French great-great-grandmother of +mine; and from the big dining hall adjoining, a Gobelin panel, woven for +the Empress Josephine, after the wedding picture by David, had vanished.</p> + +<p>A few <i>bibelots</i> were missing also, here and there; snuff boxes of Beau +Nash and Beau Brummel; miniatures, old paste brooches and buckles +reminiscent of Courtenaye beauties; and a fat watch that had belonged to +George IV.</p> + +<p>"All my pet things!" I mourned.</p> + +<p>"Don't say that to any one except me," advised Mrs. Carstairs. "My dear, +<i>bits of a letter torn into tiny pieces—a letter from you—were found +in the Chinese Room</i>, and the Insurance people will be hatefully +inquisitive!"</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to insinuate that they'll suspect me?" I blazed at her.</p> + +<p>"Not of stealing the things with your own hands; and if they did, you +could easily prove an alibi, I suppose. Still, they're bound to follow +up every clue, and bits of paper with your writing on them, apparently +dropped by the thieves, <i>do</i> form a tempting clue. You can't help +admitting it."</p> + +<p>I did not admit it in the least, for at first glance I couldn't see +where the "temptation" lay to steal one's own belongings. But Mrs. +Carstairs soon made me see. Though the things were mine in a way, in +another way they were not mine. Being heirlooms, I could not profit by +them financially, in the open. Yet if I could cause them to disappear, +without being detected, I should receive the insurance money with one +hand, and rake in with the other a large bribe from some supposititious +purchaser.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, why shouldn't our brave Bart be suspected of precisely +the same fraud, and more of it?" I inquired. "If I could steal the +things, so could he. If they're my pets, they may be his. And he was on +the spot, with a lot of workmen in his pay! Surely such circumstantial +evidence against him weighs more heavily in the scales than a mere scrap +of paper against me? I've written Sir Jim once or twice, by the way, on +business about the Abbey since I've been in Bath. All he'd have to do +would be to tear a letter up small enough, so it couldn't be pieced +together and make sense——"</p> + +<p>"Nobody's weighing anything in scales against either of you—yet," +soothed Mrs. Carstairs, "unless you're doing it against each other! But +we don't know what may happen. That's why it seemed best for you and Sir +James to come together and exchange blows—I mean, <i>views</i>!—at once. He +called my husband up by long-distance telephone early this morning, told +him what had happened, and had a pow-wow on ways and means. They decided +not to inform the police, but to save publicity and engage a private +detective. In fact, Sir J—— asked Henry to send a good man to the +Abbey by the quickest train. He went—the man, I mean, not Henry; and +the head of his firm ought to arrive at our flat in a few minutes now, +to meet you and Sir James."</p> + +<p>"Sir James! Even a galloping cowboy can't be in London and Devonshire at +the same moment."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I forgot to mention, he must have travelled up by <i>your</i> train. I +suppose you didn't see him?"</p> + +<p>"I did not!"</p> + +<p>"He was probably in a smoking carriage. Well, anyhow, he'll soon be with +us."</p> + +<p>"Stop the taxi!" I broke in; and stopped it myself by tapping on the +window behind the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! what's the matter?" gasped my companion.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I want to inquire the name of that firm of private detectives +Sir James Courtenaye got Mr. Carstairs to engage."</p> + +<p>"Pemberton. You must have seen it advertised. But why stop the taxi to +ask that?"</p> + +<p>"I stopped the taxi to get out, and let you run home alone while I find +another cab to take me to another detective. You see, I didn't want to +go to the same firm."</p> + +<p>"Isn't one firm of detectives enough at one time, on one job?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't one job. You're the shrewdest woman I know. You <i>must</i> see +that James Courtenaye has engaged <i>his</i> detective to spy upon me—to dog +my footsteps—to discover if I suddenly blossom out into untold +magnificence on ill-got gains. I intend to turn the tables on him, and +when I come back to your flat, it will be in the company of my very own +little pet detective."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carstairs broke into adjurations and arguments. According to her, I +misjudged my cousin's motives; and if I brought a detective, it would be +an insult. But I checked her by explaining that my man would not give +himself away—he would pose as a friend of mine. I would select a +suitable person for the part. With that I jumped out of the taxi, and +the dear old lady was too wise to argue. She drove sadly home, and I +went into the nearest shop which looked likely to own a directory. In +that volume I found another firm of detectives with an equally +celebrated name. I taxied to their office, explained something of my +business, and picked out a person who might pass for a pal of a +(socialist) princess. He and I then repaired to Berkeley Square, and Sir +James and the Pemberton person (also Mr. Carstairs) had not been waiting +<i>much</i> more than half an hour when we arrived.</p> + +<p>I don't know what my "forty-fourth cousin four times removed" thought +about my dashing in with a strange Mr. Smith who apparently had nothing +to do with the case. And I didn't care. No, not even if he imagined the +square-jawed bull-dog creature to be a choice specimen of my circle at +Bath. In any case, my Mr. Smith was a dream compared with his Pemberton. +As to himself, however—Sir Jim—I had to acknowledge that he was far +from insignificant in personality. If there were to be any battle of +wits or manners between us, I couldn't afford to despise him.</p> + +<p>When I had met him before, I was too utterly overwhelmed to study, or +even to notice him much, except to see that he was a big, red-headed +fellow, who loomed unnaturally large when viewed against the light. Now +I classified him as resembling a more-than-life-size statue—done in +pale bronze—of a Red Indian, or a soldier of Ancient Rome. The only +flaws in the statue were the red hair and the fiery blackness of the +eyes.</p> + +<p>My Mr. Smith, as I have explained, wasn't posing as a detective, but he +was engaged to stop, look, listen, for all he was worth, and tell me his +impressions afterward—just as, no doubt, Mr. Pemberton was to tell Sir +James <i>his</i>.</p> + +<p>We talked over the robbery in conclave; we amateurs suggesting theories, +the professionals committing themselves to nothing so premature. Why, it +was too early to form judgments, since the detective on the spot had not +yet been able to report upon fingerprints or other clues! The sole +decision arrived at, and agreed to by all, was to keep the affair among +ourselves for the present. This could be managed if none but private +detectives were employed and the police not brought into the case. When +the meeting broke up and I was able to question Mr. Smith, I was +disappointed in him. I had hoped and expected (having led up to it by +hints) that he would say: "Sir James Courtenaye is in this." On the +contrary, he tactlessly advised me to "put that idea out of my head. +There was nothing in it." (I hope he meant the idea, not the head!)</p> + +<p>"I should say, speaking in the air," he remarked, "that the caretakers +are the guilty parties, or at least have had some hand in the business. +Though of course I might change my mind if I were on the spot."</p> + +<p>I assured him fiercely that any one possessed of a mind at all would +change it at sight of dear old Barl and Barley. Nothing on earth would +make me believe anything against them. Why, if they didn't have +Almost-Haloes and Wings, Sir James and the insurance people would have +objected to them as guardians. The very fact that they had been kept on +without a word of protest from any one, when Courtenaye Abbey was let to +Sir James was, I argued, the best of testimonials to the Barlows' +character. Nevertheless, my orders were that Mr. Smith should go to +Devonshire and take a room at the Courtenaye Arms, dressed and painted +to represent a landscape artist. "The Abbey is to be opened to the +public in a few days, in spite of the best small show-things being +lost," I reminded him, from what we had heard Sir Jim say. "You can see +the Barlows, and judge of them. But what is <i>much</i> more important, +you'll also see Sir James Courtenaye, who lodges in the inn, and can +judge of <i>him</i>. In my opinion he has revenged himself for losing his +suit to grab the Abbey and everything in it, by taking what he could lay +his hands on without being suspected."</p> + +<p>"But you do suspect him?" said Mr. Smith.</p> + +<p>"For that matter, so does he suspect me," I retorted.</p> + +<p>"You <i>think</i> so," the detective amended.</p> + +<p>"Don't you?"</p> + +<p>"No, Princess, I do not."</p> + +<p>"What <i>do</i> you think, then? Or don't you think <i>anything</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I do think something." He tried to justify his earning capacity.</p> + +<p>"What, if I may ask?"</p> + +<p>He—a Smith, a mere Smith!—dared to grin.</p> + +<p>"Of course you may ask, Princess," he replied. "But it's too early yet +for me to answer your question in fairness to myself. About the theft I +have not formed a firm theory, but I have about Sir James Courtenaye. I +would not have ventured even to mention it, however, if you had not +drawn me out, for it is indirectly concerned with the case."</p> + +<p>"Directly or indirectly, I wish to know it," I insisted. "And as you're +in my employ, I think I have the right."</p> + +<p>"Very well, madam, you shall know it—later," he said.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVA" id="CHAPTER_IVA"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE BLACK THING IN THE SEA</h3> + + +<p>I went back to Bath, and Mrs. Percy-Hogge; but I no longer felt that I +was enjoying a rest cure. Right or wrong, I had the impression of being +<i>watched</i>. I was sure that Sir James Courtenaye had put detectives "on +my track," in the hope that I might be caught communicating with my +hired bravos or the wicked receiver of my stolen goods. In other days +when a man stared or turned to gaze after me, I had attributed the +attention to my looks; now I jumped to the conviction that he was a +detective. And in fact, I began to jump at anything—or nothing.</p> + +<p>It was vain for Mrs. Carstairs (who ran down to Bath, after I'd written +her a wild letter) to guarantee that even an enemy—(which she vowed Sir +James <i>wasn't</i>!)—could rake up no shred of evidence against me, with +the exception of the torn letter. She couldn't deny that, materially +speaking, it <i>would</i> be a "good haul" for me to sell the heirlooms, and +obtain also the insurance money. But then, I hadn't done it, and nobody +could accuse me of doing it, because no one knew the things were gone. +Oh, well, <i>yes</i>! Some detectives knew; and the poor old Barlows had +bitter cause to know. A few others, too, including Sir James Courtenaye. +None of them <i>counted</i>, however, because none of them would talk.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carstairs said it was absurd of me to imagine that Sir James was +having me watched. But imagination and not advice had the upper hand of +my nerves; and, seeing this, she prescribed a change of air.</p> + +<p>"I meant Mrs. Percy-Hogge only for a stop-gap," she explained. "You've +squeezed her into Society now; and for yourself, you've come to the time +when you can lighten your mourning. I've waited for that, to start you +on your new job. You'll go what my cook calls 'balmy on the crumpet' if +you keep fancying every queer human being you meet in Milsom Street a +detective on your track. The best thing for you is, not to <i>have</i> a +track! And the way to manage that, is to be at <i>sea</i>."</p> + +<p>I was at sea—figuratively—till Mrs. Carstairs explained more. She +recalled to my mind what she had said in our first chat about +Brightening: how she had suggested my "taking the helm," to steer Roger +Fane into the Social Sea.</p> + +<p>"I think I mentioned then that I referred to the sea, in the literal +sense of the word," she went on. "I promised to tell you what I meant, +when the right moment came, and now it has come. I haven't been idle +meanwhile, I assure you, for I like Roger Fane as much as <i>you</i> like +Shelagh Leigh. And between us two, we'll marry them over the Pollens' +snobby heads."</p> + +<p>In short, Mr. Carstairs had a client who had a yacht at Plymouth. The +client's name was Lord Verrington. The yacht's name was <i>Naiad</i>, and +Lord Verrington wished to let her for an absurdly large sum. Roger Fane +didn't mind paying this sum. It was the right time of year for a +yachting trip. If I would lend éclat to such a trip by Brightening it, +the Pollens would permit their precious Shelagh to go. Mr. Pollen (whom +Grandmother had refused to know) would even join the party himself. +Indeed, no one would refuse if asked by me, and the Pollens would be so +dazzled by Roger Fane's sudden social success that their consent to the +engagement was a foregone conclusion.</p> + +<p>I snapped at the chance of escape. To be sure, it was a temporary +escape, as the guests were invited for a week only; still, lots of +things may happen in a week. Why look beyond seven perfectly good days? +Besides, I was to be given a huge "bonus" for my services, enough to pay +the rent of my expensive flat for a year. But I wasn't entirely selfish +in accepting. I've never half described to you the odd, reserved charm +of that mysterious millionaire, Roger Fane, whose one fault was his +close friendship with Sir James Courtenaye. And for his sake, as well as +dear little Shelagh's, I would gladly have done all I could to bring the +two together.</p> + +<p>Knowing that titles impressed the Pollens, I secured several: one earl +with countess attached (legally, at all events), a pretty sister of the +latter; a bachelor marquis, and ditto viscount. These, with Shelagh, +myself, Roger Fane, and Mr. Pollen, would constitute the party, should +all accept.</p> + +<p>They all did, partly for me, perhaps, and partly for each other, but +largely from curiosity, as the <i>Naiad</i> had the reputation of being the +most luxuriously appointed small steam yacht in British waters, (She had +been "interned" in Spain during the war!) Also, Roger had secured as +<i>chef</i> a famous Frenchman, just demobilized. Altogether, the prospect +offered attractions. The start was to be made from Plymouth on a summer +afternoon. We were to cruise along the coast, and eventually make for +Jersey and Guernsey, where none of the party had ever been. My things +were packed, and I was ready to take a morning train for Plymouth—a +train by which all those of us in town would travel—when a letter +arrived for me. It was from Mrs. Barlow, announcing the sudden death of +her husband, from heart failure. He had never recovered the shock of the +robbery, or the heavy dose of chloroform which the thieves had +administered. And this, Barley added, as if in reproach, was not all +Barlow had been forced to endure. It had been a cruel blow to find +himself supplanted as guardian at the Abbey. The excuse for thus +superseding him and his wife was, of course, the state of their health +after the ordeal through which they had passed. Nevertheless, Barlow +felt (said his wife) that they were no longer trusted. They had loved +the lodge, which was home to them in old days; but they had been +promoted from lodge-keeping to caretaking, and it was humiliating to be +sent back while strangers usurped their place at the Abbey. This +grievance (in Barley's opinion) had killed her husband. As for her, she +would follow him into the grave, were it not for the loving care of +Barlow's nephews from Australia, the brave twin soldier boys she had +often mentioned to me. They were with her now, and would take her to the +old family home close to Dudworth Cove, which the boys had bought back +from the late owner. Barlow's body would go with them, and be buried in +the graveyard where generations of Barlows slept.</p> + +<p>It was a blow to hear of the old man's death, and to learn that I was +blamed for heartlessness by Barley. Of course I had nothing to do with +the affair. The Barlows were not really suspected, and had in truth been +removed for their own health's sake to the lodge where their possessions +were. The new caretakers had been engaged by Sir James, in consultation, +I believed, with the insurance people: and my secret conviction was, +that they had been supplied by Pemberton's Agency of Private Detectives. +My impulse was to rush to the Abbey and comfort Mrs. Barlow, even at the +risk of meeting my tenant engaged in the same task. But to do this would +have meant delaying the trip, and disappointing everyone, most of all +Shelagh and Roger Fane; so, advised by Mrs. Carstairs, I sent a telegram +instead, picked up Shelagh and her uncle, and took the Plymouth train. +This was the easier to do, because the wonderful old lady offered to go +herself to the Abbey on a mission of consolation. She promised to send a +telegram to our first port, saying how Barley was, and everything else I +wished to know.</p> + +<p>Shelagh was so happy, so excited, that I was glad I'd listened to reason +and kept the tryst. Never had I seen her as pretty as she looked on that +journey to Devon: her eyes blue stars, her cheeks pink roses. But when +the skies began to darken her eyes darkened, too. Had she been a +barometer she could not have responded more sensitively to the storm; +for a storm we had, cats and dogs pelting down on the roof of the train.</p> + +<p>"I was sure something horrid would happen!" she whispered. "It was too +good to be true that Roger and I should have a whole, heavenly week +together on board a yacht. Now we shall have to wait till the weather +clears. Or else be sea-sick. I don't know which is worse!"</p> + +<p>Roger met us, in torrents of rain and gusts of wind, at Plymouth. But +things were not so black as they looked. He had engaged rooms for +everyone, and a private salon for us all, at the best hotel. We would +stay the night and have a dance, with a band of our own. By the next day +the sea would have calmed down enough to please the worst of sailors, +and we would start. Perhaps we could even get off in the morning.</p> + +<p>This prophecy was rather too optimistic, for we didn't get off till +afternoon; but by that time the water was flat as a floor, and one was +tempted to forget there had ever been a storm. We were not to forget it +for long, alas! Brief as it had been, that storm was to leave its +lasting influence upon our fate: Roger Fane's, Shelagh Leigh's, and +mine.</p> + +<p>By four-thirty, the day after the downpour, we had all come on board the +lovely <i>Naiad</i>, had "settled" into our cabins, and were on deck—the +girls in white serge or linen, the men in flannels—ready for tea.</p> + +<p>If it had arrived, and we had been looking into our tea cups instead of +at the seascape, the whole of Roger Fane's and Shelagh's life might have +been different—mine, too, perhaps! But as it was, Shelagh and Roger +were leaning on the rail together, and her gaze was fixed upon the blue +water, because somehow she couldn't meet Roger's just then. What he had +said to her I don't know; but more to avoid giving an answer than +because she was wildly interested, the girl exclaimed: "What can that +dark thing be, drifting—and bobbing up and down in the waves? I suppose +it couldn't be a dead <i>shark</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly in these waters," said Roger Fane. "Besides, a dead shark floats +wrong side up, and his wrong side is white. This thing looks black."</p> + +<p>In ordinary circumstances I wouldn't have broken in on a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, +but others were extricating themselves from their deck chairs, so I +thought there was no harm in my being the first.</p> + +<p>"More like a coffin than a shark," I said, with my elbows beside +Shelagh's on the rail.</p> + +<p>At that the whole party hurled itself in our direction, and the nearer +the <i>Naiad</i> brought us to the floating object, the more like a coffin it +became to our eyes. At last it was so much like, that Roger decided to +stop the yacht and examine the thing, which might even be an odd-shaped +small boat, overturned. He went off, therefore, to speak with the +captain, leaving us in quite a state of excitement.</p> + +<p>Almost before we'd thought the order given, the <i>Naiad</i> slowed down, and +came to rest like a great Lohengrin swan in the clear azure wavelets. A +boat was quickly lowered, and we saw that Roger himself accompanied the +two rowers.</p> + +<p>A few moments before he had looked so happy, so at peace with the world, +that the tragic shadow in his eyes had actually vanished. His whole +expression and bearing had been different, and he had seemed years +younger—almost boyish, in his dark, shy, reserved way. But as he went +down in the boat, he was again the Roger Fane I had known and wondered +about.</p> + +<p>"If he's superstitious, this will seem a bad omen," I thought. "That is, +if the thing <i>does</i> turn out to be a coffin."</p> + +<p>None of us remembered the tea we'd been pining for, though a white-clad +steward was hovering with trays of cakes, cream, and strawberries. We +could do nothing but hang over the rail and watch the <i>Naiad's</i> boat. We +saw it reach the Thing, in whose neighbourhood it paused with lifted +oars, while a discussion went on between Roger and the rowers. +Apparently they argued, with due respect, against the carrying out of +some order or suggestion. He was not a man to be disobeyed, however. +After a moment or two, the work of taking the black thing in tow was +begun.</p> + +<p>We were very near now, and could plainly see all that went on. Coffin or +not, the mysterious object was a long, narrow box of some sort (the +men's reluctance to pick it up pretty well proved <i>what</i> sort, to my +mind), and curiously enough a rope was tied round it. There appeared to +be a lump of knots on top, and a loose end trailing like seaweed, which +made the task of taking the derelict in tow an easy one. To this broken +rope Roger deftly attached the rope carried in the boat, and it was not +long before the rescue party started to return.</p> + +<p>"Is it a coffin or a treasure chest?" girls and men eagerly called down +to Roger. Everyone screamed some question—except Shelagh and me. We +were silent, and Shelagh's colour had faded. She edged closer to me, +until our shoulders touched. Hers felt cold to my warm flesh.</p> + +<p>"Why, you're shivering, dear!" I said. "You're not <i>afraid</i> of that +wretched thing—whatever it is?"</p> + +<p>"We both <i>know</i> what it is, without telling, don't we?" she replied, in +a half whisper. "I'm not <i>afraid</i> of it, of course. But—it's awful that +we should come across a coffin floating in the sea, on our first day +out. I feel as if it meant bad luck for Roger and me. How can they all +squeal and chatter so? I suppose Roger is bound to bring the dreadful +thing on board. It wouldn't be decent not to. But I wish he needn't."</p> + +<p>I rather wished the same, partly because I knew how superstitious +sailors were about such matters, and how they would hate to have a +coffin—presumably containing a dead body—on board the <i>Naiad</i>. It +really wasn't a gay yachting companion! However, I tried to cheer +Shelagh. It would take more than this to bring her bad luck <i>now</i>, I +said, when things had gone so far; and she might have more trust in me, +whom she had lately named her <i>mascotte</i>.</p> + +<p>All the men frankly desired to see the <i>trouvaille</i> at close quarters, +and most of the women wanted a peep, though they weren't brutally open +about it. If there had been any doubt, it would have vanished as the +Thing was being hauled on board by grave-faced, suddenly sullen sailors. +It was a "sure enough" coffin, and—it seemed—an unusually large one!</p> + +<p>It had to be placed on deck, for the moment, but Roger had the dark +shape instantly covered with tarpaulins; and an appeal from his clouded +eyes made me suggest adjourning indoors for tea. We could have it in the +saloon, which was decorated like a boudoir, and full of lilies and +roses—Shelagh's favourite flowers.</p> + +<p>"Let's not talk any more about the business!" Roger exclaimed, when +Shelagh's uncle seemed inclined to mix the subject with food. "I wish it +hadn't happened, as the men are foolishly upset. But it can't be helped, +and we must do our best. The—er—it sha'n't stop on deck. That would be +to keep Jonah under our eyes. I've thought of a place where we can +ignore it till to-morrow, when we'll land it as early as we can at St. +Heliers. I'm afraid the local authorities will want to tie us up in a +lot of red tape. But the worst will be to catechize us as if we were +witnesses in court. Meanwhile, let's forget the whole affair."</p> + +<p>"Righto!" promptly exclaimed all three of the younger guests; but Mr. +Pollen was not thus to be deprived of his morbid morsel.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he agreed. "But before the subject is shelved, <i>where</i> is +the 'place' you speak of? I mean, where is the coffin to rest throughout +the night?"</p> + +<p>Roger gave a grim laugh, and looked obstinate. "I'll tell you this +much," he said. "None of you'll have it for a near neighbour, so none of +you need worry."</p> + +<p>After that, even Mr. Pollen could not persist. We disposed of an +enormous tea, after the excitement, and then some of us played bridge. +When we separated, however, to pace the deck—two by two, for a +"constitutional" before dinner—one could see by the absorbed expression +on faces, and guess by the low-toned voices, what each pair discussed.</p> + +<p>My companion, Lord Glencathra, thought that Somebody must have died on +Some Ship, and been thrown overboard. But I argued that this could +hardly be, because—surely—bodies buried at sea were not put into +coffins, were they? I had heard that the custom was to sew them up in +sailcloth or something, and weight them well. Besides, there was the +broken rope tied round the coffin, which seemed to show that it had been +tethered, and got loose—in the storm, perhaps. How did Lord Glencathra +account for that fact? He couldn't account for it. Nor could any one +else.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VA" id="CHAPTER_VA"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>WHAT I FOUND IN MY CABIN</h3> + + +<p>I did all I could to make dinner a lively meal, and with iced Pommery of +a particularly good year as my aide-de-camp, superficially at least I +succeeded. But whenever there was an instant's lull in the conversation, +I felt that everyone was asking him or herself, "<i>Where</i> is the coffin?"</p> + +<p>The plan had been to have a little moonlight fox-trotting and jazzing on +deck; but with that Black Thing hidden somewhere on board, we confined +ourselves to more bridge and star-gazing, according to taste. I, as +professional Brightener, nobly kept Mr. Pollen out of everybody's way by +annexing him for a stroll. This deserved the name of a double +brightening act, for I brightened the lives of his fellow guests by +saving them from him; and I brightened his by encouraging him to talk of +Well-Connected People.</p> + +<p>"Who <i>was</i> she before she married Lord Thingum-bob?" ... or, "Yes, she +was Miss So-and-So, a cousin of the Duke of Dinkum," might have been +heard issuing sapiently from our lips, had any one been mentally +destitute enough to eavesdrop. But I had my reward. Dear little Shelagh +Leigh and Roger Fane seemed to have cheered each other. I left them +standing together, elbows on the rail, as they had stood before the +affair of the afternoon. The moonlight was shining full upon Shelagh's +bright hair and pearl-white face, as she looked up, eager-eyed, at +Roger; and <i>he</i> looked—at least, his <i>back</i> looked!—as if there were +nobody on land or sea except one Girl.</p> + +<p>Having lured Mr. Pollen to make a fourth at a bridge table where the +players were too polite to kill him, I ventured to vanish. There being +no one on board with whom I wished to flirt, my one desire after two +hard hours of Brightening was to curl up in my cabin with a nice book. I +quite looked forward to the moment for shutting myself cosily in, for +the cabin was a delicious pink-and-white nest—the biggest room on +board, as a tribute to my princesshood.</p> + +<p>Hardly had I opened the door, however, when my dream-bubble broke. A +very odd and repellent odour greeted me, and seemed almost to push me +back across the threshold. I held my ground, however, and sniffed with +curiosity and disgust.</p> + +<p>Somebody had been at my perfume—my expensive pet perfume, made +especially for me in Rome (one drop exquisite; two, oppressive), and +must have spilt the lot. But worse than this, the heavy fragrance was +mingled with a reek of stale brandy.</p> + +<p>Anger flashed in me, like a match set to gun-cotton. Some impertinent +person had sneaked into my stateroom and played a stupid practical joke. +Or, if not that, one of the pleasantly prim, immaculate women (a cross +between the stewardess and ladies'-maid type) engaged to hook up our +frocks and make up our cabins, was secretly a confirmed—<i>ROTTER</i>!</p> + +<p>I switched on the light, shut the door smartly without locking it, and +flung a furious glance around. The creature had actually dared to place +a brandy bottle conspicuously upon my dressing table, among gold-handled +brushes and silver gilt boxes, and, as a crowning impertinence, had left +a tumbler beside the bottle, a quarter full of strong-smelling brown +stuff. Close by lay my lovely crystal flask of "Campagna Violets," +empty. I could get no more anywhere, and it had cost five pounds! I +could hardly breathe in the room. Oh, evidently a stewardess must have +gone stark mad, or else some practical joker had waited to play the +<i>coup</i> until the stewardesses were in bed!</p> + +<p>As I thought this, my eyes as well as my nostrils warned me of something +strange. The rose-coloured silk curtains which, when I went to dinner, +had been gracefully looped back at head and foot of my pretty bed (a +real bed, not a mere berth!) were now closely drawn with a secretive +air. This made me imagine that it was a practical joke I had to deal +with, and my fancy flew to all sorts of weird surprises, any one of +which I might find hidden behind the draperies.</p> + +<p>I trust that I have a sense of humour, and I can laugh at a jest against +myself as well as any woman, perhaps better than most. But to-night I +was in no mood to laugh at jests, and I wondered how anybody had the +heart (not to mention the <i>cheek</i>!) to perpetrate one after the shock we +had experienced. Besides, I couldn't think of a person likely to play a +trick on me. Certainly my host wouldn't do so. Shelagh, my best and most +intimate pal, was far too gentle and sensitive-minded. As for the other +guests, none were of the noisy, bounding type who take liberties even +with distant acquaintances, for fun.</p> + +<p>All this ran through my mind, as a cinema "cut-in" flashes across the +screen; and it wasn't until I'd passed in review the characters of my +fellow guests that I summoned courage to pull back the bed-curtains. +When I did so, I gave a jerk that slipped them along the rod as far as +they would go. And then—I saw the last thing in the world I could have +pictured.</p> + +<p>A woman, fully dressed, was stretched on the pink silk coverlet fast +asleep, her head deep sunk in the embroidered pillow.</p> + +<p>It was all I could do to keep back a cry—for this was no woman I had +seen on board, not even a drunken or sleep-walking stewardess. Yet her +face was not strange to me. That was the most horrible, the most +mysterious part! There was no mistake, for the face was impossible to +forget. As I stared, almost believing that I dreamed, another scene rose +between my eyes and the dainty little cabin of the <i>Naiad</i>.</p> + +<p>It also was a scene in a dream. I knew it was a dream, but it was +torturingly vivid. I was a prisoner on a German submarine, in war-time, +and signals from my own old home—Courtenaye Abbey—flashed into my +eyes. They flashed so brightly that they set me on fire. I wakened from +the nightmare with a start. A strong light dazzled me, and, striking my +face, lit up another face as well. Just for an instant I saw it; then +the revealing ray died into darkness. But on my retina was photographed +those features, in a pale, illumined circle.</p> + +<p>A second sufficed to bring back to my brain this old dream and the +waking reality which followed, that night at the Abbey, long ago—the +night which Shelagh and I called "Spy Night." For here, in my cabin on +the yacht <i>Naiad</i>, on the crushed pillow of my bed, was that face.</p> + +<p>As I realized this, without benefit of any doubt, a faint sickness swept +over me. It was partly horror of the past; partly physical disgust of +the brandy-reek—stronger than ever now—hanging like an unseen canopy +over the bed; and partly cold fear of a terrifying Presence.</p> + +<p>There she lay, sunk in drugged and drunken sleep, the Woman of Mystery, +in whose existence no one but Shelagh and I had ever quite believed: the +woman who had visited us in our sleep, and who—almost certainly—had +fired the Abbey, hoping that we and the Barlows might suffocate in our +beds.</p> + +<p>The face was just the same as it had been then: "beautiful and hideous +at the same time, like Medusa," I had described it; only now it was +older, and though still beautiful, somehow <i>ravaged</i>. The hair still +glowed with the vivid auburn colour which I had thought "unreal +looking"; but now it was tumbled and unkempt. Loose locks strayed over +the dainty pillow, and at the bottom of the bed, pushed tightly against +the footboard by a pair of untidy, high-heeled shoes, was a dusty black +toque half covered with a very thick motor-veil of gray tissue. There +was a gray cloak, too, in a tumbled mass on the pink coverlet, and a +pair of soiled gloves. Everything about the sleeper was sordid and +repulsive, a shuddering contrast to the exquisite freshness of the bed +and room—everything, that is, except the face. Its half-wrecked beauty +was still supreme, and even in the ruin drink or drugs had wrought, it +forced admiration.</p> + +<p>"<i>A German spy</i>—here in my cabin—on board Roger Fane's yacht!" I said +the words slowly in my mind, not with my tongue. Not a sound, not the +faintest whisper, passed my lips. Yet suddenly the long, dark lashes on +bruise-blue lids began to quiver. It was as if my <i>thought</i> had shaken +the woman by the shoulder, and roused what was left of her soul.</p> + +<p>I should have liked to dash out of the room and with a shriek bring +everyone on board to my cabin. But I stood motionless, concentrating my +gaze on those trembling eyelids. Something inside me seemed to say: +"Don't be a coward, Elizabeth Courtenaye!" It was exactly like +Grandmother's voice. I had a conviction that <i>she</i> wanted me to see this +thing through as a Courtenaye should, shirking no responsibility, and +solving the mystery of past and present without bleating for help.</p> + +<p>The fringed lids parted, shut, quivered again, and flashed wide open. A +pair of pale eyes stared into mine—wicked eyes, cruel eyes, green as a +cat's. Like a cat, too, the creature gathered herself together as if for +a spring. Her muscles rippled and jerked. She sat up, and in chilled +surprise I thought I saw recognition in her stare.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIA" id="CHAPTER_VIA"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE WOMAN OF THE PAST</h3> + + +<p>"Oh, you've come at last!" she rasped, in a harsh, throaty voice +roughened by drink. "I know you. I——"</p> + +<p>"And I know you!" I cut her short, to show that I was not cowed.</p> + +<p>Sitting up in bed, hugging her knees, she started at my words so that +the springs shook. Whatever it was she had meant to say, she forgot it +for the moment, and challenged me: "That's a lie!" she snapped. "You +<i>don't</i> know me yet—but you soon will."</p> + +<p>"I've known you since you came into my room at Courtenaye Abbey the +night you tried to burn down the house," I said. "You were spying for +the Germans in the war. Heaven knows all the harm you may have done. I +can't imagine for whom you're spying now. Anyhow, you can't frighten me +again. The war's over, but I'll have you arrested for what you did when +it was on."</p> + +<p>The woman scowled and laughed, more Medusa-like than ever. I really felt +as if she might turn me to stone. But she shouldn't guess her power.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" she said, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "You won't want to +arrest me when you hear who I am, Lady Shelagh Leigh!"</p> + +<p>"Lady Shelagh Leigh!" It was on my lips to cry, "I'm not Shelagh Leigh!" +But I stopped in time. The less I let her find out about me, and the +more I could find out about her before rousing the yacht, the better. I +spoke not a word, but waited for her to go on—which she did in a few +seconds.</p> + +<p>"That makes you sit up, doesn't it?" she sneered. "That hits you where +you <i>live</i>! Why did you think I chose your cabin? I didn't select it by +chance. I confess I was taken back at your remembering. I thought I +hadn't given you time for much study of my features that other night. +But it doesn't matter. You can't do anything to me. I'll soon prove +<i>that</i>! But I had a good look at <i>you</i>, there in your friend's old +Devonshire rat-trap. I knew who you both were. It was easy to find out! +And the other day, when I heard that Lady Shelagh Leigh was likely to +marry Roger Fane, I said to myself, 'Gosh! One of the girls I saw at the +darned old Abbey!'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you said <i>that</i> to yourself!" I echoed. And, though my knees +failed, I kept to my feet. To stand towering above the squatting figure +on the bed seemed to give me moral as well as physical advantage. "How +did you know, pray, which girl I was?"</p> + +<p>"I knew, 'pray,'" she mocked, "because you've got the best room on this +yacht. Roger'd be sure to give that to his best girl. Which is how I'm +sure you're not Elizabeth Courtenaye."</p> + +<p>"How clever you are!" I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I'm clever—when I'm not a fool. Don't think, anyhow, that you can +beat me in a battle of brains. I've come on board this boat to succeed, +and I <i>will</i> succeed in one of two ways, I don't care a hang which. But +nothing on God's earth can hold me back from one or the other—least of +all, can <i>you</i>. Why, you can ask any question you please, and I'll +answer. I'll tell the truth, too—for the more I say, and the more +you're shocked, the more helpless you are—do you see?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't see," I drew her on.</p> + +<p>"Don't you guess yet who I am?"</p> + +<p>"I've guessed what you <i>were</i>—a German spy."</p> + +<p>"That's ancient history. One must live—and one must have money—plenty +of money. I must! And I've had it. But it's gone from me—like most good +things. Now I must have more—a lot more. Or else I must die. I don't +care which. But <i>others</i> will care. I'll make them."</p> + +<p>Looking at her, I doubted if she had the power; though she must have had +it in lost days of gorgeous youth. Yet again I remained silent. I saw +that she was leading up to something in particular, and I let her go on.</p> + +<p>"You're not much of a guesser," she said, "so I'll introduce myself. +Lady-who-thinks-she's-going-to-marry Roger Fane, let me make known to +you the lady who <i>has</i> married him—Mrs. Fane, <i>née</i> Linda Lehmann. I've +changed my name since, more than once. At present I'm Katherine Nelson. +But Linda Lehmann is the name that matters to Roger. You're nothing in +looks, by the by, to what <i>I</i> was at your age. <i>Nothing!</i>"</p> + +<p>If my knees had been weak before, they now felt as if struck with a +mallet! She might be lying, but something within me was horribly sure +that she spoke the truth. I'd never heard full details of Roger Fane's +"tragedy," but Mrs. Carstairs had dropped a few hints which, without +asking questions, I'd patched together. I had gleaned that he'd married +(when almost a boy) an actress much older than himself; and that, till +her sudden and violent death after many years—nine or ten at least—his +life had been a martyrdom. How the woman contrived to be alive I +couldn't see. But such things happened—to people one didn't know! The +worst of it was that <i>I did</i> know Roger Fane, and liked him. Besides, I +loved Shelagh, whose happiness was bound up with Roger's. It seemed as +if I couldn't bear to have those two torn apart by this cruel +creature—this drunkard—this <i>spy</i>! Yet—what could I do?</p> + +<p>At the moment I could think of nothing useful, because, if she was +Roger's wife, her boast was justified: for his sake and Shelagh's she +mustn't be handed over to the police, to answer for any political crime +I might prove against her—or even for trying to burn down the Abbey. +Oh, this business was beyond what I bargained for when I engaged to +"brighten" the trip on board the <i>Naiad</i>! Still, all the spirit in me +rallied to work for Roger Fane—even to work out his salvation if that +could be. And I was glad I'd let the woman believe I was Shelagh Leigh.</p> + +<p>"Roger's wife died five years ago, just before the war began," I said. +"She was killed in a railway accident—an awful one, where she and a +company of actors she was travelling with were burned to death."</p> + +<p>The creature laughed. "Have you never been to a movie show, and seen how +easy it is to die in a railway accident?—to <i>stay</i> dead to those you're +tired of, and to be alive in some other part of this old world, where +you think there's more fun going on? It's been done on the screen a +hundred times—and off it, too. I was sick to death of Roger. I'd never +have married a stick like him—always preaching!—if I hadn't been down +and out. When I met him, it was in a beastly one-horse town where I was +stranded. The show had chucked me—gone off and left me without a cent. +I was sick—too big a dose of dope, if you want to know. But <i>Roger</i> +didn't know—you can bet. Not then! I took jolly good care to toe the +mark, till he'd married me all right. He <i>was</i> a sucker! I suppose he +was twenty-two and over, but Peter Pan wasn't in it with him in some +ways. He kept me off the stage—and tried to keep me off everything else +worth doing for five years. Then I left him, for my health and looks had +come back, and I got a fair part in a play on tour. There I met a +countryman of mine—oh! don't be encouraged to hope! I never gave Roger +any cause to divorce me; and if I had, I'd have done it so he couldn't +prove a thing!"</p> + +<p>"When you say the man was your countryman, I suppose you mean a German," +I said.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes," she replied, with the flaunting frankness she affected in +these revelations. "German-American he was. I'm German by birth, and +grew up in America. I've been back often and long since then. But this +man had a scheme. He wanted me to go into it with him. I didn't see my +way at first though there was big money, so he left the show before the +accident. When I found myself alive and kicking among the dead that day, +however, I saw my chance. I left a ring and a few things to identify me +with a woman who was killed, and I lit out. It was in the dead of night, +so luck was on my side for once. I wrote my friend, and it wasn't long +before I was at work with him for the German Government. The Abbey +affair was after he'd got out of England and into Germany through +Switzerland. He was a sailor, and had been given command of a big new +submarine. If it hadn't been for the row you and your pal kicked up, +we—he on the water and I on land—might have brought off one of the big +stunts of the war. You tore it—after I'd been mewed up in the old +rat-warren for a week, and everything was working just right! I wish to +goodness the whole house had burned, and I did wish <i>you'd</i> burned with +it. But I don't know if to-night isn't going to pay me—and you—just as +well. There's a lot owing from you to me. I haven't told you all yet. My +friend's submarine was caught, and he went down with her. I blame that +to you. If I hadn't failed him with the signals, he might be alive now."</p> + +<p>"I was more patriotic than I knew!" I flung back. "As you're so +confidential, tell me how you got into the Abbey, and where you hid."</p> + +<p>She shook her dyed and tousled head. "That's where I draw the line," she +said. "I've told you what I have told to please myself, not you. You +can't profit by a word of it. That's where my fun comes in! If I split +about the Abbey, you might profit somehow—or your friend the Courtenaye +girl would. I want to punish her, too."</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps in that case you won't care to explain +how you came on board the <i>Naiad</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mind that," the ex-spy made concession. "I went out of England +after the Abbey affair—friends helped me away—and I worked in New York +till things grew too hot. Then I came over as a Red Cross nurse, got +into France, and stopped till the other day. I'd be there still if I +hadn't picked up a weekly London gossip-rag, and seen a paragraph about +a certain rumoured engagement! You can guess <i>whose</i>! It called +Roger—<i>my</i> Roger, mind you!—a 'millionaire.' He never was poor, even +in my day; he'd made a lucky strike before we met, with an invention. I +said to myself: 'Linda, my girl, 'twould be tempting Providence to lie +low and let another woman spend his money.' I started as soon as I +could, but missed him in London, and hurried on to Plymouth. If it +hadn't been for that bally storm I shouldn't have caught him up! The +yacht would have sailed. As it was, before you came on board this +afternoon I presented myself, thickly veiled. I had a card from a London +newspaper, and an old card of Roger's which was among a few things of +his I'd kept for emergencies. I can copy his handwriting well enough not +be suspected, except by an intimate friend of his, so I scribbled on the +card an order to view the yacht. I got on all right, and wandered about +with a notebook and a stylo. I soon found the right place to hide—in +the storeroom, behind some barrels. But I had to make everyone who'd +seen me think I'd gone on shore. That was easy! I told a sailor fellow +by the gang plank I was going, and said I'd mislaid an envelope in which +I'd slipped a tip for him and another man. I thought I'd left it on a +table in the dining saloon, and he'd better look for it, or it might be +picked up by somebody. He went before I could say 'knife!' and the +envelope really <i>was</i> there, so he didn't have to hurry back. Two +minutes later I was in the storeroom, and no one the wiser. Lord! but I +got the jumps waiting for the stewardesses to be safe in bed before I +could creep out to pay your cabin a call!"</p> + +<p>"So, to cure the 'jumps' you annexed a whole bottle of brandy," I said.</p> + +<p>"I did—for that and another reason you may find out by and by. But I'm +hanged if you're not a cool hand, for a young girl who has just heard +her lover's a married man. I thought by this time you'd be in +hysterics."</p> + +<p>"Girls of <i>my</i> generation don't have hysterics," I taunted her. By the +dyed hair and vestiges of rouge and powder which streaked the battered +face I guessed that a sneer at her age would sting like a wasp. I wanted +to rouse the woman's temper. If she lost her head, she might show her +hand!</p> + +<p>"You'll have worse than hysterics, you fool, before I finish," she +snapped. "I'm going to make Roger Fane acknowledge me as his wife and +give me everything I want—money, and motor cars, and pearls—and, best +of all, a <i>position in society</i>. I'm tired of being a free lance."</p> + +<p>"He won't do it!" I cried.</p> + +<p>"He'll have to—when he hears what will happen if he doesn't. If I can't +live a life worth living, I'll die. Roger Fane will go off this yacht +under arrest as my murderer."</p> + +<p>"You deserve that he should kill you, but he will not," I said.</p> + +<p>"He'll <i>hang</i> for killing me, anyhow. You see, the more <i>motive</i> he has +to destroy me, the more impossible for him—or you—to prove his +innocence. Do you think I'd have told you all this, if any one was +likely to believe such a cock-and-bull story as the truth would sound to +a jury? But I'm through now! I've said what I came to say. I'm ready to +act. Do you want a row, or will you go quietly to the door of Roger's +cabin (he must be there by this time) and tell him that his wife, Linda +Lehmann, is waiting for him in your stateroom? <i>That</i>'ll fetch him!"</p> + +<p>I had no doubt it would. My only doubt was what to do! But if I refused, +the woman was sure to keep her word, and rouse the yacht by screams. +That would be the worst thing possible for Shelagh and Roger. I decided +to go, and break to him the news with merciful swiftness.</p> + +<p>If I could, I would have turned a key upon the creature, but the doors +of the <i>Naiad's</i> cabins were furnished only with bolts. My one hope, +that she'd keep to my room, owed itself to the fact that she was too +drunk to move comfortably, and that, despite her bluff, the best trump +she had was quiet diplomacy with Roger.</p> + +<p>Softly I closed the door, and tiptoed to his, three staterooms distant +from mine. My tap was so light that, if he had gone to sleep, I should +have had to knock again. But he opened the door at once. He was fully +dressed, and had a book in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Something has happened," I whispered in answer to his amazed look. "Let +me come in and explain. I can't talk out here."</p> + +<p>He stood aside in silence, and I stepped in. Then I motioned him to shut +the door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIA" id="CHAPTER_VIIA"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE SECRET BEHIND THE SILENCE</h3> + + +<p>This was the first time I'd seen Roger's cabin, and I had no eyes now +for its charm of decoration; but I saw that it was large, and divided by +a curtained arch into a bedroom and a tiny yet complete study fitted +with bookshelves and a desk.</p> + +<p>"You're pale as death!" He lowered his voice cautiously. "Sit down in +this chair." As he spoke he led me through the bedroom part of the cabin +to the study, and there I sank gratefully into the depths of a big +chair, where, no doubt, he had sat reading under the light of a shaded +lamp.</p> + +<p>"Now what is it?" he asked, bending over me. As I stammered out my +story, for a few seconds I forgot the fear of being followed. Our backs +were turned to the door. But I had not got far in the tale when I felt +that <i>she</i> had come into the room. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw +her—a shabby, sinister figure—hanging on to the curtain that draped +the archway.</p> + +<p>Roger's start and stifled exclamation proved that, whatever else she +might be, the woman was no imposter.</p> + +<p>"You devil!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Your wife!" she retorted.</p> + +<p>"Hush," I whispered. "For every sake let's keep this quiet!"</p> + +<p>"<i>I'll</i> be quiet for my own sake, if he accepts my terms," said the +woman. "If not, the whole yacht——"</p> + +<p>"Be silent!" Roger commanded. "Princess, I've got to see this through. +You'd better go now, and leave me alone with her."</p> + +<p>He was right. My presence would hinder rather than help. I saw the +greenish eyes dart from his face to mine when he called me "Princess"; +but she must have fancied it a pet name, for no question flashed from +her lips as I tiptoed across the room.</p> + +<p>When I got back to my own quarters, I noticed at once that the brandy +bottle and the tumbler which had accompanied it were gone from my +dressing table. Nor were they to be found in the cabin. The woman must +have taken them to Roger's room, and placed them somewhere before I saw +her. "Disgusting!" I murmured, for my thought was that the debased +wretch had clung lovingly to the drink. Even though I'd sharpened my +wits to search all her motives, I failed over that simple-seeming act.</p> + +<p>"Oh, poor Roger!" I said to myself. "And poor Shelagh!"</p> + +<p>I sat miserably on the window seat (for the rumpled bed was now +abhorrent), and wondered what would happen next. But I had not long to +wait. A few moments passed—how many I don't know—and the crystalline +silence of the gliding <i>Naiad</i> was splintered by a scream.</p> + +<p>'Scream' is the word one must use for a cry of pain or fear. Yet it +isn't the right word for the sound that snatched me to my feet. It was +not shrill, it was not loud. What might have ended in a shriek subsided +to a choked breath, a gurgle. My heart's pounding seemed louder as I +listened. My ears expected a following cry, but it did not come. Two or +three doors gently opened, that was all. Again dead silence fell; and I +felt in it that others listened, fearing to speak lest the sound had +been no more than a moan in a dream. Presently the doors closed again, +each listener afraid of disturbing a neighbour. And even I, who knew the +secret behind the silence, prayed that the choked scream might have come +when it did as a mere coincidence. Someone might really have had +nightmare!</p> + +<p>As time passed, I almost persuaded myself that it was so, and that, at +worst, there would be no crime to mark this night with crimson on the +calendar. But the next quarter hour was the <i>deadest</i> time I'd ever +known. I felt like one entombed alive, praying to be liberated from a +vault. Then, at last—when those who'd waked slept again—came a faint +knock at my door.</p> + +<p>I flew to slip back the bolt, and pulled Roger Fane into the room. One +would not have believed a face so brown could bleach so white!</p> + +<p>For an instant we stared into each other's eyes. When I could speak, I +stammered a question—I don't know what, and I don't think he +understood. But the spell broke.</p> + +<p>"You <i>heard</i>?" he faltered.</p> + +<p>"The cry? Yes. It was——"</p> + +<p>"She's dead."</p> + +<p>"<i>Dead!</i> You killed her?"</p> + +<p>"My God, no! But if you think that, what will—<i>others</i> think?"</p> + +<p>"If you had killed her, you couldn't be blamed," I tried to encourage +him. "Only——"</p> + +<p>"Didn't she make some threat to you? I hoped she had. She told me——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there was something—I hardly remember what. It was like +drunkenness. She said—I think—that if you wouldn't take her back, +you'd be arrested—as her murderer."</p> + +<p>"That was it—her ultimatum. She must have been mad. I offered a big +allowance, if she'd go away and not make a scandal. I'd have to give up +Shelagh, of course, but I wanted to save my poor little love from +gossip. That devil would have no compromise. It should be all or +nothing. I must swear to acknowledge her as my wife on board this +yacht—to-morrow morning—before Shelagh—before you all. If I wouldn't +promise that, she'd kill herself at once, in a way to throw the guilt on +me. She'd do it so that I couldn't clear myself or be cleared. I +wouldn't promise, of course. I hoped, anyhow, that she was bluffing. But +I didn't know her! When nothing would change me, she showed a tiny phial +she had in her hand, and said she'd drink the stuff in it before I could +touch her. It was prussic acid, she told me—and already she'd poured +enough to kill ten men into a tumbler she'd stolen from my cabin on +purpose. She'd mixed the poison with brandy from the storeroom. Even if +I threw the tumbler through the porthole, mine would be missing. There's +one to match each room, you see. A small detail, but important.</p> + +<p>"'Now will you promise?' she repeated. I couldn't—for I should not have +kept my word. She looked at me a second. I saw in her eyes that she was +going to do the thing, and I jumped at her—but I was too late. She +nearly drained the phial. And she'd hardly flung it away before she was +dead—with an awful, twisted face—and that cry. If I hadn't caught her, +she'd have fallen with a crash. This is the end of things for me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—don't say that!" I begged.</p> + +<p>"What else is there to say? There she lies, dead in my cabin. There's +prussic acid on the floor—and the phial broken. The room reeks of +bitter almonds. No one but you will believe I didn't kill her—perhaps +not even Shelagh. Just because the woman made my past life horrible—and +I had a chance of happiness—the temptation would be irresistible."</p> + +<p>"Let me think. Do let me think!" I persisted. "Surely there's a way out +of the trap."</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>see</i> one," said Roger. "Throwing a body overboard is the +obvious thing. But it would be worse than——"</p> + +<p>"Wait!" I cut him short. "I've thought of another thing—<i>not</i> obvious. +But it's hard to do—and hateful. The only help I could lend you is—a +hint. The rest would depend on yourself. If you were strong +enough—brave enough—it might give you Shelagh."</p> + +<p>"I'm strong enough for anything with the remotest hope of Shelagh, +and—I trust—brave enough, too. Tell me your plan."</p> + +<p>I had to draw a long breath before I could answer. I needed air! "You're +right." I said. "To give the body to the sea would make things worse. +You couldn't be sure it would not be found, and the woman traced by the +police. If they discovered who she was—that she'd been your wife—you +would be suspected even if nothing were proved through those who saw a +veiled woman come on board."</p> + +<p>"That's what I meant. Yet you must see that even with your testimony, my +innocence can't be proved if the story of this night has to be told."</p> + +<p>"I do see. You might not be proved guilty, but you'd be under a cloud. +Shelagh would still want to marry you. But she's very young, and easy to +break as a butterfly. The Pollens——"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't accept such a sacrifice even if they'd let her make it. Yet +you speak of hope!—--"</p> + +<p>"I do—a desperate hope. Can you open that coffin you brought on board +to-day, take out—whatever is in it—and—and——"</p> + +<p>"My God!"</p> + +<p>"I warned you the plan was terrible. I hardly thought you would——"</p> + +<p>"I would—for Shelagh. But you don't understand. That coffin will be +opened by the police at St. Heliers to-morrow, and——"</p> + +<p>"I do understand. It's you who do not. Everyone on board knows that the +coffin was floating in the sea—that we came on it by accident. You +could have had nothing to do with its being where it was. If you had, +you wouldn't have taken it on board! The body found in that coffin +to-morrow won't be associated with you. <i>She</i>—must have altered +horribly since old days. And she has changed her name many times. The +initials on her linen won't be L.L. There'll be a nine-days' wonder over +the mystery. But <i>you</i> won't be concerned in it. As for what's in the +coffin now, <i>that</i> can safely be given to the sea. Whatever it may be, +and whenever or wherever it's found, it won't be connected with the name +of Roger Fane. If there's the name of the maker on the coffin, it must +come off. Oh, don't think I do not realize the full horror of the thing. +I do! But between two evils one must choose the less, if it hurts no +one. It seems to me it is so with this. Why should Shelagh's life and +yours be spoiled by a cruel woman—a criminal—whose last act was to try +to ruin the man she'd injured, sinned against for years? As for—<i>the +other</i>—the unknown one—if the spirit can see, surely it would be glad +to help in such a cause? What you would have to do, you'd do reverently. +There must be tarpaulin on board, or canvas coverings that wouldn't be +looked for, or missed. There must be a screw-driver—and things like +that. The great danger is, if the coffin's in plain sight anywhere, and +a man on watch——"</p> + +<p>"There's no danger of that kind. The coffin is in the bathroom adjoining +my cabin."</p> + +<p>"Then—doesn't it seem that Fate bade you put it there?"</p> + +<p>For a moment Roger covered his face with his hands. I saw him shudder. +But he flung back his head and looked me in the eyes. "I'll go on +obeying Fate's orders," he said.</p> + +<p>Without another word between us, he left me. The door shut, and I sat +staring at it, as if I could see beyond.</p> + +<p>I had spoken only the truth. There was no sin against living or dead in +what I had urged Roger to do. Yet the bare thought of it was so grim +that I felt like an up-to-date Lady Macbeth.</p> + +<p>I had forgotten to beg that he would come back and tell of his success +or—failure. But I was sure he would come, sooner or later, whatever +happened, and I sat quite still—waiting. I kept my eyes on the door, to +see the handle turn, or gazed at my little travelling clock to watch the +dragging moments. I longed for news. Yet I was glad when time went on +without a sign. The quick coming back of Roger would have meant that he +had failed—that all hope was ended.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes; thirty; forty; fifty, passed, seeming endless. But when +with the sixtieth minute came the faint tap I awaited, down sank my +heart. Roger could not have finished his double task in an hour!</p> + +<p>I dashed to the door, and the light from my cabin showed the man's face, +ashy pale. Yet I did not read despair on it.</p> + +<p>Without a word I dragged him into the room once more; and only when the +door was closed did I dare to whisper "<i>Well?</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIA" id="CHAPTER_VIIIA"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE GREAT SURPRISE</h3> + + +<p>"<i>There was no body in the coffin</i>," Roger said.</p> + +<p>"Empty?" I gasped.</p> + +<p>"Not empty. No. There was something there. Will you come to my cabin and +see what it was? Don't look frightened. There's nothing to alarm you. +And—Princess, the rest of the plan you gave me has been—<i>carried out</i>. +Thanks to your woman's wit, I believe that my future and Shelagh's is +clear. And, before Heaven, my conscience is clear, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger, it's thanks to your own courage more than to me. Is—is all +<i>safe</i>?"</p> + +<p>"The coffin—isn't empty now. It is fastened up, just as it was. The +broken rope is round it again. It's covered with the tarpaulin as +before. No one outside the secret would guess it had been disturbed. +There's no maker's mark to trace it by. I owe more than my life—I owe +my very <i>soul</i>—to you. For I haven't much fear of what may come at St. +Heliers to-morrow or after."</p> + +<p>"Nor I. Oh, I am <i>thankful</i>, for Shelagh's sake even more than yours, if +possible. Her heart would have broken. Now she need never know."</p> + +<p>"She must know—and choose. I shall tell her—everything I did. Only I +need not bring you into it."</p> + +<p>"If you tell her about yourself, you must tell her about me," I said. +"I'd like to be with you when you speak to her—if you think you must +speak."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I must. If all goes well to-morrow, she can marry me without +fear of scandal—if she's willing to marry me, after what I've done +to-night."</p> + +<p>"She will be. And she shall hear from me that this woman who killed +herself and our spy of the Abbey were one. As for to-morrow—all <i>must</i> +go well! But—the thing you found—in the coffin. You'll have to dispose +of it somehow."</p> + +<p>"It's for <i>you</i> to decide about that—I think."</p> + +<p>"For me? What can it have to do with me?"</p> + +<p>"You'll see—in my cabin. If you'll trust me and come."</p> + +<p>I went with him, my heart pounding as I entered the room. It seemed as +if some visible trace of tragedy must remain. But there was nothing. All +was in order. The brandy bottle had disappeared—into the sea, no doubt. +The tumbler so cleverly taken from this cabin was clean, and in its +place. There were no bits of broken glass from the phial to be seen. And +the odour of bitter almonds with which the place had reeked was no +longer very strong. The salt breeze blowing through two wide-open +portholes would kill it before dawn.</p> + +<p>"But where is the <i>thing</i>?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"In the study," Roger answered. He motioned me to pass through the +curtained archway, as I had passed before; and there I had to cover my +lips with my hand to press back a cry. The desk, the big chair I had sat +in, and a sofa were covered with objects familiar to me as my own face +in a looking-glass. There was Queen Anne's silver tea-service and +Napoleon's green-and-gold coffee cups. There were Li Hung Chang's box of +red lacquer and the wondrous Buddha; there were the snuff-boxes, the +miniatures, the buckles and brooches; the fat watch of George the +Fourth; half unrolled lay Charles the First's portrait and sketch, and +the Gobelin panel which had been the Empress Josephine's. In fact, all +the treasures stolen from Courtenaye Abbey! Here they were in Roger +Fane's cabin on board the <i>Naiad</i>, and they had come out of a coffin +found floating in the sea!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When I could think at all, I tried to think the puzzle out, and I tried +to do it alone, for Roger was in no state to bend his mind to trifles. +But, in his almost pathetic gratitude, he wished to help me; and when we +had locked up the things in three drawers of his desk, we sat together +discussing theories. Something must be planned, something settled, +before day!</p> + +<p>It was Roger who unfolded the whole affair before my eyes, unfolded it +so clearly that I could not doubt he was right. My trust—everyone's +trust—in the Barlows had been misplaced. They were the guilty ones! If +they had not organized the plot, they had helped to carry it through as +nobody else could have carried it through.</p> + +<p>I told Roger of the two demobilized nephews about whom—if he had +heard—he had forgotten. I explained that they were twin sons of a +brother of old Barlow's, who had taken them to Australia years ago when +they were children. Vaguely I recalled that, when I was very young, +Barlow had worried over news from Australia: his nephews had been in +trouble of some sort. I fancied they had got in with a bad set. But that +was ancient history! The twins had evidently "made good." They had +fought in the war, and had done well. They must have saved money, or +they could not have bought the old house on the Dorset coast which had +belonged to the Barlows for generations. It was at this point, however, +that Roger stopped me. <i>Had</i> the boys "saved" money, or—had they got it +in a way less meritorious? Had they needed, for pressing reasons of +their own, to possess that place on the coast? The very question called +up a picture—no, a series of pictures—before my eyes. I saw, or Roger +made me see, almost against my will, how the scheme might have been +worked—<i>must</i> have been worked!—from beginning to end; and how at last +it had most strangely failed. Again, the Fate that had sailed on the +Storm! For an hour we talked, and made our plan almost as intricately as +the thieves or their backers had made theirs. Then, as dawn paled the +sky framed by the open portholes, I slipped off to my own cabin. I did +not go to bed (I could not, where <i>she</i> had lain!) and I didn't sleep. +But I curled up on the long window seat, with cushions under my head, +and thought. I thought of a thousand things: of Roger's plan and mine, +of how I could return the heirlooms yet keep the secret; of what Sir Jim +would say when he learned of their reappearance; and, above all, I +thought of what our discovery in the coffin would mean for Roger Fane.</p> + +<p>Yes, that was far more important to him even than to me! For the fact +that the coffin had been the property of thieves meant that no claim +would ever be made to it. The mystery of its present occupant would +therefore remain a mystery till the end of time, and—Roger was safe!</p> + +<p>The next day we reached St. Heliers, after a quick voyage through blue, +untroubled waters; and there we came in for all the red tape that Roger +had foreseen, if not more. But how inoffensive, even pleasing, is red +tape to a man saved from handcuffs and a prison cell!</p> + +<p>The body of an unknown woman in a coffin picked up at sea gave the +chance for a dramatic "story" to flash over the wires from Jersey to +London; and the evident fact that death had been caused by poison added +an extra thrill. Every soul on board the <i>Naiad</i> was questioned, down to +the <i>chef's</i> assistant; but the same tale was told by all. The coffin +had first been sighted at a good distance, and mistaken for a dead shark +or a small, overturned boat. The whole party were agreed that it must be +brought on board, though no one had wanted it for a travelling +companion, and the sailors especially had objected. (Now, by the way, +they were revelling in reflected glory. They would not have missed this +experience for the world!) I quaked inwardly, fearing that someone might +mention the veiled female journalist who had arrived before the start, +with an order to view the <i>Naiad</i>. But so completely was her departure +from the yacht taken for granted, that none who had seen her recalled +the incident.</p> + +<p>There was no suspicion of Roger Fane, nor of any one else on board, for +there was no reason to suppose that any of us had been acquainted with +the dead.</p> + +<p>The description wired to London was of "a woman unknown; probable age +between forty and fifty; hair dyed auburn; features distorted by effect +of poison; hands well shaped, badly kept; figure medium; black serge +dress; underclothing plain and much torn, without initials or +laundry-marks; no shoes."</p> + +<p>It was unlikely that landlords or chance acquaintances should identify +the woman newly arrived from France with the woman picked up in a coffin +at sea. And the gray-veiled motor toque, the gray cloak worn by the +"journalist," and even the battered boots, with high, broken heels, were +safely hidden with the heirlooms from the Abbey.</p> + +<p>All through the week of our trip the three drawers in Roger's desk +remained locked, the little Yale key hanging on Roger's key ring. And +all that week (there was no excuse to make for home before the appointed +time) our Plan had to lie in abeyance. I was impatient. Roger was not. +With Shelagh by his side—and very often in his arms—the incentive for +haste was all mine. But I was happy in their happiness, wondering only +whether Roger would not be tempting Providence if he told the truth to +Shelagh.</p> + +<p>Nothing, however, would move the man from his resolution. The one point +he would yield was to postpone the confession (if "confession" is a fair +word) until the last day, in order not to disturb Shelagh's pleasure in +the trip. She was to hear the story the night before we landed; and I +begged once more that I might be present to help plead his cause. But +Roger wanted no help. And he wanted Shelagh to decide for herself. He +would state the case plainly, for and against. Hearing him, the girl +would know what was for her own happiness.</p> + +<p>"At worst I shall have these wonderful days with her to remember," he +said to me. "Nothing can rob me of them. And they are a thousand times +the best of my life so far."</p> + +<p>I believed that, equally, nothing could rob him of Shelagh! But—I +wasn't quite sure. And the difference between just "believing" and being +"quite sure" is the difference between mental peace and mental storm. I +had gone through so much with Roger, and for him, that by this time I +loved the man as I might love a brother—a dear and somewhat trying +brother. As for Shelagh, I would have given one of my favourite fingers +or toes to buy her happiness. Consequently, the hour of revelation was a +bad hour for me.</p> + +<p>I knew that, till it was over, I should be incapable of Brightening. +Lest I should be called upon in any such capacity, therefore, I went to +bed after dinner with an official headache.</p> + +<p>"Now he must be telling her," I groaned to my pillow.</p> + +<p>"Now he must have told!"</p> + +<p>"Now she must be making up her mind!"</p> + +<p>"Now it must be <i>made</i> up. She'll be giving her answer. And if it's +'no,' he won't by a word or look plead his own cause. <i>Hang</i> the fool! +And bless him!"</p> + +<p>Then followed a blank interval when I couldn't at all guess what might +be happening. I no longer speculated on the chances. My brain became a +blank. And my pillow was a furnace.</p> + +<p>I was striving in vain to read a book whose pages I scarcely saw, and +whose name I've forgotten, when a tap came at the door. Shelagh Leigh +burst in before I could answer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>Elizabeth</i>!" she gasped, and fell into my arms.</p> + +<p>I held the girl tight for an instant, her beating heart against mine. +Then I inquired: "What does 'Oh, Elizabeth!' mean precisely?"</p> + +<p>"It means, of course, that I'm going to marry poor, darling Roger as +soon as I possibly can, to comfort him all the rest of his life. And +that you'll be my 'Matron of Honour,' American fashion," she explained. +"Roger is a hero, and you are a heroine."</p> + +<p>"No, a Brightener," I corrected. But Shelagh didn't understand. And it +didn't matter that she did not.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IXA" id="CHAPTER_IXA"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE GAME OF BLUFF</h3> + + +<p>When the trip finished where it had begun, instead of travelling up to +London with most of my friends, I stopped behind in Plymouth. If any one +fancied I was going to Courtenaye Abbey to wail at the shrine of lost +treasures, why, I had never said (in words) that such was my intention. +In fact, it was not.</p> + +<p>What I did, as soon as backs were turned, was to make straight for +Dudworth Cove, on the rocky Dorset Coast. I went by motor car with Roger +Fane as chauffeur; and by aid of a road map and a few questions we drove +to the old farmhouse which the Barlow boys had lately bought.</p> + +<p>Of course it was possible that Mrs. Barlow and the two Australian +nephews had departed in haste, after their loss. They might or might not +have read in the papers about the coffin containing the body of a woman +picked up at sea by a yacht. Probably they had read of it, since the +word "coffin" at the head of a column would be apt to catch their guilty +eyes. But even so, they would hardly expect that this coffin, containing +a corpse, and a certain other coffin, with very different contents, were +one and the same. In any case, they need not greatly fear suspicion +falling upon them, and Roger and I thought they would remain at the farm +engaged in eager, secret search. As for Barlow, for whom the coffin had +doubtless been made, he, too, might be there; or he might have left the +Abbey at night, about the time of his "death," to wait in some +agreed-upon hiding place.</p> + +<p>The house was visible from the road; rather a nice old house, built of +stone, with a lichened roof and friendly windows. It had a lived-in air, +and a thin wreath of smoke floated above the kitchen chimney. There were +two gates, and both were padlocked, so the car had to stop in the road. +I refused Roger's companionship, however. The fact that he was close by +and knew where I was seemed sufficient safeguard. I climbed over the +fence with no more ado than in pre-flapper days, and walked across the +weedy grass to the house. No one answered a knock at the front door, so +I went to the back, and caught "Barley" feeding a group of chickens.</p> + +<p>The treacherous old thing was in deep mourning, with a widow's cap, and +her dress of black bombazine (or some equally awful stuff) was pinned up +under a big apron. At sight of me she jumped, and almost dropped a pan +of meal; but even the most innocent person is entitled to jump! She +recovered herself quickly, and called up the ghost of a welcoming +smile—such a smile as may decently decorate the face of a newly made +widow.</p> + +<p>"Why, Miss—Princess!" she exclaimed. "This is a surprise. If anything +could make me happy in my sad affliction it would be a visit from you. +My nephews are out fishing—they're very fond of fishing, poor +boys!—but come in and let me give you a cup of tea."</p> + +<p>"I will come in," I said, "because I must have a talk with you, but I +don't want tea. And, really, Mrs. Barlow, I wonder you have the <i>cheek</i> +to speak of your 'sad affliction.'"</p> + +<p>By this time I was already over the threshold, and in the kitchen, for +she had stood aside for me to pass. Just inside the door I turned on +her, and saw the old face—once so freshly apple-cheeked—flush darkly, +then fade to yellow. Her eyes stared into mine, wavered, and dropped; +but no tears came.</p> + +<p>"'Cheek?'" she repeated, as if reproving slang. "Miss—Princess—I don't +know what you mean."</p> + +<p>"I think you know very well," I said, "because you have <i>no</i> 'sad +affliction.' Your husband is as much alive as I am. The only loss you've +suffered is the loss of the coffin in which he <i>wasn't</i> buried!"</p> + +<p>The woman dropped, like a jelly out of its mould, into a kitchen chair. +"My Heavens! Miss Elizabeth, you don't know what you're saying!" she +gasped, dry-lipped.</p> + +<p>"I know quite well," I caught her up. "And to show that I know, I'm +going to reconstruct the whole plot." (This was bluff. But it was part +of the Plan). "Barlow's nephews were expert thieves. They'd served a +term for stealing at home, in Australia. They spent a short leave at +Courtenaye Coombe, and you showed them over the Abbey. Then and there +they got an idea. They bribed you and Barlow to help them carry it out +and give them a letter of mine to tear into bits and turn suspicion on +me. Probably they worked with rubber gloves and shoes—as you know the +detectives have found no fingermarks or footprints. Every man is said to +have his price. You two had yours! Just how much more than others you +knew about old secret 'hidie-holes' in the Abbey I can't tell, but I'm +sure you did know more than any of us. There was always the lodge, too, +which was the same as your own, and full of your things! I'm practically +certain there's a secret way to it, through the cellars. Ah, I thought +so!" (As her face changed.) "Trusted as you were, a burglary in the +night was easy as falling off a log—and all that binding and gagging +business. The trouble was to get the stolen things out of the +country—let's say to Australia, where Barlow's nephews could count upon +a receiver, or a buyer, maybe some old associate of their pre-prison +days. Among you all, you hit on quite a clever plan. Only a dear, kind +creature like you, respected by everyone, could have hypnotized even old +Doctor Pyne into believing Barlow was dead—no matter <i>what</i> strong drug +you used! You wouldn't let any one come near the body afterward. You +loved your husband so much you would do everything for him yourself—in +death as in life. How pathetic—how estimable! And then you and the two +'boys' brought the coffin here, to have it buried in the old cemetery, +with generations of other respectable Barlows. The night after the +funeral the twins dug it up, as neatly as they dug trenches in France, +and left the case underground as a precaution. Perhaps Barlow's 'ghost' +watched the work. But that's of no importance. What was of importance +was the next step. They took the coffin to a nice convenient cave +(that's what made this house worth buying back, isn't it?) and tethered +the thing there to wait an appointed hour. At that hour a boat would +quietly appear, and bear it away to a smart little sailing ship. +Then—ho! for Australia or some place where heirlooms from this country +can be disposed of without talk or trouble. I would bet that Barlow is +on that ship now, and you meant to join him, instead of waiting for a +better world. But there came the storm, and a record wave or two ran +into the cave. Alas for the schemes of mice and men—and Barlow's!"</p> + +<p>Not once did she interrupt. I doubt if the woman could have uttered a +word had she dared; for the game of Bluff was new to her. She believed +that by sleuth-hound cunning I had tracked her down, following each move +from the first, and biding my time to strike until all proofs (the +coffin and its contents) were within my grasp. By the time I had paused +for lack of breath, the old face was sickly white, like candle-grease, +and the remembrance of affection was so keen that I could not help +pitying the creature. "You realize," I said, "everything is known. Not +only do <i>I</i> know, but others. And we have all the stolen things in our +possession. I've come here to offer you a chance of saving +yourselves—though it's compounding a felony or something, I suppose! We +can put you in the way of replacing the heirlooms in the night, just as +they were taken away—by that secret passage you know. If you try to +play us false, and hope to get the things back, we won't have mercy a +second time. We shall find Barlow before you can warn him. And as for +his nephews——"</p> + +<p>"Yes! <i>What</i> about his nephews?" broke in a rough voice.</p> + +<p>I started (only a statue could have resisted that start!) and turning my +head I saw a tall young man close behind me, in the doorway by which I'd +entered. Whether or not Mrs. Barlow had seen him, I don't know. She did +not venture to speak, but a glance showed me a gleam of malicious relief +in the eyes I had once thought limpid as a brook. If she'd ever felt any +fondness for me, it was gone. She hated and feared me with a deadly +fear. The thought shot through my brain that she would willingly sit +still and see me murdered, if she and her husband could be saved from +open shame by my disappearance.</p> + +<p>The man in the doorway was sunburned to a lobster-red, and had features +like those of some gargoyle. He must have been eavesdropping long enough +to gather a good deal of information, for there was fury in his eyes, +and deadly decision in the set of his big jaw.</p> + +<p>Where was Roger Fane? I wondered. Without Roger I was lost, and my fate +might never be known. Suddenly I was icily afraid—for something might +have happened to Roger. But at that same frozen instant a very strange +thing happened to me. <i>My thoughts flew to Sir James Courtenaye!</i> I had +always disliked him—or fancied so. But he was so strong—such a giant +of a man! What a wonderful champion he would be now! What <i>hash</i> he +would make of the Barlow twins! Quickly I controlled myself. This was +the moment when the game of Bluff (which had served me well so far) +might be my one weapon of defence.</p> + +<p>"As for Barlow's nephews," I echoed, with false calmness, "theirs is the +principal guilt, and theirs ought to be the heaviest punishment."</p> + +<p>The Crimson Gargoyle shut the door, deliberately, with a horrid, +purposeful kind of deliberation, and with a stride or two came close to +me. I stepped back, but he followed, towering above me with the air of a +big bullying boy out to scare the life from a little one. To give him +stare for stare I had to look straight up, my chin raised, and the +threatening eyes, the great red face, seemed to fill the world—as a +cat's face and eyes must seem to a hypnotized mouse.</p> + +<p>I shook myself free from the hypnotic grip. Yet I would not let my gaze +waver. Grandmother wouldn't, and no Courtenaye should!</p> + +<p>"Who is going to punish us?" barked the Gargoyle.</p> + +<p>"The police," I barked back. And almost I could have laughed at the +difference in size and voice. I was so like a slim young Borzoi yapping +at the nose of a bloodhound.</p> + +<p>"Rot!" snorted the big fellow. "Damn rot!" (and I thought I heard a +faint chuckle from the chair). "If the police were on to us, you +wouldn't be here. This is a try-on."</p> + +<p>"You'll soon see whether it's a try-on or not," I defied him. "As a +matter of fact, out of pity for your two poor old dupes, we haven't told +the police yet of what we've found out. I say 'we,' for I'm far from +being alone or unprotected. I came to speak with Mrs. Barlow because she +and her husband once served my family, and were honest till you tempted +them. But if I'm kept here more than the fifteen minutes I specified, +there is a man who——"</p> + +<p>"There isn't," snapped the Gargoyle. "There was, but there isn't now. My +brother Bob and me was out in our boat. I don't mind tellin' you, as you +know so much, that we've spent quite a lot of time beatin' and prowlin' +around these shores since the big storm." (The thought flashed through +my brain: "Then they haven't read about the <i>Naiad</i>! Or else they didn't +guess that the coffin was the same. That's <i>one</i> good thing! They can +never blackmail Roger, whatever happens to me!") But I didn't speak. I +let him pause for a second, and go on without interruption. "Comin' home +we seen that car o' yourn outside our gate. Thought it was queer! Bob +says to me, 'Hank, go on up to the house, and make me a sign from behind +the big tree if there's anythin' wrong.' The feller in the car hadn't +seen or heard us. We took care o' that! I slid off my shoes before I got +to the door here, and listened a bit to your words o' wisdom. Then I +slipped out as fur as the tree, and I made the sign. Bob didn't tell me +what he meant to do. But I'm some on mind readin'. I guess that +gentleman friend of yourn has gone to sleep in his automobile, as any +one might in this quiet neighbourhood, where folks don't pass once in +four or five hours. Bob can drive most makes of cars. Shouldn't wonder +if he can manage this one. If you hear the engine tune up, you'll know +it's him takin' the chauffeur down to the sea."</p> + +<p>My bones felt like icicles; but I thought of Grandmother, and wouldn't +give in. Also, with far less reason, I thought of Sir James. Strange, +unaccountable creature that I was, my soul cried aloud for the +championship of his strength! "The sea hasn't brought you much luck +yet," I brazened. "I shouldn't advise you to try it again."</p> + +<p>"I ain't askin' your advice," retorted the man who had indirectly +introduced himself as "Hank Barlow." "All I ask is, where's the stuff?"</p> + +<p>"What stuff?" I played for time, though I knew very well the "stuff" he +meant.</p> + +<p>"The goods from the Abbey. I won't say you wasn't smart to get on to the +cache, and nab the box out o' the cave. Only you wasn't quite smart +enough—savez? The fellers laugh best who laugh last. And we're those +fellers!"</p> + +<p>"You spring to conclusions," I said. But my voice sounded small in my +own ears—small and thin as the voice of a child. (Oh, to know if this +brute spoke truth about his brother and Roger Fane and the car, or if he +were fighting me with my own weapon—Bluff!)</p> + +<p>Henry Barlow laughed aloud—though he mightn't laugh last! "Do you call +yourself a 'conclusion'? I'll give you just two minutes, my handsome +lady, to make up your mind. If you don't tell me then where to lay me +'and on you know <i>what</i>, I'll spring at <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>By the wolf-glare in his eyes and the boldness of his tone I feared that +his game wasn't wholly bluff. By irony of Fate, he had turned the tables +on me. Thinking the power was all on my side and Roger's, I'd walked +into a trap. And if, indeed, Roger had been struck down from behind, I +did not see any way of escape for him or me. I had let out that I knew +too much.</p> + +<p>Even if I turned coward, and told Hank Barlow that the late contents of +his uncle's coffin were on board the <i>Naiad</i>, he could not safely allow +Roger or me to go free. But I <i>wouldn't</i> turn coward! To save the secret +of the Abbey treasures meant saving the secret of what that coffin now +held. My sick fear turned to hot rage. "Spring!" I cried. "Kill me if +you choose. <i>My</i> coffin will keep a secret, which yours couldn't do!"</p> + +<p>He glared, nonplussed by my violence.</p> + +<p>"Devil take you, you cat!" he grunted.</p> + +<p>"And you, you hound!" I cried.</p> + +<p>His eyes flamed. I think fury would have conquered prudence, and he +would have sprung then, to choke my life out, perhaps. But he hadn't +locked the door. At that instant it swung open, and a whirlwind burst +in. The whirlwind was a man. And the man was James Courtenaye.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I did not tell Sir Jim that my spirit had forgotten itself so utterly as +to call him. It was quite unnecessary, as matters turned out, to "give +myself away" to this extent. For, you see, it was not my call that +brought him. It was Roger's.</p> + +<p>As Shelagh Leigh was my best friend, so was, and is, Jim Courtenaye +Roger Fane's. All the first part of Roger's life tragedy was known to my +"forty-fourth cousin four times removed." For years Roger had given him +all his confidence. The ex-cowboy had even advised him in his love +affair with Shelagh, to "go on full steam ahead, and never mind +breakers"—(alias Pollens). This being the case, it had seemed to Roger +unfair not to trust his chum to the uttermost end. He had not intended +to mention me as his accomplice; but evidently cowboys' wits are as +quick as their lassoes. Jim guessed at my part in the business, +thinking, maybe—that only the sly sex could hit upon such a Way Out. +Anyhow, he was far from shocked; in fact, deigned to approve of me for +the first time, and hearing how I had planned to restore the stolen +heirlooms, roared with laughter.</p> + +<p>Roger, conscience-stricken because my secret had leaked out with his, +wished to atone by telling me that his friend had scented the whole +truth. Jim Courtenaye, however, urged him against this course. He +reckoned the Barlow twins more formidable than Roger and I had thought +them, and insisted that he should be a partner in our game of Bluff. +Only, he wished to be a silent partner till the right time came to +speak. Or that was the way he put it. His real reason, as he boldly +confessed afterward, was that, if I knew he was "in it," I'd be sure to +make a "silly fuss"!</p> + +<p>It was arranged between him and Roger that he should motor from +Courtenaye Coombe to Dudworth Cove, put up his car at the small hotel, +and inconspicuously approach the Barlows' farm on foot. In some quiet +spot which he would guarantee to find, he was to "lurk" and await +developments. If help were wanted, he would be there to give it. If not, +he would peacefully remove himself, and I need never know that he had +been near the place.</p> + +<p>All the details of this minor plot were well mapped out, and the only +one that failed (not being mapped out) was a tyre of his Rolls-Royce +which stepped on a nail as long as Jael's. Wishing to do the trick +alone, Jim had taken no chauffeur; and he wasn't as expert at pumping up +tyres as at breaking in bronchos. He was twenty minutes past scheduled +time, in consequence, and arrived at the spot appointed just as Bob +Barlow had bashed Roger Fane smartly on the head from behind.</p> + +<p>Naturally this incident kept his attention engaged for some moments. He +had to overpower the Barlow twin, who was on the alert, and not to be +taken by surprise. The Australian was still in good fighting trim, and +gave Sir James some trouble before he was reduced to powerlessness. Then +a glance had to be given Roger, to make sure he had not got a knock-out +blow. Altogether, Hank Barlow had five minutes' grace indoors with me, +before—the whirlwind. If it had been <i>six</i> minutes——But then, it +wasn't! So why waste thrills upon a horror which had not time to +materialize? And oh, how I <i>did</i> enjoy seeing those twins trussed up +like a pair of monstrous fowls on the kitchen floor! It had been clever +of Sir Jim to place a coil of rope in Roger's car in case of +emergencies. But when I said this, to show my appreciation, he replied +drily that a cattleman's first thought is rope! "That's what you are +accustomed to call me, I believe," he added. "A cattleman."</p> + +<p>"I shall never call you it again," I quite meekly assured him.</p> + +<p>"You won't? What will you call me, then?"</p> + +<p>"Cousin—if you like," I said.</p> + +<p>"That'll do—for the present," he granted.</p> + +<p>"Or 'friend,' if it pleases you better?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Both are pretty good to go on with."</p> + +<p>So between us there was a truce—and no more Pembertons or even Smiths: +which is why "Smith" never revealed what <i>he</i> thought about what Sir Jim +thought of me. And I would not try to guess—would you? But it was only +to screen Roger, and not to content me, that Sir James Courtenaye +allowed my original plan to be carried out: the heirlooms to be +mysteriously returned by night to the Abbey, and the Barlow tribe to +vanish into space, otherwise Australia. He admitted this bluntly. And I +retorted that, if he hadn't saved my life, I should say that such +friendship wasn't worth much. But there it was! He <i>had</i> saved it. And +things being as they were, Shelagh told Roger that I couldn't reasonably +object if Jim were asked to be best man at the wedding, though I was to +be "best woman."</p> + +<p>She was right. I couldn't. And it was a lovely wedding. I lightened my +mourning for it to white and lavender—just for the day. Mrs. Carstairs +said I owed this to the bride and bridegroom—also to myself, as +Brightener, to say nothing of Sir Jim.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II</h2> + +<h3>THE HOUSE WITH THE TWISTED CHIMNEY</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IB" id="CHAPTER_IB"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE SHELL-SHOCK MAN</h3> + + +<p>"Do you want to be a Life Preserver as well as a Brightener, Elizabeth, +my child?" asked Mrs. Carstairs.</p> + +<p>"Depends on whose life," I replied, making a lovely blue smoke ring +before I spoke and another when I'd finished.</p> + +<p>I hoped to shock Mrs. Carstairs, in order to see what the nicest old +lady on earth would look like when scandalized. But I was disappointed. +She was not scandalized. She asked for a cigarette, and took it; my +last.</p> + +<p>"The latest style in my country is to make your smoke ring loop the +loop, and do it through the nose," she informed me, calmly. "I can't do +it myself—yet. But Terry Burns can."</p> + +<p>"Who's Terry Burns?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The man whose life ought to be preserved."</p> + +<p>"It certainly ought," said I, "if he can make smoke rings loop the loop +through his nose. Oh, you know what I <i>mean</i>!"</p> + +<p>"He hardly takes enough interest in things to do even that, nowadays," +sighed Mrs. Carstairs.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! what's the matter with the man—senile decay?" I flung at +her. "Terry isn't at all a decayed name."</p> + +<p>"And Terry isn't a decayed man. He's about twenty-six, if you choose to +call that senile. He's almost <i>too</i> good-looking. He's not physically +ill. And he's got plenty of money. All the same, he's likely to die +quite soon, I should say."</p> + +<p>"Can't anything be done?" I inquired, really moved.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. It's a legacy from shell shock. You know what <i>that</i> is. +He's come to stay with us at Haslemere, poor boy, because my husband was +once in love with his mother—at the same time I was worshipping his +father. Terry was with us before—here in London in 1915—on leave soon +after he volunteered. Afterward, when America came in, he transferred. +But even in 1915 he wasn't exactly <i>radiating</i> happiness (disappointment +in love or something), but he was just boyishly cynical then, nothing +worse; and <i>the</i> most splendid specimen of a young man!—his father over +again; Henry says, his <i>mother</i>! Either way, I was looking forward to +nursing him at Haslemere and seeing him improve every day. But, my +<i>dear</i>, I can do <i>nothing</i>! He has got so on my nerves that I <i>had</i> to +make an excuse to run up to town or I should simply have—<i>slumped</i>. The +sight of me slumping would have been terribly bad for the poor child's +health. It might have finished him."</p> + +<p>"So you want to exchange my nerves for yours," I said. "You want me to +nurse your protégé till <i>I</i> slump. Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't come to that with you," argued the ancient darling. "You +could bring back his interest in life; I know you could. You'd think of +something. Remember what you did for Roger Fane!"</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, I had done a good deal more for Roger Fane than +dear old Caroline knew or would ever know. But if Roger owed anything to +me, I owed him, and all he had paid me in gratitude and banknotes, to +Mrs. Carstairs.</p> + +<p>"I shall never forget Roger Fane, and I hope he won't me," I said. +"Shelagh won't let him! But <i>he</i> hadn't lost interest in life. He just +wanted life to give him Shelagh Leigh. She happened to be my best pal; +and her people were snobs, so I could help him. But this Terry Burns of +yours—what can I do for him?"</p> + +<p>"Take him on and see," pleaded the old lady.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish him to fall in love with me?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't if I did. He told me the other day that he'd loved only one +woman in his life, and he should never care for another. Besides, I +mustn't conceal from you, this would be an unsalaried job."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!" said I, slightly piqued. "I don't want his old love! Or +his old money, either! But—well—I might just go and have a look at +him, if you'd care to take me to Haslemere with you. No harm in seeing +what can be done—if anything. I suppose, as you and Mr. Carstairs +between you were in love with all his ancestors, and he resembles them, +he must be worth saving—apart from the loops. Is he English or American +or <i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>"American on one side and What on the other," replied the old lady. +"That is, his father, whom I was in love with, was American. The mother, +whom Henry adored, was French. All that's quite a romance. But it's +ancient history. And it's the present we're interested in. Of course I'd +care to take you to Haslemere. But I have a better plan. I've persuaded +Terry to consult the nerve specialist, Sir Humphrey Hale. He's +comparatively easy to persuade, because he'd rather yield a point than +bother to argue. That's how I got my excuse to run up to town: to +explain the case to Sir Humphrey, and have my flat made ready for +Terence to live in, while he's being treated."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's it," I said, and thought for a minute.</p> + +<p>My flat is in the same house as the Carstairs', a charming old house in +which I couldn't afford to live if Dame Caroline (title given by me, not +His Gracious Majesty) hadn't taught me the gentle, well-paid Art of +Brightening.</p> + +<p>You might imagine that a Brightener was some sort of patent polisher for +stoves, metal, or even boots. But you would be mistaken. <i>I</i> am the one +and only Brightener!</p> + +<p>But this isn't what I was thinking about when I said, "Oh, that's it?" I +was attempting to track that benevolent female fox, Caroline Carstairs, +to the fastness of her mental lair. When I flattered myself that I'd +succeeded, I spoke again.</p> + +<p>"I see what you'd be at, Madame Machiavelli," I warned her. "You and +your husband are so fed up with the son of your ancient loves, that he's +spoiling your holiday in your country house. You've been wondering how +on earth to shed him, anyhow for a breathing space, without being +unkind. So you thought, if you could lure him to London, and lend him +your flat——"</p> + +<p>"Dearest, you are an ungrateful young Beastess! Besides, you're only +half right. It's true, poor Henry and I are worn out from sympathy. Our +hearts are squeezed sponges, and have completely collapsed. Not that +Terry complains. He doesn't. Only he is so horribly bored with life and +himself and us that it's killing all three. I <i>had</i> to think of +something to save him. So I thought of you."</p> + +<p>"But you thought of Sir Humphrey Hale. Surely, if there's any cure for +Mr.——"</p> + +<p>"Captain——"</p> + +<p>"Burns. Sir Humphrey can——"</p> + +<p>"He can't. But I had to <i>use</i> him with Terry. I couldn't say: 'Go live +in our flat and meet the Princess di Miramare. He would believe the +obvious thing, and be put off. You are to be thrown in as an extra: a +charming neighbour who, as a favour to me, will see that he's all right. +When you've got him interested—not in yourself, but in life—I shall +explain—or confess, whichever you choose to call it. He will then +realize that the fee for his cure ought to be yours, not Sir Humphrey's, +though naturally you couldn't accept one. Sir Humphrey has already told +me that, judging from the symptoms I've described, it seems a case +beyond doctor's skill. You know, Sir H—— has made his pile, and +doesn't have to tout for patients. But he's a good friend of Henry's and +mine."</p> + +<p>"You have very strong faith in <i>me</i>!" I laughed.</p> + +<p>"Not too strong," said she.</p> + +<p>The Carstairs' servants had gone with them to the house near Haslemere; +but if Dame Caroline wanted a first-rate cook at a moment's notice, she +would wangle one even if there were only two in existence, and both +engaged. The shell-shock man had his own valet—an ex-soldier—so with +the pair of them, and a char-creature of some sort, he would do very +well for a few weeks. Nevertheless, I hardly thought that, in the end, +he would be braced up to the effort of coming, and I should not have +been surprised to receive a wire:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Rather than move, Terry has cut his throat in the Japanese garden.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Which shows that despite all past experiences, I little knew my +Caroline!</p> + +<p>Captain Burns—late of the American Flying Corps—did come; and what is +more, he called at my flat before he had been fifteen minutes in his +own. This he did because Mrs. Carstairs had begged him to bring a small +parcel which he must deliver by hand to me personally. She had +telegraphed, asking me to stop at home—quite a favour in this wonderful +summer, even though it was July, the season proper had passed; but I +couldn't refuse, as I'd tacitly promised to brighten the man. So there I +sat, in my favourite frock, when he was ushered into the drawing room.</p> + +<p>Dame Caroline had told me that "Terry" was good-looking, but her +description had left me cold, and somehow or other I was completely +unprepared for the real Terry Burns.</p> + +<p>Yes, <i>real</i> is the word for him! He was so real that it seemed odd I had +gone on all my life without having known there was this Terence Burns. +Not that I fell in love with him. Just at the moment I was much occupied +in trying to keep alight an old fire of resentment against a man who had +saved my life; a "forty-fourth cousin four times removed" (as he called +himself), Sir James Courtenaye. But when I say "real," I mean he was one +of those few people who would seem important to you if you passed him in +a crowd. You would tell yourself regretfully that there was a friend +you'd missed making: and you would have had to resist a strong impulse +to rush back and speak to him at any price.</p> + +<p>If, at the first instant of meeting, I felt this strong personal +magnetism, or charm, or whatever it was, though the man was down +physically at lowest ebb, what would the sensation have been with him at +his best?</p> + +<p>He was tall and very thin, with a loose-boned look, as if he ought to be +lithe and muscular, but he came into the room listlessly, his shoulders +drooping, as though it were an almost unbearable bore to put one foot +before another. His pallor was of the pathetic kind that gives an odd +transparence to deeply tanned skin, almost like a light shining through. +His hair was a bronzy brown, so immaculately brushed back from his +square forehead as to remind you of a helmet, except that it rippled all +over. And he had the most appealing eyes I ever saw.</p> + +<p>They were not dark, tragic ones like Roger Fane's. I thought that when +he was well and happy, they must have been full of light and joy. They +were slate-gray with thick black lashes, true Celtic eyes: but they were +dull and tired now, not sad, only devoid of interest in anything.</p> + +<p>It wasn't flattering that they should be devoid of interest in me. I am +used to having men's eyes light up with a gleam of surprise when they +see me for the first time. This man's eyes didn't. I seemed to read in +them: "Yes, I suppose you're very pretty. But that's nothing to me, and +I hope you don't want me to flirt with you, because I haven't the energy +or even the wish."</p> + +<p>I'm sure that, vaguely, this was about what was in his mind, and that he +intended getting away from me as soon as would be decently polite after +finishing his errand. Still, I wasn't in the least annoyed. I was sorry +for him—not because he didn't want to be bothered with me, but because +he didn't want to be bothered with anything. Millionaire or pauper, I +didn't care. I was determined to brighten him, in spite of himself. He +was too dear and delightful a fellow not to be happy with somebody, some +day. I couldn't sit still and let him sink down and down into the +depths. But I should have to go carefully, or do him more harm than +good. I could see that. If I attempted to be amusing he would crawl +away, a battered wreck.</p> + +<p>What I did was to show no particular interest in him. I took the tiny +parcel Mrs. Carstairs had ordered him to bring, and asked casually if +he'd care to stop in my flat till his man had finished unpacking.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how <i>you</i> feel," I said, "but I always hate the first hour +in a new place, with a servant fussing about, opening and shutting +drawers and wardrobes. I loathe things that squeak."</p> + +<p>"So do I," he answered, dreamily. "Any sort of noise."</p> + +<p>"I shall be having tea in a few minutes," I mentioned. "If you don't +mind looking at magazines or something while I open Mrs. Carstairs' +parcel, and write to her, stay if you care to. I should be pleased. But +don't feel you'll be rude to say 'no.' Do as you like."</p> + +<p>He stayed, probably because he was in a nice easy chair, and it was +simpler to sit still than get up, so long as he needn't make +conversation. I left him there, while I went to the far end of the room, +where my desk was. The wonderful packet, which must be given into my +hand by his, contained three beautiful new potatoes, the size of +marbles, out of the Carstairs' kitchen garden! I bit back a giggle, hid +the rare jewels in a drawer, and scribbled any nonsense I could think of +to Dame Caroline, till I heard tea coming. Then I went back to my guest. +I gave him tea, and other things. There were late strawberries, and some +Devonshire cream, which had arrived by post that morning, anonymously. +Sir James Courtenaye, that red-haired cowboy to whom I'd let the +ancestral Abbey, was in Devonshire. But there was no reason why he +should send me cream, or anything else. Still, there it was. Captain +Burns, it appeared, had never happened to taste the Devonshire variety. +He liked it. And when he had disposed of a certain amount (during which +time we hardly spoke), I offered him my cigarette case.</p> + +<p>For a few moments we both smoked in silence. Then I said, "I'm +disappointed in you."</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Because you haven't looped any loops through your nose."</p> + +<p>He actually laughed! He looked delightful when he laughed.</p> + +<p>"I was trying something of the sort one day, and failing," I explained. +"Mrs. Carstairs said she had a friend who could do it, and his name was +Terence Burns."</p> + +<p>"I've almost forgotten that old stunt," he smiled indulgently. "Think of +Mrs. Carstairs remembering it! Why, I haven't had time to remember it +myself, much less try it out, since I was young."</p> + +<p>"That <i>is</i> a long time ago!" I ventured, smoking hard.</p> + +<p>"You see," he explained quite gravely, smoking harder, "I went into the +war in 1915. It wasn't <i>our</i> war then, for I'm an American, you know. +But I had a sort of feeling it ought to be everybody's war. And besides, +I'd fallen out of love with life about that time. War doesn't leave a +man feeling very young, whether or not he's gone through what I have."</p> + +<p>"I know," said I. "Even we women don't feel as young as we hope we look. +I'm twenty-one and a half, and feel forty."</p> + +<p>"I'm twenty-seven, and feel ninety-nine," he capped me.</p> + +<p>"Shell shock is—the <i>devil</i>!" I sympathized. "But men get over it. I +know lots who have." I took another cigarette and pushed the case toward +him.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they wanted to get over it. I don't want to, particularly, +because life has rather lost interest for me, since I was about +twenty-two; I'm afraid that was one reason I volunteered. Not very +brave! I don't care now whether I live or die. I didn't care then."</p> + +<p>"At twenty-two! Why, you weren't grown up!"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> say that, at twenty-one?"</p> + +<p>"It's different with a girl. I've had such a lot of things to make me +feel grown up."</p> + +<p>"So have I, God knows." (By this time he was smoking like a chimney.) +"Did <i>you</i> lose the one thing you'd wanted in the world? But no—I +mustn't ask that. I don't ask it."</p> + +<p>"You may," I vouchsafed, charmed that—as one says of a baby—he was +"beginning to take notice." "No, frankly, I didn't lose the one thing in +the world I wanted most, because I've never quite known yet what I did +or do want most. But not knowing leaves you at loose ends, if you're +alone in the world as I am." Then, having said this, just to indicate +that my circumstances conduced to tacit sympathy with his, I hopped like +a sparrow to another branch of the same subject. "It's bad not to get +what we want. But it's dull not to want anything."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" Burns asked almost fiercely. "I haven't got to that yet. I wish +I had. When I want a thing, it's in my nature to want it for good and +all. I want the thing I wanted before the war as much now as ever. +That's the principal trouble with me, I think. The hopelessness of +everything. The uselessness of the things you <i>can</i> get."</p> + +<p>"Can't you manage to want something you might possibly get?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He smiled faintly. "That's much the same advice that the doctors have +given—the advice this Sir Humphrey Hale of the Carstairs will give +to-morrow. I'm sure. 'Try to take an interest in things as they are.' +Good heavens! that's just what I <i>can't</i> do."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't give you that advice," I said. "It's worse than useless to +<i>try</i> and take an interest. It's <i>stodgy</i>. What I mean is, <i>if</i> an +interest, alias a chance of adventure, should breeze along, don't shut +the door on it. Let it in, ask it to sit down, and see how you like it. +But then—maybe you wouldn't recognize it as an adventure if you saw it +at the window!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think I should do that!" he defended himself. "I'm man enough yet +to know an adventure when I meet it. That's why I came into your war. +But the war's finished, and so am I. Really, I don't see why any one +bothers about me. I wouldn't about myself, if they'd let me alone!"</p> + +<p>"There I'm with you," said I. "I like to be let alone, to go my own way. +Still, people unfortunately feel bound to do their best. Mrs. Carstairs +has done hers. If Sir Humphrey gives you up, she'll thenceforward +consider herself free from responsibility—and you free to 'dree your +own weird'—whatever that means!—to the bitter end. As for me, I've no +responsibility at all. I don't advise you! In your place, I'd do as +you're doing. Only, I've enough fellow feeling to let you know, in a +spirit of comradeship, if I hear the call of an adventure.... There, you +<i>did</i> the 'stunt' all right that time! A <i>lovely</i> loop the loop! I +wouldn't have believed it! Now watch, please, while I try!"</p> + +<p>He did watch, and I fancy that, in spite of himself, he took an +interest! He laughed out, quite a spontaneous "Ha, ha!" when I began +with a loop and ended with a sneeze.</p> + +<p>It seems too absurd that a siren should lure her victim with a sneeze +instead of a song. But it was that sneeze which did the trick. Or else, +my mumness now and then, and not seeming to care a Tinker's Anything +whether he thought I was pretty or a fright. He warmed toward me visibly +during the loop lesson, and I was as proud as if a wild bird had settled +down to eat out of my hand.</p> + +<p>That was the beginning: and a commonplace one, you'll say! It didn't +seem commonplace to me: I was too much interested. But even I did not +dream of the weird developments ahead!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIB" id="CHAPTER_IIB"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE ADVERTISEMENT</h3> + + +<p>It was on the fourth day that I got the idea—I mean, the fourth day of +Terry Burns' stay in town.</p> + +<p>He had dropped in to see me on each of these days, for one reason or +other: to tell me what Sir Humphrey said; to sneer at the treatment; to +beg a cigarette when his store had given out; or something else equally +important; I (true to my bargain with Caroline) having given up all +engagements in order to brighten Captain Burns.</p> + +<p>I was reading the <i>Times</i> when a thought popped into my head. I shut my +eyes, and studied its features. They fascinated me.</p> + +<p>It was morning: and presently my Patient unawares strolled in for the +eleven-o'clock glass of egg-nogg prescribed by Sir Humphrey and offered +by me.</p> + +<p>He drank it. When he had pronounced it good, I asked him casually how he +was. No change. At least, none that he noticed. Except that he always +felt better, more human, in my society. That was because I appeared to +be a bit fed up with life, too, and didn't try to cheer him.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," I said, "I was just wondering whether I might ask you +to cheer <i>me</i>. I've thought of something that might amuse me a little. +Yes, I'm sure it would! Only I'm not equal to working out the details +alone. If I weren't afraid it would bore you...."</p> + +<p>"Of course it wouldn't, if it could amuse you!" His eyes lit. "Tell me +what it is you want to do?"</p> + +<p>"I'm almost ashamed. It's so childish. But it would be <i>fun</i>."</p> + +<p>"If I could care to do anything at all, it would be something childish. +Besides, I believe you and I are rather alike in several ways. We have +the same opinions about life. We're both down on our luck."</p> + +<p>I gave myself a mental pat on the head. I ought to succeed on the stage, +if it ever came to that!</p> + +<p>"Well," I hesitated. "I got the idea from an article in the <i>Times</i>. +There's something on the subject every day in every paper I see, but it +never occurred to me till now to get any fun out of it: the Housing +Problem, you know. Not the one for the working classes—I wouldn't be so +mean as to 'spoof' them—nor the <i>Nouveaux Pauvres</i>, of whom I'm one! +It's for the <i>Nouveaux Riches</i>. They're fair game."</p> + +<p>"What do you want to do to them?" asked Terry Burns.</p> + +<p>"Play a practical joke; then dig myself in and watch the result. Perhaps +there'd be none. In that case, the joke would be on me."</p> + +<p>"And on me, if we both went in for the experiment. We'd bear the blow +together."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't kill us! Listen—I'll explain. It's simply idiotic. But +it's something to <i>do</i>: something to make one wake up in the morning +with a little interest to look forward to. The papers all say that +<i>every</i>body is searching for a desirable house to be sold, or let +furnished; and that there <i>aren't</i> any houses! On the other hand, if you +glance at the advertisement sheets of <i>any</i> newspaper, you ask yourself +if every second house in England isn't asking to be disposed of! Now, is +it only a 'silly-season' cry, this grievance about no houses, or is it +true? What larks to concoct an absolutely adorable 'ad.', describing a +place with every perfection, and see what applications one would get! +Would there be thousands or just a mere dribble, or none at all? Don't +you think it would be fun to find out—and reading the letters if there +were any? People would be sure to say a lot about themselves. Human +nature's <i>like</i> that. Or, anyhow, we could force their hands by putting +into the 'ad.' that we would let our wonderful house only to the right +sort of tenants. 'No others need apply'."</p> + +<p>"But that would limit the number of answers—and our fun," said Terry. +On his face glimmered a grin. After all, the "kid" in him had been +scotched, not killed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," I argued. "They'd be serenely confident that they and they +alone were the right ones. Then, when they didn't hear from the +advertiser by return, they'd suppose that someone more lucky had got +ahead of them. Yes, we're on the right track! We must want to let our +place furnished. If we wished to sell, we'd have no motive in trying to +pick and choose our buyer. Any creature with money would do. So our +letters would be tame as Teddy-bears. What <i>we</i> want is human +documents!"</p> + +<p>"Let's begin to think out our 'ad.'!" exclaimed the patient, sitting up +straighter in his chair. Already two or three haggard years seemed to +have fallen from his face. I might have been skilfully knocking them off +with a hammer!</p> + +<p>Like a competent general, I had all my materials at hand: Captain Burns' +favourite brand of cigarettes, matches warranted to light without damns, +a notebook, several sharp, soft-leaded pencils, and some illustrated +advertisements cut from <i>Country Life</i> to give us hints.</p> + +<p>"What sort of house <i>have</i> we?" Terry wanted to know. "Is it town or +country; genuine Tudor, Jacobean, Queen Anne, or Georgian——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>country</i>! It gives us more scope," I cried. "And I think Tudor's +the most attractive. But I may be prejudiced. Courtenaye Abbey—our +place in Devonshire—is mostly Tudor. I'm too poor to live there. +Through Mr. Carstairs it's let to a forty-fourth cousin of mine who did +cowboying in all its branches in America, coined piles of oof in +something or other, and came over here to live when he'd collected +enough to revive a little old family title. But I adore the Abbey."</p> + +<p>"Our house shall be Tudor," Terry assented. "It had better be historic, +hadn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? It's just as easy for us. Let's have the <i>oldest</i> bits earlier +than Tudor—what?"</p> + +<p>"By Jove! Yes! King John. Might look fishy to go behind <i>him</i>!"</p> + +<p>So, block after block, by suggestion, we two architects of the aerial +school built up the noble mansion we had to dispose of. With loving and +artistic touch, we added feature after feature of interest, as +inspirations came. We were like benevolent fairy god-parents at a baby's +christening, endowing a beloved ward with all possible perfections.</p> + +<p>Terry noted down our ideas at their birth, lest we should forget under +pressure of others to follow; and at last, after several discarded +efforts, we achieved an advertisement which combined every attribute of +an earthly paradise.</p> + +<p>This is the way it ran:</p> + +<p>"To let furnished, for remainder of summer (possibly longer), historic +moated Grange, one of the most interesting old country places in +England, mentioned in Domesday Book, for absurdly small rent to +desirable tenant; offered practically free. The house, with foundations, +chapel, and other features dating from the time of King John, has +remained unchanged save for such modern improvements as baths (h. & c.), +electric lighting, and central heating, since Elizabethan days. It +possesses a magnificent stone-paved hall, with vaulted chestnut roof +(15th century), on carved stone corbels; an oak-panelled banqueting hall +with stone, fan-vaulted roof and mistrels' gallery. Each of the several +large reception rooms is rich in old oak, and has a splendid Tudor +chimney-piece. There are over twenty exceptionally beautiful bedrooms, +several with wagon plaster ceilings. The largest drawing-room overlooks +the moat, where are ancient carp, and pink and white water-lilies. All +windows are stone mullioned, with old leaded glass; some are exquisite +oriels; and there are two famous stairways, one with dog gates. The +antique furniture is valuable and historic. A fascinating feature of the +house is a twisted chimney (secret of construction lost; the only other +known by the advertiser to exist being at Hampton Court). All is in good +repair; domestic offices perfect, and the great oak-beamed, +stone-flagged kitchen has been copied by more than one artist. There are +glorious old-world gardens, with an ornamental lake, some statues, +fountains, sundials; terraces where white peacocks walk under the shade +of giant Lebanon cedars; also a noble park, and particularly charming +orchard with grass walks. Certain servants and gardeners will remain if +desired; and this wonderful opportunity is offered for an absurdly low +price to a tenant deemed suitable by the advertiser. Only gentlefolk, +with some pretensions to intelligence and good looks, need reply, as the +advertiser considers that this place would be wasted upon others. Young +people preferred. For particulars, write T. B., Box F., the <i>Times</i>."</p> + +<p>We were both enraptured with the result of our joint inspirations. We +could simply <i>see</i> the marvellous moated grange, and Terry thought that +life would be bearable after all if he could live there. What a pity it +didn't exist, he sighed, and I consoled him by saying that there were +perhaps two or three such in England. To my mind Courtenaye Abbey was as +good, though moatless.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We decided to send our darling not only to the <i>Times</i>, but to five +other leading London papers, engaging a box at the office of each for +the answers, the advertisement to appear every day for a week. In order +to keep our identity secret even from the discreet heads of advertising +departments, we would have the replies called for, not posted. Terry's +man, Jones, was selected to be our messenger, and had to be taken more +or less into our confidence. So fearful were we of being too late for +to-morrow's papers, that Jones was rushed off in a taxi with +instructions, before the ink had dried on the last copy.</p> + +<p>Our suspense was painful, until he returned with the news that all the +"ads." had been in time, and that everything was satisfactorily settled. +The tidings braced us mightily. But the tonic effect was brief. Hardly +had Terry said, "Thanks, Jones. You've been very quick," when we +remembered that to-morrow would be a blank day. The newspapers would +publish T. B.'s advertisement to-morrow morning. It would then be read +by the British public in the course of eggs and bacon. Those who +responded at once, if any, would be so few that it seemed childish to +think of calling for letters that same night.</p> + +<p>"I suppose, if you go the rounds in the morning of day after to-morrow, +it will be soon enough," Terry remarked to the ex-soldier, with the +restrained wistfulness of a child on Christmas Eve asking at what hour +Santa Claus is due to start.</p> + +<p>I also hung upon Jones' words; but still more eagerly upon Captain +Burns' expression.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said the man, his eyes on the floor—I believe to hide a +joyous twinkle!—"that might be right for letters. But what about the +telegrams?"</p> + +<p>"Telegrams!" we both echoed in the same breath.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. When the managers or whatever they were had read the 'ad.,' +they were of opinion there might be telegrams. In answer to my question, +the general advice was to look in and open the boxes any time after +twelve noon to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Terry and I stared at each other. Our hearts beat. I knew what his was +doing by the state of my own. He who would have sold his life for a song +(a really worthwhile song) was eager to preserve it at any price till +his eyes had seen the full results of our advertisement.</p> + +<p><i>Telegrams!</i></p> + +<p>Could it be possible that there would be telegrams?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIB" id="CHAPTER_IIIB"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE LETTER WITH THE PURPLE SEAL</h3> + + +<p>I invited Terry to breakfast with me at nine precisely next day, and +each of us was solemnly pledged not to look at a newspaper until we +could open them together.</p> + +<p>We went to the theatre the night before (the first time Terry could +endure the thought since his illness), and supped at the Savoy +afterward, simply to mitigate the suffering of suspense. Nevertheless, I +was up at seven-thirty <span class="smcap">A. M.</span>, and at eight-forty-eight was in the +breakfast room gazing at six newspapers neatly folded on the +flower-decked table.</p> + +<p>At eight-fifty-one, my guest arrived, and by common consent we seized +the papers. He opened three. I opened three. Yes, there it <i>was</i>! How +perfect, how thrilling! How even better it appeared in print than we had +expected! Anxiously we read the other advertisements of country houses +to let or sell, and agreed that there was nothing whose attractions came +within miles of our, in all senses of the word, priceless offer.</p> + +<p>How we got through the next two and a half hours I don't know!</p> + +<p>I say two and a half advisedly: because, as Jones had six visits to pay, +we thought we might start him off at eleven-thirty. This we did; but his +calmness had damped us. <i>He</i> wasn't excited. Was it probable that any +one else—except ourselves—could be?</p> + +<p>Cold reaction set in. We prepared each other for the news that there +were no telegrams or answers of any sort. Terry said it was no use +concealing that this would be a bitter blow. I had not the energy to +correct his rhetoric, or whatever it was, by explaining that a blow +can't be bitter.</p> + +<p>Twelve-thirty struck, and produced no Jones; twelve-forty-five; one; +Jones still missing.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have told him to come back at once after the sixth place, +even if there wasn't a thing," said Terry. "Like a fool, I didn't: he +may have thought he'd do some other errands on the way home, if he'd +nothing to report. Donkey! Ass! Pig."</p> + +<p>"Captain Burns' man, your highness," announced my maid. "He wants to +know——"</p> + +<p>"Tell him to come in!" I shrieked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, your highness. It was only, should he bring them all in here, or +leave them in Mr. Carstairs' apartment below."</p> + +<p>"<i>All!</i>" gasped Terry.</p> + +<p>"Here," I commanded.</p> + +<p>Jones staggered in.</p> + +<p>You won't believe it when I tell you, because you didn't see it. That +is, you won't unless <i>you</i> have inserted <i>the</i> Advertisement of the +Ages—the Unique, the Siren, the Best yet Cheapest—in six leading +London journals at once.</p> + +<p>There were eight bundles wrapped in newspaper. Enormous bundles! Jones +had two under each arm, and was carrying two in each hand, by loops of +string. As he tottered into the drawing room, the biggest bundle +dropped. The string broke. The wrapping yawned. Its contents gushed out. +Not only telegrams, but letters with no stamps or post-marks! They must +have been rushed frantically round to the six offices by messengers.</p> + +<p>It was true, then, what the newspapers said: all London, all England, +yearned, pined, prayed for houses. Yet people must already be living +<i>somewhere</i>!</p> + +<p>Literally, there were thousands of answers. To be precise, Captain +Burns, Jones, and I counted two thousand and ten replies which had +reached the six offices by noon on the first day of the advertisement: +one thousand and eight telegrams; the rest, letters dispatched by hand. +Each sender earnestly hoped that his application might be the first! +Heaven knew how many more might be <i>en route</i>! What a tribute to the +Largest Circulations!</p> + +<p>Jones explained his delay by saying that "the stuff was coming in thick +as flies"; so he had waited until a lull fell upon each great office in +turn. When the count had been made by us, and envelopes neatly piled in +stacks of twenty-four on a large desk hastily cleared for action, Terry +sent his servant away. And then began the fun!</p> + +<p>Yes, it was fun: "fun for the boys," if "death to the frogs." But we +hadn't gone far when between laughs we felt the pricks of conscience. +Alas for all these people who burned to possess our moated grange +"practically free," at its absurdly low rent! And the moated grange +didn't exist. Not one of the unfortunate wretches would so much as get +an answer to his S. O. S.</p> + +<p>They were not all <i>Nouveaux Riches</i> by any means, these eager senders of +letters and telegrams. Fearing repulse from the fastidious moat-owner, +they described themselves attractively, even by wire, at so much the +word. They were young; they were of good family; they were lately +married or going to be married. Their husbands or fathers were V. C.'s. +There was every reason why they, and they alone, should have the house. +They begged that particulars might be telegraphed. They enclosed stamps +on addressed envelopes. As the moated grange was "rich in old oak," so +did we now become rich in new stamps! Some people were willing to take +the house on its description without waiting to see it. Others assured +the advertiser that money was no object to them; he might ask what rent +he liked; and these were the ones on whom we wasted no pity. If this was +what the first three hours brought forth, how would the tide swell by +the end of the day—the end of the <i>week</i>? Tarpeia buried under the +shields and bracelets wasn't <i>in</i> it with us!</p> + +<p>Terry and I divided the budget, planning to exchange when all had been +read. But we couldn't keep silent. Every second minute one or other of +us exploded: "You <i>must</i> hear this!" "Just listen to <i>one</i> more!"</p> + +<p>About halfway through my pile, I picked up a remarkably alluring +envelope. It was a peculiar pale shade of purple, the paper being of +rich satin quality suggesting pre-war. The address of the newspaper +office was in purple ink, and the handwriting was impressive. But what +struck me most was a gold crown on the back of the envelope, above a +purple seal; a crown signifying the same rank as my own.</p> + +<p>I glanced up to see if Terry were noticing. If he had been, I should +have passed the letter to him as a <i>bonne bouche</i>, for this really was +<i>his</i> show, and I wanted him to have all the plums. But he was grinning +over somebody's photograph, so I broke the seal without disturbing him.</p> + +<p>I couldn't keep up this reserve for long, however; I hadn't read far +when I burst out with a "By Jove!"</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked Terry.</p> + +<p>"We've hooked quite a big fish," said I. "Listen to this: 'The Princess +Avalesco presents her compliments to T. B., and hopes that he will——' +but, my goodness <i>gracious</i>, Captain Burns! What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>The man had gone pale as skim-milk, and was staring at me as though I'd +turned into a Gorgon.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVB" id="CHAPTER_IVB"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE TANGLED WEB</h3> + + +<p>"Read the name again, please," Terry said, controlling his voice.</p> + +<p>"Avalesco—the Princess Avalesco." I felt suddenly frightened. I'd been +playing with the public as if people were my puppets. Now I had a vague +conviction at the back of my brain that Fate had made a puppet of me.</p> + +<p>"I thought so. But I couldn't believe my own ears," said Terry. "Good +heavens! what a situation!"</p> + +<p>"I—don't understand," I hesitated. "Perhaps you'd rather not have me +understand? If so, don't tell me anything."</p> + +<p>"I must tell you!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Not unless you wish."</p> + +<p>"I do! We are pals now. You've helped me. Maybe you can go on helping. +You'll advise me, if there's any way I can use this—this <i>amazing</i> +chance."</p> + +<p>I said I'd be glad to help, and then waited for him to make the next +move.</p> + +<p>Captain Burns sat as if dazed for a few seconds, but presently he asked +me to go on with the letter.</p> + +<p>I took it up where I'd broken off. "Compliments to T. B., and hopes that +he will be able to let his moated grange to her till the end of +September. The Princess feels sure, from the description, that the place +will suit her. T. B. will probably know her name, but if not, he can +have any references desired. She is at the Savoy and has been ill, or +would be glad to meet T. B. in person. Her companion, Mrs. Dobell, will, +however, hold herself free to keep any appointment which may be made by +telephone. The Princess hopes that the moated grange is still free, and +feels that, if she obtains early possession, her health will soon be +restored in such beautiful surroundings. P. S.—The Princess is +particularly interested in the <i>twisted chimney</i>, and trusts there is a +history of the house."</p> + +<p>I read fast, and when I'd finished, looked up at Terry. "If you have a +secret to tell, I'm ready with advice and sympathy," said my eyes.</p> + +<p>"When the Princess Avalesco was Margaret Revell, I was in love with +her," Terry Burns answered them. "I adored her! She was seven or eight +years older than I, but the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Of course +she wouldn't look at me! I was about as important as a slum child to +her. In America, the Revells were like your royalties. She was a +princess, even then—without a title. To get one, she sold herself. To +think that <i>she</i> should answer that fool advertisement of ours! Heavens! +I'm like Tantalus. I see the blessed water I'd give my life to drink, +held to my lips, only to have it snatched away!"</p> + +<p>"Why snatched away?" I questioned.</p> + +<p>"'Why?' Because if there <i>were</i> a moated grange, I could meet her. Her +husband's dead. You know he was killed before Roumania'd been fighting a +week. Things are very different with me, too, these days. I'm a man—not +a boy. And I've come into more money than I ever dreamed I'd have. Not a +huge fortune like hers, but a respectable pile. Who knows what might +have happened? But there's <i>no</i> moated grange, and so——"</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't there be one?" I broke in. And while he stared blankly, I +hurried on. I reminded Captain Burns of what I had said yesterday: that +there were houses of that description, more or less, in England, <i>real</i> +houses!—my own, for instance. Courtenaye Abbey was out of the question, +because it was let to my cousin Jim, and was being shown to the public +as a sort of museum; but there were other places. I knew of several. As +Captain Burns was so rich, he might hire one, and let it to the Princess +Avalesco.</p> + +<p>For a moment he brightened, but a sudden thought obscured him, like a +cloud.</p> + +<p>"Not places with twisted chimneys!" he groaned.</p> + +<p>This brought me up short. I stubbed my brain against that twisted +chimney! But when I'd recovered from the blow, I raised my head. "Yes, +places with twisted chimneys! At least, <i>one</i> such place."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Hampton Court. You said the only other twisted chimney was there."</p> + +<p>"The <i>advertisement</i> said that."</p> + +<p>"Well——"</p> + +<p>"It's a pity," I admitted, "that I thought of the twisted chimney. It +was an unnecessary extravagance, though I meant well. But it never would +have occurred to me as an extra lure if I hadn't known about a house +where such a chimney exists. The one house of the kind I ever heard of +except Hampton Court."</p> + +<p>Terry sprang to his feet, a changed man, young and vital.</p> + +<p>"Can we get it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, if I knew! But we can try. If you don't care what you pay?"</p> + +<p>"I don't. Not a—hang."</p> + +<p>I, too, jumped up, and took from my desk a bulky volume—Burke. This I +brought back to my chair, and sat down with it on my lap. On one knee +beside me, Terry Burns watched me turn the pages. At "Sc" I stopped, to +read aloud all about the Scarletts. But before beginning I warned Terry: +"I never knew any of the Scarletts myself," I said, "but I've heard my +grandmother say they were the wickedest family in England, which meant a +lot from <i>her</i>. She wasn't exactly a <i>saint</i>!"</p> + +<p>We learned from the book what I had almost forgotten, that Lord +Scarlett, the eleventh baron, held the title because his elder brother, +Cecil, had died in Australia unmarried. He, himself, was married, with +one young son, his wife being the daughter of a German wine merchant.</p> + +<p>As I read, I remembered the gossip heard by my childish ears. "Bertie +Scarlett," as Grandmother called him, was not only the wickedest, but +the poorest peer in England according to her—too poor to live at Dun +Moat, his place in Devonshire, my own county. The remedy was +marriage—with an heiress. He tried America. Nothing doing. The girls he +invited to become Lady Scarlett drew the line at anything beneath an +earl. Or perhaps his reputation was against him. There were many people +who knew he was unpopular at Court; unpopular being the mildest word +possible. And he was middle-aged and far from good-looking. So the best +he could manage was a German heiress, of an age not unsuited to his own. +Her father, Herr Goldstein, lived in some little Rhine town, and was +supposed to be rolling in marks (that was six or seven years before the +war); however, the Goldsteins met Lord Scarlett not in Germany but at +Monte Carlo, where Papa G. was a well-known punter. Luck went wrong with +him, and later the war came. Altogether, the marriage had failed to +accomplish for Bertie Scarlett's pocket and his place what he had hoped +from it. And apparently the one appreciable result was a little boy, +half of German blood. There were hopes that, after the war, Herr +Goldstein's business might rise again to something like its old value, +in which case his daughter would reap the benefit. Meanwhile, however, +if Grandmother was right, things were at a low ebb; and I thought that +Lord Scarlett would most likely snap at an offer for Dun Moat.</p> + +<p>Terry was immensely cheered by my story and opinion. But such a +ready-made solution of the difficulty seemed too good to be true. He got +our advertisement, and read it out to me, pausing at each detail of +perfection which we had light-heartedly bestowed upon our moated grange. +"The twisted chimney and the moat aren't everything," he groaned. "Carp +and water-lilies we might supply, if they don't exist; peacocks, too. +Nearly all historic English houses are what the agents call 'rich in old +oak.' But what about those 'exquisite oriels,' those famous fireplaces, +those stairways, those celebrated ceilings, and corbels—whatever they +are? No one house, outside our brains, can have them <i>all</i>. If +anything's missing in the list she'll cry off, and call T. B. a fraud."</p> + +<p>"She'll only remember the most exciting things," I said. "I don't see +her walking round the house with the 'ad.' in her hand, do you? She'll +be captured by the <i>tout ensemble</i>. But the first thing is to catch our +hare—I mean our house. You 'phone to the companion, Mrs. Dobell, at +once. Say that before you got her letter you'd practically given the +refusal of your place to someone else, but that you met the Princess +Avalesco years ago, and would prefer to have her as your tenant, if she +cares to leave the matter open for a few days. She'll say 'yes' like a +shot. And meanwhile, I'll be inquiring the state of affairs at Dun +Moat."</p> + +<p>"How can you inquire without going there, and wasting a day, when we +might be getting hold of another place, perhaps, and—and <i>building</i> a +twisted chimney to match the 'ad.'?" Terry raged, walking up and down +the room.</p> + +<p>"Quite simply," I said. "I'll get Jim Courtenaye on long-distance 'phone +at the Abbey, where he's had a telephone installed. He doesn't live +there, but at Courtenaye Coombe, a village close by. However, I hear +he's at the Abbey from morn till dewy eve, so I'll ring him up. What he +doesn't know about the Scarletts he'll find out so quickly you'll not +have time to turn."</p> + +<p>"How do you know he'll be so quick?" persisted Terry. "If he's only your +forty-fourth cousin he may be luke-warm——"</p> + +<p>I stopped him with a look. "Whatever else Jim Courtenaye may be, he's +<i>not</i> luke-warm!" I said. "He has red hair and black eyes. And he is +either my fiercest enemy or my warmest friend, I'm not sure which. +Anyhow, he saved my life once, at great trouble and danger to himself; +so I don't think he'll hesitate at getting a little information for me +if I pay him the compliment of calling him up on the 'phone."</p> + +<p>"I <i>see</i>!" said Terry. And I believe he did see—perhaps more than I +meant him to see. But at worst, he would in future realize that there +<i>were</i> men on earth not so blind to my attractions as he.</p> + +<p>While Terry 'phoned from the Carstairs' flat to the companion of +Princess Avalesco, I 'phoned from mine to Jim. And I could not help it +if my heart beat fast when I in London heard his voice answering from +Devonshire. He has one of those nice, drawly American voices that <i>do</i> +make a woman's heart beat for a man whether she likes him or hates him!</p> + +<p>I explained what I wanted to find out about the Scarletts, and that it +must be "quite in confidence." Jim promised to make inquiries at once, +and when I politely said: "Sorry to give you so much bother," he +replied, "You needn't let <i>that</i> worry you, my dear!"</p> + +<p>Of course, he had no right to call me his "dear." I never heard of it +being done by the <i>best</i> "forty-fourth cousins." But as I was asking a +favour of him, for Terry Burns' sake I let it pass.</p> + +<p>These Americans, especially ex-cowboy ones, <i>do</i> seem to act with +lightning rapidity. I suppose it comes from having to lasso creatures +while going at cinema speed, or else getting out of their way at the +same rate of progress! I expected to hear next morning at earliest, but +that evening, just before shutting-up time for post offices, my 'phone +bell rang. Jim Courtenaye was at the other end, talking from the Abbey.</p> + +<p>"Lord and Lady Scarlett are living at Dun Moat," he said, "with their +venomous little brute of a boy; and they must be dashed hard up, because +they have only one servant in their enormous house, and a single +gardener on a place that needs a dozen. But it seems that Scarlett has +refused several big offers both to sell and let. Heaven knows why. +Perhaps the man's mad. Anyhow, that's all I can tell you at present. +They say it's no good hoping Scarlett will part. But I might find out +<i>why</i> he won't, if that's any use."</p> + +<p>"It isn't," I answered. "But thanks, all the same. How did you get hold +of this information so soon?"</p> + +<p>"Very simply," said Jim. "I ran over to the nearest town, Dawlish, in +the car, and had a pow-wow with an estate agent, as if I were wanting +the house myself. I'm just back."</p> + +<p>"You really are good!" I exclaimed, rather grudgingly, for Grandmother +and I always suffered in changing our opinions of people, as snakes must +suffer when they change their skins.</p> + +<p>"I'd do a lot more than that for you, you know!" he said.</p> + +<p>I did know. He had already done more—much more. But my only response +was to ring off. That was safest!</p> + +<p>Next morning Terry Burns and I took the first train to Devonshire, and +at Dawlish hired a taxi for Dun Moat, which is about twelve miles from +there.</p> + +<p>We were going to beard the Scarlett lion in his den!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VB" id="CHAPTER_VB"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE KNITTING WOMAN OF DUN MOAT</h3> + + +<p>"I must and <i>shall</i> have this place!" Terry said, as our humble taxi +drove through the glorious old park, and came in sight of the house.</p> + +<p>There were the old-world gardens; the statues; the fountains (it was a +detail that they didn't fount!); there were the white peacocks +(moulting); there was the moat so crammed with water-lilies that if the +Scarletts had eaten the carp, they would never be missed. There were the +"exquisite oriels," and above all, there was the twisted chimney!</p> + +<p>An air of tragic neglect hung over everything. The grass needed mowing; +the flowers grew as they liked. Glass was even missing from several +windows. Still, it was miraculously the twin of the place we had +described in our embarrassingly perfect "ad."</p> + +<p>As we stood in front of the enormous, nail-studded door, and Terry +pressed again and again an electric bell (the one modern touch about the +place), he had the air of waiting a signal to go "over the top."</p> + +<p>"You look fierce enough to bayonet fifty Boches off your own bat!" I +whispered.</p> + +<p>"Lady Scarlett <i>is</i> a Boche, isn't she?" he mumbled back. And just +then—after we'd rung ten times—an old woman opened the door—a witch +of an old woman; a witch out of a German fairy-book.</p> + +<p>The instant I saw her, I felt that there was <i>something wrong</i> about +this house. From under wrinkled lids the woman peered out, ratlike; and +though her lips were closed—leaving the first word to us—her eyes +said, "What the devil do you want? Whatever it is, you won't get it, so +the sooner you go the better."</p> + +<p>We had planned that I should start the ball rolling, by mention of my +grandmother's name. But Terry was bursting with renewed interest in +life, and the woman was answering his question before I had time to +speak. "Let the place? No, sir! His lordship refuses all offers. It is +useless to make one. He does not see strangers."</p> + +<p>"We are not strangers," I rapped out with all Grandmother's haughtiness. +"Tell Lord Scarlett that the Princess di Miramare, grand-daughter of +Mrs. Raleigh Courtenaye, wishes a few words with him."</p> + +<p><i>That</i> was the way to manage her! She came of a breed over whom for +centuries Prussian Junkers had power of life and death; and though she +spoke English, it was with the precise wording of one who has learned +the language painfully. In me she recognized the legitimate tyrant, and +yielded.</p> + +<p>We were admitted with reluctance into a magnificent hall which magically +matched our description: stone-paved, with a vaulted roof, and an +immense oriel window the height of two stories. While our gaze travelled +from the carved stone chimney-piece to ancient suits of armour, and such +Tudor and Jacobean furniture as remained unsold, a slight sound +attracted our attention to the "historic staircase," with its +"dog-gates."</p> + +<p>A woman was coming down. She had knitting in her hand, and had dropped +one of her needles. It was that which made the slight noise we'd heard; +and Terry stepped quickly forward to pick it up.</p> + +<p>His back was turned to me as he offered the stiletto-like instrument to +its owner, so I could not see his face. But I could imagine that +charming smile of his, as he looked up at the figure on the stairs. Just +so might Sir Walter Raleigh have looked when he'd neatly spread his +cloak for Queen Bess; and if he had happened to ask a favour then, it +would have been hard for the sovereign to resist!</p> + +<p>The woman coming downstairs did not resemble any portrait of the Virgin +Queen. She was stout and short-necked; and with her hard, dark face, her +implacable eyes, and her knitting, was as much like Madame Defarge in +modern dress as a German could be. But even Madame Defarge was a woman! +And probably she used her influence now and then in favour of some +handsome male head, preferring to see female ones pop into the sawdust!</p> + +<p>Her face softened slightly as she accepted the needle, and stiffened +again as I came forward.</p> + +<p>"My husband is occupied," she said, in much the same stilted English as +that of her old servant. "He sends his compliments to the Princess di +Miramare and her friend, and hopes both will excuse him. If it is an +offer for our place you have come to make, I must refuse in his name. We +do not wish to move."</p> + +<p>Her tone, her expression, gave to her words the solemnity of an oath +sworn by a houseful of Medes and Persians.</p> + +<p>It seemed that there was nothing left for us to do, save bow to Lady +Scarlett's decision, and retire defeated to our taxi. But I felt that my +reputation as a Brightener was at stake, with Terry's hopes. If we +failed, instead of brightening I should have blighted him for ever! That +couldn't, shouldn't be!</p> + +<p>All there was of me yearned for an inspiration, and it came.</p> + +<p>"My friend, Captain Burns, wouldn't ask you to move," I heard myself +saying. "He's so anxious to have Dun Moat that he'd offer you any rent +within reason, and would invite you to select some retired rooms for +yourselves, where you might live undisturbed by the tenant. This house +is so large it occurs to me that such an arrangement wouldn't be +uncomfortable."</p> + +<p>Terry flashed me a look of amazement, which turned to acquiescence; and +the surprise on Lady Scarlett's face was encouraging. Evidently no one +else had made such a suggestion. She seemed not only astonished, but +tempted.</p> + +<p>For a moment she reflected; then admitted that my proposal was a new +one. She would submit it to her husband. They would talk it over if we +cared to wait. We did care to; and the lady vanished like a stout ghost +into the dimness of stony shadows.</p> + +<p>Terry said that he felt his head growing gray, hair by hair, with +suspense; but when Lady Scarlett came back at last no change could be +seen by the naked eye.</p> + +<p>"My husband and I will consider your proposal," she said, "provided the +price is satisfactory, and taking it for granted that we agree on the +rooms for our occupation. We should want those known as the 'garden +court suite.' And we should ask one hundred and fifty pounds a week, for +a possible term of ten weeks, on the proviso that we could terminate the +tenancy with a fortnight's notice at any time after the first month."</p> + +<p>I was dumbfounded. The place, unique and beautiful as it was, had been +allowed to run down so disastrously, and everything outside and inside +seemed to be in such a state of disrepair, that it was worth at most a +rent of thirty guineas a week. Terry might call himself rich, but surely +he'd not consent to being rooked to that extent, in order to be landlord +to his love. I expected him to protest, to bargain, and beat the lady +down. But he brushed the financial question away like a cobweb, and +began to haggle about the rooms.</p> + +<p>"The money part will be all right," he said. "But I want a lady to come +here—a lady who's been ill. She must have the prettiest rooms there +are: something overlooking the moat, with jolly oriel windows and plenty +of old oak."</p> + +<p>Lady Scarlett smiled. "There is no obstacle to that! The suite I specify +is at the far end of the house, in a comparatively modern wing, and most +people would think it the least desirable. We like it because it is +compact and private. We can keep it going with one servant. It is called +the 'garden court suite' because it is built round a small square. There +is a separate outside entrance, as well as one door communicating with +the house. The suite has generally been occupied by a bachelor heir."</p> + +<p>As she talked, Terry reflected. "Look here, Lady Scarlett!" he +exclaimed, just contriving not to break in. "I've half a mind to confide +in you. The truth is, I want to pose as the owner of this place. I +suppose you wouldn't sell it?"</p> + +<p>"We could not if we would," replied the daughter of the German +wine-seller. "It is entailed and the entail cannot be broken till our +son comes of age."</p> + +<p>"That settles <i>that</i>! But you said beforehand, nothing would induce you +to turn out——"</p> + +<p>"No money you could offer: not a thousand, not ten thousand a week—at +least, at present. The garden court suite is the one solution."</p> + +<p>"Well, so be it! But—I beg your pardon if I'm rude—could you—er—seem +not to be there? Could I say I'd lent the rooms to someone I didn't like +to turn out? If you'd consent, I'd make it two hundred a week."</p> + +<p>Lady Scarlett's blackberry-and-skim-milk eyes lit. "You want the lady to +believe that you have bought Dun Moat?"</p> + +<p>For answer, he told her of our advertisement, and the result. I thought +this a mistake. You'd only to look at the woman to see that she'd no +sense of humour; and to confide in a person without one is courting +trouble. Besides, I still had that impression of <i>something wrong</i>. I +had no definite suspicion; but why had the Scarletts, poor as they were, +determined to stick to the house? However, I could no more have stopped +Terry Burns when he got going than I could have stopped a torrent by +throwing in rose-petals. Which shows how he had changed. The worry a few +days ago would have been to get him going!</p> + +<p>As Lady Scarlett listened she knitted, with strong, predatory hands. +Language, they say, is used to conceal thought. So, it occurred to me, +is knitting. I felt, watching her as a wise mouse should watch a cat, +that she was making up her mind to some action more beneficial to +herself than Terry. But for my life I couldn't guess what. She seemed to +weave a knitted screen between my mind and hers!</p> + +<p>In the end, however, she announced that for two hundred pounds a week +her family could—to all intents and purposes—blot itself temporarily +out of existence, in the suite of the garden court. The American lady +might believe them to be poor relations of Captain Burns, or even +servants, for all she cared! Having arrived at this conclusion, she +proposed fetching her husband, that an agreement of an informal kind +might be drawn up. Again she vanished; and when Lord Scarlett appeared, +it was alone.</p> + +<p>There were a number of ancestral portraits hanging on the walls of the +great hall: fox-faced men, most of them, with a prevailing, sharp-nosed, +slant-eyed type; and "Bertie" Scarlett was no exception to the rule. As +he came deliberately down the stairway which his wife had descended, I +remembered a scandal of his youth that Grandmother had sketched. He'd +been in a crack regiment once, and though desperately poor had tried to +live as a smart man about town. At some country-house party he'd been +accused of cheating at baccarat. The story was hushed up, but he had +left the army; and people—particularly royalties—had looked down their +noses at him ever since. His tweeds were shabby now, and he was growing +middle-aged and bald; all the same he had the air of the leading man in +a <i>cause célèbre</i>. I hadn't liked his wife, and I liked him as little!</p> + +<p>He made the same point as hers: that the agreement might be terminated +by him (<i>not</i> by the tenant) with a fortnight's notice, given at any +time after the first month. This was a queer proviso, as queer as the +family resolve to remain on the spot. And it seemed to me that one was +part and parcel of the other, though I couldn't see the link which +united the two.</p> + +<p>As for Terry, he puzzled over none of these things. He wanted the place +even on preposterous terms. When Lord Scarlett had drawn up an +agreement, his signature flashed across the paper like a streak of +lightning, so wild was he to rush back to London bearing the news to his +princess. Lord Scarlett—sure of his mad client—offered to have the +agreement polished up in legal form without further bother for Captain +Burns, and we were free to go.</p> + +<p>Terry could talk of nothing on the way home but his marvellous luck. +<i>Hang</i> the money! He'd have paid twice as much, if need be. The next +thing was to smarten the place: buy some more "historic" furniture to +fill the gaps made by sales, send down a decorator to see what beds, +etc., needed renovating, have an expert look at the drains and the +central heating (long unused) which had been put in with German money, +engage a staff of servants for indoors and out; get hold of two or three +young peacocks whose tails hadn't moulted.</p> + +<p>"If I don't care how much I spend, don't you think we can make an +earthly paradise of the place in a week?" he appealed.</p> + +<p>"We?" I echoed. "Why, I thought my part was played!"</p> + +<p>His grieved eyes reproached me. What? After going so far, I was going to +desert him in the midst of the woods? He begged me to stand by him till +all was ready to receive the Princess. If I didn't, something was sure +to go wrong.</p> + +<p>Well, once a Brightener, always a Brightener, I suppose! And acting on +this principle I yielded. I promised to stop for a week at Dawley St. +Ann, a village within a mile of Dun Moat (there's a dear old inn +there!), and superintend preparations for the beloved tenant. When she +was safely installed, I would go home—or elsewhere, and Terry could +take my rooms at the inn. Being her neighbour as well as landlord, he'd +easily find excuses to see the Princess every day, and thus get his +money's worth of Dun Moat.</p> + +<p>All this was settled before we reached London; and the first thing Terry +thought of on entering the flat (mine, not his!) was to ring up the +Savoy. The answer came quickly; and I saw a light of rapture on his +face. The Princess herself was at the telephone!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIB" id="CHAPTER_VIB"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE LIGHTNING STROKE</h3> + + +<p>It was amazing what Terry and I accomplished in the next few days, I at +Dawley St. Ann, close to Dun Moat, he flashing back and forth between +there and London!</p> + +<p>My incentive and reward in one consisted of the all but incredible +change for the better in him. Terry's, was the hope of meeting the +Adored Lady; for he had not met her yet. Her voice thrilled him through +the telephone, saying that of <i>course</i> she "remembered Terry Burns," but +it was her companion, Mrs. Dobell, who received him at the Savoy. She it +was who carried messages from the still-ailing Princess Avalesco to him, +and handed on to the Princess his vague explanations as to how he had +acquired Dun Moat. But Terry had seen, in the two ladies' private +sitting room at the hotel, an ivory miniature of the Princess, and its +beauty had poured oil on the fire of his love. At what period in her +career it had been painted he didn't know, not daring or caring to ask +Mrs. Dobell; but one thing was sure—it showed her lovelier than of old.</p> + +<p>Seeing the boy on the way to such a cure as twenty Sir Humphrey Hales +could never have produced, I was happy while wrestling for his sake with +the servant problem, placing brand-new "antique" furniture in half-empty +rooms, and watching neglected lawns rolled to velvet. But not once +during my daily pilgrimage to Dun Moat did I catch sight of Lord or Lady +Scarlett or their old German servant. True to the bargain, they had +officially ceased to exist; and my one tangible reminder of the family +was a glimpse of a little boy who stared through a closed window of the +end wing—the "suite of the garden court."</p> + +<p>I'd been passing that way to criticize the work of the gardeners, and +looked up to admire the twisted chimney, which rose practically at the +junction of the oldest part of the house with the newest. Just for an +instant, a small hatchet face peered at me, and vanished as if its owner +had been snatched away by a strong hand; but I had time to say to +myself, "Like father like son!" And I smiled in remembering that Jim +Courtenaye had called the Scarlett's heir a "venomous little brute."</p> + +<p>At last came the day when the Princess Avalesco, Mrs. Dobell, and a maid +were to motor down and take possession of Dun Moat. Terry (much thanked +through the telephone for supplying the place with servants, etcetera) +was on the spot before them. He had dashed over to see me at Dawley St. +Ann (where I was packing for my return to town), looking extremely +handsome; and had excitedly offered to run back and tell me "all about +her" before I had to take my train.</p> + +<p>"I shall go with you to the station," he said. "You've been the most +gorgeous brick to me! You've given me happiness and new life. And the +one thing which could make to-day better than it is, would be your +stopping on."</p> + +<p>I merely smiled at this, for I'd pointed out that my continued presence +would be misunderstood by the Princess Avalesco, to his disadvantage; +and he reluctantly agreed. So when he had gone to meet his Wonder-of +the-World I continued to pack.</p> + +<p>Very likely he would forget such a trifle as the time for my train, I +thought, and if he did turn up it would be at the last minute. I was +surprised, therefore, when, after an hour, I saw him whirling up to the +inn door in the one and only village taxi.</p> + +<p>A moment later I was bidding him enter my sitting room. A question +trembled on my lips, but the sight of his face choked it into a gasp.</p> + +<p>Terry came in, and flung himself into a chair.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, what's happened?" I ventured.</p> + +<p>He did not answer at first. He only stared. Then he found his voice. "I +don't know how to tell you what's happened," he groaned. "You'll despise +me. You'll want to kick me out of your room."</p> + +<p>"I won't!" I spoke sharply, to bring him to himself. "What <i>is</i> it? +Hasn't she come?"</p> + +<p>"She has come. <i>That's</i> it!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Pal, I—I don't love her any more."</p> + +<p>If I hadn't been sitting in a chair I should have collapsed on to +one—or the floor.</p> + +<p>"You don't <i>love</i> her?" I faltered.</p> + +<p>"No. And that's not all. It's perhaps not even the worst!"</p> + +<p>"If you don't tell me at once, I shall scream."</p> + +<p>"I hardly know how. I—oh, good lord!—I—I've fallen in love with +someone else."</p> + +<p>I must now make a confession as shameful as his. My mind jumped to the +conclusion that Terry Burns was referring to me. I expected him to +explain that, on seeing his ideal after these many years, he found that +after all it was his faithful Pal he loved! I was conceited enough to +think this quite natural, though regrettable, and my first impulse was +to spare us both the pain of such an avowal.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" I warded him off. "So hearts can really be caught in +the rebound? But what I most want to know is, why have you unloved +Princess Avalesco?"</p> + +<p>"It's most horribly disloyal and beastly of me. If you <i>must</i> know, it's +because she's lost her beauty, and has got fat. I wouldn't have believed +that a few years could make such a difference. And she can't be +thirty-five! But she's a mountain. And her hair looks jolly queer. I +think it must have come out with some illness, and she's got on her head +one of those things you call a combination."</p> + +<p>"We don't! We call it a transformation," I corrected him in haste. "Oh, +this is awful! Think of the fortune you've spent to offer Dun Moat to +your lady-love for a few weeks, only to discover that she <i>isn't</i> your +lady-love! What a waste! I suppose now you'll go up to London——"</p> + +<p>"No," said Terry, "I shall stay here. And—I can't feel that the money's +wasted in taking Dun Moat. Just seeing such a face as I've seen is worth +every sovereign."</p> + +<p>"Face?" I echoed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I told you I'd fallen in love. You must have guessed it was with +someone at Dun Moat, as I've been nowhere else."</p> + +<p>I hadn't guessed that. But I wasn't going to let him know that my +guesses had come home to roost! "It can't be Mrs. Dobell," I said, +"because you've seen her before, and she's old. Has the Princess got a +beautiful Cinderella for a maid, and——"</p> + +<p>"No—no!" Terry protested. "I almost wish it were like that. It would be +humiliating, but simple. The thing that's happened—this lightning +stroke—is far from simple. I may have gone mad. Or, I may have fallen +in love with a ghost."</p> + +<p>Relieved of my first suspicion, I pressed him to tell the story in as +few words as possible.</p> + +<p>It seemed that Terry had arrived at Dun Moat before the Princess; and to +pass the time he began strolling about the gardens. His walk took him +all round the rambling old house, and something made him glance suddenly +up at one of the windows. There was no sound; yet it was as if a voice +had called. And at the window stood a girl.</p> + +<p>She was looking down at him. And though the window was high and overhung +with ivy, Terry's eyes met hers. It was, he repeated, "a lightning +stroke!"</p> + +<p>"She was rather like what Margaret Revell used to be years ago, when I +was a boy and fell in love with her," Terry went on. "I mean, she was +that type. And though she looked even lovelier than Margaret in those +days—<i>lots</i> lovelier, and younger, too—I thought it must be the +Princess. You see, there didn't seem to be any one else it could be. And +at that distance, behind window glass, and after all these years, how +could I be sure? I said to myself, 'So the auto must have come and I've +missed hearing it. She's making her tour of the house without me!' I +couldn't stand that, so I sprinted for the door. And I was just in time +to meet the motor drawing up in front of it. Great Heligoland! The shock +I got when—at that moment of all others, my eyes dazzled with a +dream—I saw the real Princess! Somehow I blundered through the meeting +with her, and didn't utterly disgrace myself. But I made an excuse about +taking a friend to a train, and bolted as soon as I could. I didn't come +straight here. I went back to the window where I'd seen the face—the +vision—the ghost—whatever it was. No one was there. A curtain was +pulled across. And I remembered then that I'd always seen it covered. +Say, Princess, do you think I'm going mad—just when I hoped I was +cured? Was it the spirit of Margaret Revell's lost youth I saw, +or—or——"</p> + +<p>"At which window was the—er—Being?" I cut in sharply.</p> + +<p>"It was close under the twisted chimney."</p> + +<p>"Ah! In the wing where the Scarletts are: the suite of the garden +court!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I forgot when I thought it must be Margaret, that the window was +in the Scarletts' wing. Of course, Margaret couldn't have gone there. +Princess, you're afraid to tell me, but you <i>do</i> think I'm off my head!"</p> + +<p>"I don't," I assured him. "Just what I think I hardly know myself. But I +shouldn't wonder if you'd stumbled on to the key of the mystery."</p> + +<p>"What mystery?"</p> + +<p>"The mystery of Dun Moat; the mystery of the Scarletts; why they +wouldn't let or sell the place until I happened to think of bribing them +with the suggestion that they should stay on. Captain Burns, it wasn't a +ghost you saw, never fear! It was a real live person—the incarnate +reason why at all costs the Scarletts must stay at Dun Moat."</p> + +<p>Terry blushed with excitement. "Oh, if I could believe you, I should be +almost happy! If that girl—that heavenly girl!—exists at Dun Moat, and +I'm the tenant, I shall meet her. I——"</p> + +<p>He went on rhapsodizing until the look in my eyes pulled him up short! +"What is it?" he asked. "Don't you approve of my wanting to meet her? +Don't you——"</p> + +<p>"I approve with all my heart," I said. "But I'm wondering—<i>wondering</i>! +Why are the Scarletts hiding a girl? Has she done something that makes +it wise to keep her out of sight? Or is it <i>they</i> who don't wish her to +be seen, for reasons of their own?"</p> + +<p>"Madam, the porter is asking if your luggage is ready to go down," +announced a maid.</p> + +<p>"Luggage!" Terry and I stared at each other. I had forgotten that I was +going to London.</p> + +<p>"But you can't leave me now!" he implored.</p> + +<p>"I've changed my mind," I explained to the maid. "I shall take another +train!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIB" id="CHAPTER_VIIB"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE RED BAIZE DOOR</h3> + + +<p>It ended in my deciding to stop on at the inn, while Terry Burns went +into lodgings. I felt that he was right. I <i>had</i> to stand by!</p> + +<p>It wasn't only the romance of Terry falling out of love with his +Princess, and in love with a face, which held me. There was more in the +affair than that. The impression I had received when the old servant +first opened the door of Dun Moat came back to me sharply—and indeed it +had never gone—an impression that there was something <i>wrong</i> in the +house.</p> + +<p>I didn't for a moment believe that Terry had "seen a ghost," or had an +optical illusion. He'd distinctly beheld a girl at the window—evidently +the same window from which the Scarlett boy had looked at me. Though he +had seen her for a moment only, by questioning I got quite an accurate +description of her appearance: large dark eyes in a delicate oval face; +full red lips, the upper one very short; a cleft chin; a slender little +aquiline nose, and auburn hair parted Madonna fashion on a broad +forehead. She had worn a black dress, Terry thought, cut rather low at +the throat. In order to look out, she had held back the gray curtain; +and recalling the picture she made, it seemed to him that she had a +frightened air. His eyes had met hers, and she had bent forward, as if +she wished to speak. He had paused, but as he did so the girl started, +and drew hastily back. It was then that Terry ran toward the door, +thinking a rejuvenated, rebeautified Margaret Revell was making a tour +of exploration without him.</p> + +<p>Now that he was out of love with the Princess Avalesco, there was no +longer a pressing reason to keep me in the background. For all he cared, +she might misunderstand the situation as much as she confoundedly +pleased! It was decided, therefore, that I should promptly call. I would +be nice to her, and try to get myself invited often to Dun Moat. I would +wander in the garden, where I must be seen by the Scarletts; and as +their presence in the "suite of the garden court" was no secret from me, +it seemed that there would be no indiscretion in my visiting Lady +Scarlett. Once in that wing, it would go hard if I didn't get a peep at +all its occupants!</p> + +<p>I knew that the Scarletts kept up communication with the outer world, so +far as obtaining food was concerned, through the old German woman, whose +name was Hedwig Kramm. She lived in the main part of the house, and was +ostensibly in the service of the tenant, but most of her time was spent +in looking after her master and mistress. I thought that she might be +handy as a messenger.</p> + +<p>I went next day to Dun Moat, Terry having explained me as a friend who'd +helped get the house ready for guests, and thus deserved gratitude from +them. If I had inwardly reproached him for fickleness when he confessed +his <i>volte face</i>, I exonerated him at sight of his old love. On +principle, regard for a woman shouldn't change with her looks. But a +man's affection can't spread to the square inch!</p> + +<p>Not that the Princess Avalesco's inches <i>were</i> square. They were, on the +contrary, quite, quite round. But there were so terribly many of them, +mostly in the wrong place! And what was left of her beauty was +concentrated in a small island of features at the centre of a large sea +of face; one of those faces that ought to wear <i>stays</i>! Luckily she +needed no pity from me. She didn't know she was a tragic figure—if you +could call her a figure! And she didn't miss Terry's love, because she +loved herself overwhelmingly.</p> + +<p>I succeeded in my object. She took a fancy to me as (so to speak) a +fellow princess. I sauntered through garden paths, hearing about all the +men who wanted to marry her, and was able to get a good look at <i>the</i> +window. There was, however, nothing to see there. An irritating gray +curtain covered it like a shut eyelid.</p> + +<p>"Captain Burns has put some sort of old retainers into that wing it +seems," said Princess Avalesco, seeing me glance up. "He has a right to +do so, of course, as I'm paying a ridiculously low rent for this +wonderful house, and I've more rooms anyhow than I know what to do with. +He tells me the wing is comparatively modern, and not interesting, so I +don't mind."</p> + +<p>I rejoiced that she was resigned! I'm afraid, if <i>I'd</i> been the tenant +of Dun Moat, I should have felt about that "suite of the garden court" +as Fatima felt about Bluebeard's little locked room. In fact, I <i>did</i> +feel so; and though I was able to say "Yes" and "No" and "Oh, really?" +at the right places, I was thinking every moment how to find out what +that dropped curtain hid.</p> + +<p>At first, I had planned to send Lady Scarlett a message by Kramm; but I +reflected that a refusal to receive visitors would raise a barrier +difficult to pass except by force. And force, unless we could be sure of +an affair for the police, was out of the question.</p> + +<p>"<i>L'audace! Toujours l'audace!</i>" was the maxim which rang through my +head; and before I had been long with the Princess Avalesco that day I'd +resolved to try its effect.</p> + +<p>My hostess and her companion had arranged to motor to Dawlish directly +after tea. They invited me to go with them, or if I didn't care to do +that, they offered to put off the excursion, rather than my visit should +be cut short. I begged them to go, however, asking permission to remain +in their absence to chat with the housekeeper, and learn whether various +things ordered at Captain Burns' request had arrived.</p> + +<p>With this excuse I got rid of the ladies, and as the new servants had +been engaged by me, I was <i>persona grata</i> in the house. Five minutes +after the big car had spun away, I was hurrying through a long corridor +that led to the end wing. As it had been built for bachelors, there was +only one means of direct communication with the house. This was on the +ground floor, and all I knew of it by sight was a door covered with red +baize. I judged that this door would be locked, and that Kramm would +have a key. If I could make myself heard on the other side, I hoped that +the Scarletts would think Kramm had mislaid her key, and would come to +let her in.</p> + +<p>I was right. The red door was provided with a modern Yale lock. This +looked so new that I fancied it had been lately supplied; and, if so, +the Scarletts—not Terry—had provided it! Now, a surface of baize is +difficult to pound upon with any hope of being heard at a distance. I +resorted to tapping the silver ball handle of my sunshade on the door +frame; and this I did again and again without producing the effect I +wanted.</p> + +<p>The sole result was a horrid noise which I feared might attract the +attention of some servant. With each rap I threw a glance over my +shoulder. Luckily, however, the long passage with its stone floor, its +row of small, deep windows, and its dark figures in armour, was far from +any part of the house where servants came and went.</p> + +<p>At last I heard a sound behind the baize. It was another door opening, +and a child's voice squeaked, "Who's there? Is that you, Krammie?"</p> + +<p>For an instant I was taken aback—but only for an instant. "No," I +confessed in honeyed tones, "it isn't Krammie; but its someone with +something nice for you. Can't you open the door?"</p> + +<p>A latch turned, and a cautious crack revealed one foxy eye and half a +freckled nose. "Oh, it's <i>you</i>, is it?" was the greeting. "I saw you in +the garden."</p> + +<p>"And I saw you at the window," said I. "That's why I've brought you a +present. I like boys."</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> have you brought?" was the canny question.</p> + +<p>Ah, what <i>had</i> I brought? I must make up my mind quickly, for to cement +a friendship with this boy might be important. "A wrist-watch," I said, +deciding on a sacrifice. "A ripping watch, with radium figures you can +see in the dark. It's on a jolly gray suède strap. I'll give it to you +now—that is, if you'd like it.'</p> + +<p>"Ye—es, I'd like it," said little Fox-face. "But my mother and father +don't want any one except Kramm to come in here. I'd get a whopping if I +let you in."</p> + +<p>The door was wider open now. I could easily have pushed past the child; +but I was developing a plan more promising.</p> + +<p>"Are your parents at home?" I primly asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. They're home, all right. They're never anywhere else, these days! +But they're in the garden court. I was going up to my room when I heard +the row at this door. I thought it must be Krammie."</p> + +<p>"Look here," I said, "would your mother mind if you came out with me? I +know her, so I don't see why she should object. I'd give you the watch, +and a tophole tip, too. I think boys like tips! What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"I'll come for a bit," he decided. "Mother'd be in a wax if she knew, +and so'd Father! But what I was going upstairs for when I heard you was +a punishment. I was sent to my room. Nobody'll look for me till food +time, and then 'twill only be Kramm. <i>She's</i> all right, Krammie is! She +won't give me away. She'll let me in again with her key, and they won't +know I've been out. But we've got to find her."</p> + +<p>"I'll find her," I promised. "Come along!"</p> + +<p>He came, sneaking out like the little fox he was. I caught a glimpse of +two steps leading down to a stone vestibule, and beyond that a heavy +wooden door which the boy had shut behind him before beginning to parley +with me. Gently as I could, I closed the baize door, which locked itself +automatically; and the child being safely barred out from his own +quarters, I broke it to him that we must delay seeing Kramm. She'd be +sure to fuss, and want to bundle him back! We'd better have our fun +first. There was time.</p> + +<p>Fox-face agreed, though with reluctance, which showed his fear of that +"whopping." But he brightened when I proposed foraging in the big hall +for some cakes left from tea. To my joy they were still on the table, +and, seizing a plate of chocolate éclairs, I rejoined the boy on the +terrace. We sat on a cushioned stone seat, and Fox-face (who said that +his name was "the same as his father's, Bertie") began industriously to +stuff. He did not, however, forget the watch or the tip. With his mouth +full he demanded both, and got them. In his delight, he warmed to +something more than fox, and I snatched this auspicious moment. +Delicately, as if walking on eggs (at sixpence each), I questioned him. +How did he like being mewed up in one wing of his own home? What did he +do to amuse himself? Wasn't it dull with no one to play with?</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, there's Cecil," he said, munching. "I liked her at +first. She's pretty, about as pretty as you are, or maybe prettier. And +she brought me presents, just like you have. But she's in bed most of +the time now, so she's no fun any more. I sit with her sometimes, to see +she keeps still, and doesn't go to the window. She did go one day, when +I went out for a minute, because I thought she was asleep. But Mother +came and caught her at it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Cecil!" I echoed. "That pretty girl with dark eyes, and hair +the colour of chestnuts. What relation is she to you?"</p> + +<p>"I s'pose she's my cousin," said Bertie. "That's what she told me the +day she came—when she brought the presents. But Mother says she's no +<i>proper</i> relation. How do <i>you</i> know about her hair and eyes? You didn't +see her, did you? Mother'll have a fit if you did! She and Father don't +want any one to see Cecil. The minute she told them all about herself +they made her hide."</p> + +<p>I was thinking hard. "Cecil" was the girl's name! That Lord Scarlett who +died in Australia had been Cecil. Grandmother had talked of him, and +said he was the "only decent one of the lot, though a ne'er-do-weel." +Now, the likeness of the name, and the boy's babblings, made me suspect +the plot of an old-fashioned melodrama.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guessed about her hair and eyes, because you said she was so +pretty; and dark eyes and auburn hair are the prettiest of all," I +assured him gaily. "I'm great at guessing things; I can guess like +magic! Now, I guess the presents she brought you were from Australia."</p> + +<p>"So they were!" laughed Bertie. "That's what she said. And she told me +stories about things out there, before she got so weak."</p> + +<p>"Poor Cecil! What's the matter with her?" I ventured.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," mumbled the boy, interested in an éclair. "She cries a +lot. Mother says she's in a decline."</p> + +<p>"Oughtn't she to see a doctor?" I wondered.</p> + +<p>"Mother thinks a doctor'd be no good. Besides, I don't 'spect she'd let +one see Cecil, anyhow. I told you she won't allow any one in."</p> + +<p>"Why does your mother give Cecil a room whose window looks over the +moat, if it's so important she should hide?" I persisted.</p> + +<p>"All the rooms in that wing where we live are like that," Bertie +explained. "They've windows on the little court inside, and windows +outside, on the moat. But the outside window in Cecil's room is nailed +shut now, so she couldn't open it if she tried. And those little old +panes set in lead are thick as <i>thick</i>! I don't believe you could smash +one unless you had a hammer. Father says you couldn't. I mean, he says +<i>Cecil</i> couldn't. And since the day Mother scolded Cecil for looking +out, the curtain's nailed down. It doesn't matter, though. Plenty of +light comes from the garden side."</p> + +<p>"Where was Cecil before you went to live in the wing?" I asked. "Was she +in the house?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she'd been in that wing for weeks before Father and I moved in," +said the boy. "Mother slept there at night. And Cecil could look out as +much as she liked, because there was no one about except us, and +Krammie. Krammie doesn't count! She's the same as the family, because +she's so old—she nursed Mother when Mother was a baby. Seems funny she +<i>could</i> have been a baby, doesn't it? But Krammie loves her better than +any one, except me. She never splits on me to them if I do anything. But +now I've eaten all the cakes, so we'd better go and find Krammie. If we +don't, she may go into the wing first. There'd be the <i>devil</i> to pay +then!"</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that there was the devil to pay already—a devil in +woman's form—unless my imagination had made a fool of me. I shivered +with disgust at the thought of those two witches—the middle-aged one +and the hag. I hope I didn't take their wickedness for granted because +they were both <i>Germans</i>, though we have got into that habit in the last +five years, with all we've gone through, and with the villains who used +to be Russian in novels now being German!</p> + +<p>If I did hand over my prize to the elder witch, the boy was lost to me. +I should never get a second chance to catch my fox with cake! And even +were I sure that he wouldn't blab, or that Kramm wouldn't, the secret of +our meeting was certain to leak out. In that case, the red baize door +would never again open to my knock. So what was I to do?</p> + +<p>"Come along," urged the boy. Having got all he could get out of me, he +began to sulk. "I don't want to stay with you any more."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," I pleaded. "I'm thinking of something—something to do +for <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>Though I wasn't a German, the most diabolical plot had just jumped into +my head!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIB" id="CHAPTER_VIIIB"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>"WHEN IN DOUBT, PLAY A TRUMP"</h3> + + +<p>It was a case of now or never!</p> + +<p>"Look here, Bertie," I said, "what I've been thinking of is this: you'd +better hide, and let me go alone to find Krammie. <i>Suppose</i> your mother +has looked in your room! She'll know from Kramm that the ladies are +motoring, so she may come out to speak with Kramm and ask for you. +Squeeze into this clump of lilac bushes at the end of the terrace! Trust +me to make everything right, and be back soon."</p> + +<p>The picture of his mother on the warpath transformed Bertie to a jelly. +He was in the lilac bushes almost before I'd finished; and I hurried +off, ostensibly to seek Kramm. I did not, however, seek far, or in any +direction where she was likely to be. Presently I came back and in my +turn plunged into the bushes. I broke the news that I hadn't seen Kramm. +It looked as if the worst had happened. But Bertie must buck up. I'd +thought of a splendid plan! "How would you like to stay with me," I +wheedled, "until your mother is ready to crawl to get you back, cry and +sob, and swear not to punish you?"</p> + +<p>The boy looked doubtful. "I've heard my mother <i>swear</i>," he said, "but +never cry or sob. Do you think she would?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure," I urged. "And you'll have the time of your life with me! All +the money you want for toys and chocolates. And you needn't go to bed +till you choose."</p> + +<p>"What kind of toys?" he bargained. "Tanks and motor cars that go?"</p> + +<p>"Rath<i>er</i>! And marching soldiers, and a gramophone."</p> + +<p>"Righto, I'll come! And I don't care a darn if I never see Mother or +Father again!" decided the cherub.</p> + +<p>I would have given as much for a taxi as Richard the Third for a horse; +but I'd walked from the village, and must return in the same way. We +started at once, hand in hand, stepping out as Bertie Scarlett the +second had never, perhaps, stepped before. It was only a mile to Dawley +St. Ann, and in twenty minutes I had smuggled my treasure into the inn +by a little-used side door. This led straight to my rooms, and I whisked +the boy in without being seen. So far, so good. But what to do with him +next was the question!</p> + +<p>I saw that, in such an emergency, Terry Burns would hinder more than +help. He was cured of the listlessness, the melancholia, which had been +the aftermath of shell shock; but he was rather like a male Sleeping +Beauty just roused from a hundred years' nap—full of reawakened fire +and vigour, though not yet knowing what use to make of his brand-new +energy. It was my job to advise <i>him</i>, not his to counsel me! And if I +flung at his head my version of the "Cecil" story, his one impulse would +be to batter down the sported oak of the garden court suite.</p> + +<p>He and I had agreed, in calm moments, that it would be vain and worse +than vain to appeal to the police. But calm moments were ended, +especially for Terry. <i>He</i> might think that the police would act on the +story we could now patch together. <i>I</i> didn't think so, or I wouldn't +have stolen the heir of all the Scarletts.</p> + +<p>Well, I <i>had</i> stolen him. Here he was in my small sitting room, stuffing +chocolates bestowed on me by Terry. On top of uncounted cakes they would +probably make him <i>sick</i>; and I couldn't send for a doctor without +endangering the plot.</p> + +<p>No! the child must be disposed of, and there wasn't a minute to waste. +Terry's lodgings were as unsuited for a hiding-place as my rooms at the +inn. Both of us were likely to be suspected when Bertie was missed. I +didn't much care for myself, but I did care for Terry, because my +business was to keep him out of trouble, not to get him into it, even +for his love's sake.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as I concentrated on little Fox-face, and how to camouflage +him for my purpose, Jim Courtenaye's description of the child drifted +into my head.</p> + +<p><i>Jim!</i> The thought of Jim just then was like picking up a pearl on the +way to the poor-house!</p> + +<p><i>Dear</i> Jim! I hadn't been sure what my feeling for him was, but at this +minute I adored him. I adored him because he was a wild-western devil +capable of lassoing enemies as he would cows. I adored him because the +fire of his nature blazed out in his red hair and his black eyes. Jim +was an anachronism from some barbaric century of Courtenayes. Jim was a +precious heirloom. He had called the Scarlett boy a "venomous little +brute!" I could hear again his voice through the telephone "<i>I'd do more +than that for you</i>."</p> + +<p>Idiot that I was, in that I'd <i>rung him off</i>! And I hadn't made a sign +of life since, though he was sure to have heard that I was at Dawley St. +Ann, within forty miles of the Abbey and Courtenaye Coombe.</p> + +<p>I could have torn my hair, only it's too pretty to waste. Instead, I ran +into the next room, pulled the bell-rope and demanded the village taxi +immediately, if not sooner. Then I flew back to Bertie and made him up +for a new part.</p> + +<p>This was done—to his mingled amusement and disgust—by means of a +tight-fitting, veiled motor-hood of my own and a scarlet cape, short for +a grown-up girl, but long for a small boy. This produced a fair +imitation of what the police would call "a female child," should they +catch sight of my companion. But as it happened, they did not; nor did +any one else at Dawley St. Ann, so far as I was aware. By my +instructions the taxi drew up at the side door, and while Timmins, the +chauffeur, was starting the engine (he'd stopped it, as I kept him +waiting), I rushed Bertie into the car. Once in, I squashed him down on +the floor, seated tailor fashion, with a perfectly good, perfectly new +box of burnt almonds on his lap.</p> + +<p>"Drive as fast as you dare without being held up," I ordered; and +Timmins, lately demobbed from the Tank Corps, obeyed with violence. The +distance was forty miles; the hour of starting, six; and at seven-thirty +we were spinning up the long avenue at Courtenaye Abbey; good going for +Devonshire hills!</p> + +<p>I took the chance that Jim might be at the Abbey rather than at +Courtenaye Coombe, where he lodged. The way was shorter and—there were +as many hiding-places in the Abbey as at Dun Moat. Luck was with me! It +had been one of the days when Jim opened the Abbey to tourists, and he +was late because he'd gone the rounds with the guardian. His small car, +which he drove himself, stood before the door, and from that door he +flew like a Jack-in-the-box as we dashed up.</p> + +<p>"Elizabeth! I mean Princess!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Call me <i>anything</i>!" I whispered, recklessly, bending out of the car as +we shook hands. "Mum's the word! But look what I've brought; something I +want you to <i>store</i> for me."</p> + +<p>A jerk of my head introduced him to a red-cloaked, gray-veiled child +asleep on the taxi floor.</p> + +<p>Most men would have shown some sign of surprise or other emotion. But +Jim Courtenaye's <i>sang-froid</i> is a tribute to the cinema life he must +have led even before he burst into the war. Whether he thought that the +object in red was my own offspring, concealed from the world till now, I +don't know and probably never shall. All I do know is that, judging from +his expression, it might have been a borrowed shoulder of veal.</p> + +<p>Deftly he scooped Bertie up without rousing him, and had borne the +bundle gently through the open door before it occurred to Timmins to +turn his head. "Hurray!" thought I. "Not a soul has seen the little +wretch between Dun Moat and here!"</p> + +<p>I jumped out of the car and followed Jim into the house, which I'd never +entered since it had been let to him. He had not paused in the great +hall, but was carrying his burden toward a small room which Grandmother +had used for receiving tenants, and such bothersome business. I flashed +in after him, and realized that Jim had fitted it up as a private +sanctum.</p> + +<p>Somehow I didn't like him to go on fancying quaint things about my +character, and by the time he'd deposited Bertie on a huge sofa like a +young bed, I had plunged into my story.</p> + +<p>I told him all from beginning to end; and when I'd reached the latter, +to my surprise Jim jumped up and shook my hands. "Are you congratulating +me?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No. It's because I'm so pleased I don't need to!"</p> + +<p>"You mean?"</p> + +<p>"Well, let's put it that I'm glad Burns may have to be congratulated +some day on being engaged to the Baroness Scarlett, instead of to—the +Princess Miramare."</p> + +<p>So, he <i>had</i> known of my activities, and had misunderstood my interest +in Terry! Brighteners alas! are always being misunderstood.</p> + +<p>"I'd forgotten," I said, primly, "that the <i>women</i> of the Scarlett +family inherit the title if there's no son. That would account for a +<i>lot</i>!... And so you don't think my theory of what's going on at Dun +Moat is too melodramatic?"</p> + +<p>"My experience is," said Jim, "that nothing is ever quite so +melodramatic as real life. I believe this Cecil girl must be a +legitimate daughter of the chap who died in Australia. She must have +proofs, and they're probably where the Scarlett family can't lay hands +on them, otherwise she'd be under the daisies before this. That Defarge +type you talk about doesn't stop at trifles, especially if it's made in +Germany. And we both know Scarlett's reputation. I needn't call him +'Lord Scarlett' any more! But what beats me is this: why did the fly +walk into the spider-web? If the girl had common sense she must have +seen she wouldn't be a welcome visitor, coming to turn her uncle out of +home and title for himself and son. Yet you say she brought presents for +the kid."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," I thought aloud, "if she could have meant to suggest some +friendly compromise? Maybe she'd heard a lot from her father about the +marvellous old place. Grandmother said, I remember, that Cecil Scarlett +was so poor he lived in Australia like a labourer, though his father +died here, while he was there, and he inherited the title. Think what +the description of Dun Moat would be like to a girl brought up in the +bush! And maybe her mother was of the lower classes, as no one knew +about the marriage. What if the daughter came into money from sheep or +mines, or something, and meant to propose living at Dun Moat with her +uncle's family? I can <i>see</i> her, arriving <i>en surprise</i>, full of +enthusiasm and loving-kindness, which wouldn't 'cut ice' with Madame +Defarge!"</p> + +<p>"Not much!" agreed Jim, grimly. "<i>She'd</i> calmly begin knitting the +shroud!"</p> + +<p>So we talked on, thrashing out one theory after another, but sure in any +case that there <i>was</i> a prisoner at Dun Moat. Jim made me quite proud by +applauding my plot, and didn't need to be asked before offering to help +carry it out. Indeed, as my "sole living relative" (he put it that way), +he would now take the whole responsibility upon himself. The police were +not to be called in except as a last resort: and that night or next day, +according to the turn of the game, the trump card I'd pulled out of the +pack should be played for all it was worth!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IXB" id="CHAPTER_IXB"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE RAT TRAP</h3> + + +<p>Did you ever see a wily gray rat caught in a trap? Or, still more +thrilling, a <i>pair</i> of wily gray rats?</p> + +<p>This is what I saw that same night when I'd motored back from Courtenaye +Abbey to Dawley St. Ann.</p> + +<p>But let me begin with what happened first.</p> + +<p>Jim wished to go with me, to be on hand in case of trouble. But the +reason why I'd hoped to find him at the Abbey was because we have a +secret room there which everyone knows (including tourists at a shilling +a head), and at least one more of which no outsiders have been told. The +latter might come in handy, and I begged Jim to "stand by," pending +developments.</p> + +<p>I'd asked Terry to dine and had forgotten the invitation; consequently +he was at the inn in a worried state when I returned. He feared there +had been an accident, and had not known where to seek for my remains. +But in my private parlour over a hasty meal (I was starving!) I told him +the tale as I had told it to Jim.</p> + +<p>Of course he behaved just as I'd expected—leaped to his feet and +proposed breaking into the wing of the garden court.</p> + +<p>"They may kill her to-night!" he raged. "They'll be capable of anything +when they find the boy gone."</p> + +<p>I'd hardly begun to point out that the girl had never been in less +danger, when someone tapped at the door. We both jumped at the sound, +but it was only a maid of the inn. She announced that a servant from Dun +Moat was asking for me, on business of importance.</p> + +<p>Terry and I threw each other a look as I said, "Give Captain Burns time +to go; then bring the person here."</p> + +<p>Terry went at my command, but not far; he was ordered to the public +parlour—to toy with Books of Beauty. Of course it was old Hedwig Kramm +who had come.</p> + +<p>Her eyes darted hawk glances round the room, seeming to penetrate the +chintz valances on chairs and sofa! She announced that the son of Lord +Scarlett was lost. Search was being made. She had called to learn if I +had seen him.</p> + +<p>"Why do you think of <i>me</i>?" I inquired arrogantly.</p> + +<p>The boy had been noticed peeping out of the window when I walked in the +garden. He had said that I was "a pretty lady," and that he wished he +were down there with me. He would get me to take him in my motor, if I +had one.</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders. "I can't tell you where he is," I said, "and +even if I could, why should I? Let Lord and Lady Scarlett call, if they +wish to catechise me."</p> + +<p>"They cannot," objected the old woman. "Her ladyship is prostrated with +grief. His lordship is with her."</p> + +<p>"As they please," I returned. "I have nothing more to say—to you."</p> + +<p>The creature was driven to bay. She loved the "venomous little brute!" +"Would you have something more to say if they did come?" she faltered. +"<i>Something about the child?</i>"</p> + +<p>"I might," I drawled, "rack my memory for the time when I saw him last."</p> + +<p>"You <i>do</i> know where he is!" she squealed.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," I said, "that I must ask you to leave my room."</p> + +<p>She bounced out as if she'd been shot from an air gun!</p> + +<p>It was ten o'clock, but light enough for me to see her scuttling along +the road as I peered through the window. When she had scuttled far +enough, I called to Terry.</p> + +<p>"The Scarletts are coming!" I sang to the tune of "The Campbells." +"Whether it's maternal instinct or a guilty conscience or <i>what</i>, Madame +Defarge has guessed that I've got the child. She'll be doubly sure when +Kramm reports my gay quips and quirks. To get here by the shortest and +quietest way, the Scarletts must pass your lodgings. The instant you see +them, take Jones and race to Dun Moat. When you reach there you'll know +what to do. But in case they hide the girl as a Roland for my Oliver, +I'm going to play the most beautiful game of bluff you ever saw."</p> + +<p>"I wish I <i>could</i> see it!" said Terry.</p> + +<p>"But you'd rather see Cecil! You'd better start now. It's on the cards +that the Scarletts came part way with Kramm to wait for her news."</p> + +<p>Whether they had done this or not, I don't know. But the effect on Terry +of the suggestion was good. And certainly the pair did arrive almost +before it seemed that Kramm's short legs could have carried her to Dun +Moat.</p> + +<p>They gloomed into my sitting room like a pair of funeral mutes.</p> + +<p>"My servant tells me you have seen my son," the woman I had known as +Lady Scarlett began.</p> + +<p>"She has imagination!" I smiled.</p> + +<p>"You mean to say you have <i>not</i> seen him?" blustered Fox-face Père.</p> + +<p>"I say neither that I have nor that I haven't," I replied. "The little I +know about the child inclines me to believe he wasn't too happy at home, +so why——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you <i>admit</i> knowing something!" The woman caught me up like a +dropped stitch in her knitting. "I believe you've got the child here. We +can have you arrested for kidnapping. The police——"</p> + +<p>I laughed. "Have the police ever <i>seen</i> the little lamb? If they have, +they might doubt the force of his attraction on a woman of my type. And +you have no <i>proof</i>. But I'll let the local police look under my bed and +into my wardrobes, if you'll let them search the suite you occupy at Dun +Moat on proof <i>I</i> can produce."</p> + +<p>"What are you hinting at?" snapped the late Lord Scarlett. "Do you +intimate that we've hidden our own child at home and come to you with +some blackmailing scheme——"</p> + +<p>"No," I stopped him. "I don't think you're in a position to try a +blackmail 'stunt.' My 'hints,' as you call them, concerned the <i>real</i> +Lady Scarlett; the legitimate daughter of your elder brother Cecil, and +his namesake."</p> + +<p>As I flung this bomb I sprang up and stood conspicuously close to the +old-fashioned bell rope.</p> + +<p>The man and woman sprang up also. The former had turned yellowish green, +the latter brick-red. They looked like badly lit stage demons.</p> + +<p>"So <i>that's</i> it!" spluttered the German wine merchant's daughter, when +she could speak.</p> + +<p>"That's it," I echoed. "Now, do you still want to call the police and +charge me with kidnapping? You can search my rooms yourselves if you +like. You'll find nothing. <i>Can you say the same of your own?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" Scarlett jerked the word out. "We can and do say the same. Do you +think we're fools enough to leave the place alone with only Kramm on +guard, if we had someone concealed there?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, the cap fits!" I cried. "I didn't accuse you. As you said, I merely +'hinted.'"</p> + +<p>I scored a point, to judge by their looks. But they had scored against +me also. I realized that my guess had not been wrong. There was a secret +hiding-place to which the garden court suite had access. That was one +reason why the Scarletts had chosen the suite. By this time Terry Burns +was there, with Kramm laughing in her sleeve while pretending to be +outraged at his intrusion. If only <i>I</i> were on the spot instead of +Terry, I might have a sporting chance to ferret out the secret, for +I—so to speak—had been reared in an atmosphere of "hidie-holes" for +priests, cavaliers, and kings, of whom several in times of terror had +found asylum at our old Abbey. But Terry Burns was an American. It +wasn't in his blood to detect secret springs and locks!</p> + +<p>I ceased to depend on what Terry might do, and "fell back upon myself."</p> + +<p>"You talk like a madwoman!" sneered Madame Defarge. But her hands +trembled. She must have missed her knitting!</p> + +<p>"Mine is inspired madness," said I. And then I did feel an inspiration +coming—as one feels a sneeze in church. "Of course," I went on, "if +you've hidden the poor drugged girl in that cubby-hole under the twisted +chimney——"</p> + +<p>The woman would have sprung at me if Scarlett had not grabbed her arm. +My hand was on the tassel of the bell rope; and joy was in my heart, for +at last I'd grabbed their best trump. If Bertie The Second was the Ace, +the twisted chimney had supplied its Jack!</p> + +<p>"Keep your head, Hilda," Scarlett warned his wife. "There's a vile plot +against us. This—er—lady and her American partner have tricked us into +letting Dun Moat, with the object of blackmail. We must be careful——"</p> + +<p>"No," I corrected him, "you must be <i>frank</i>. So will I. We knew nothing +of your secret when we came to Dun Moat. We got on the track by +accident. As a matter of fact, Captain Burns saw the real Lady Scarlett +at the window, and she would have called to him for help if she could. +No doubt by that time she'd realized that you were slowly doing her to +death——"</p> + +<p>"What a devilish accusation!" Scarlett boomed. "Since you know so much, +in self-defence I'll tell you the true history of this girl. We <i>have</i> +taken my brother's daughter into the house. We have given her shelter. +She is <i>not</i> legitimate. My brother was married in England before going +to Australia, and his wife—an actress—still lives. Therefore, to make +known Cecil's parentage would be to accuse her father of bigamy and soil +the name. Hearing the truth about him turned her brain. She fell into a +kind of fit and was very ill, raving in delirium for days on end. My +wife was nursing her in the garden court rooms when you came with Burns +and begged us to let the house. My poverty tempted me to consent. For +the honour of my family I wished to hide the girl! And frankly (you ask +for frankness!), had she died despite my wife's care, I should have +tried to give the body—<i>private burial</i>. Now, you've heard the whole +unvarnished tale."</p> + +<p>"Doubtless I've heard the tale told to that poor child," I said. "At +last I understand how you persuaded her to hide like a criminal while +you two thoroughly cooked up your plot against her. But the tale <i>isn't</i> +unvarnished! It's all varnished and nothing else. I'm not my +grandmother's grand-daughter for nothing! What <i>she</i> didn't know and +remember about the 'noble families of England'—especially in her own +country—wasn't worth knowing! I inherit some of her stories and all of +her memory. The last Lord Scarlett, your elder brother, went to +Australia because that actress he was madly in love with had a husband +who popped up and made himself disagreeable. Oh, I can prove +<i>everything</i> against you! And I know where the true Lady Scarlett is at +this minute. You can prove <i>nothing</i> against me. You don't know where +your son is, and you won't know till you hand that poor child from +Australia over to Captain Burns and me. If you do that, and she recovers +from your wife's '<i>nursing</i>,' I can promise for all concerned that +bygones shall be bygones, and your boy shall be returned to you. I dare +say that's 'compounding a felony' or something. But I'll go as far as +that. What's your answer?"</p> + +<p>The two glared into one another's eyes. I thought each said to the +other, "This was <i>your</i> idea. It's all your fault. I <i>told</i> you how it +would end!" But wise pots don't waste time in calling kettles black. +They saved their soot-throwing for me.</p> + +<p>"You are indeed a true descendant of old Elizabeth Courtenaye," rasped +the man. "You're even more dangerous and unscrupulous than your +grandmother! My wife and I are innocent. But you and your American are +in a position to turn appearances against us. Besides, you have our son +in your power; and rather than the police should be called into this +affair by <i>either</i> side, my brother's daughter—ill as she is—shall be +handed over to you when Bertie is returned to us."</p> + +<p>"That won't do," I objected. "Bertie is at a distance. I can't +communicate with—his guardian—till the post office opens to-morrow. On +condition that Lady Scarlett is released <i>to-night</i>, however, and <i>only</i> +on that condition, I will guarantee that the boy shall be with you by +ten-thirty A. M. Meanwhile, you can be packing to clear out of Dun Moat, +as I hardly think you'll care to claim your niece's hospitality longer, +in the circumstances."</p> + +<p>"We have no money!" the woman choked.</p> + +<p>"You've forgotten what you took from Lady Scarlett. And six weeks' +advance of rent paid you by Captain Burns: twelve hundred pounds. He'll +forget, too, if you offer the right inducement. You could have had more +from him, if you hadn't insisted on the clause leaving you free to turn +your tenant out at a fortnight's notice after the first month. I +understand <i>now</i> why you wanted it. If the girl had signed her name to a +document you'd prepared, leaving her money to you—shares in some +Australian mine, perhaps—it would have been convenient to you for her +to die. And then——"</p> + +<p>"Why waste time in accusations?" quailed Scarlett. "<i>We</i> won't waste it +defending ourselves! If you're so anxious to get hold of the girl, come +home with us and we'll turn over all responsibility to you."</p> + +<p>"Very well," I said, and pulled the bell.</p> + +<p>The woman started. "What are you doing that for?" she jerked.</p> + +<p>"I wish to order the taxi to take us to Dun Moat," I explained. "I +confess I'm not so fond of your society that I'd care to walk a mile +with you at night along a lonely road. I'm not a coward, I hope. But +you'd be two against one. And you might hold me up——"</p> + +<p>"As you've held us up!" the man snapped.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," I agreed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Wolves in sheep's clothing have to behave like sheep when they're in +danger of having their nice white wool stripped off. No doubt this is +the reason that, when we arrived at the outside entrance of the +bachelor's wing, my companions were meek as Mary's lamb.</p> + +<p>Inside the suite of the garden court we found Terry Burns and his man +raging, and Kramm sulking, in a room with a broken window. Terry had +smashed the glass in order to get in, but his search had been vain. To +do the old servant justice, she had the instinct of loyalty. I believe +that no bribe would have induced her to betray her mistress. It remained +for the Scarletts to give themselves away, which they did—with the +secret of the room under the twisted chimney.</p> + +<p>The room was built into the huge thickness of the wall which formed a +junction between the old house and the more modern wing. The wonderful +chimney was not a true chimney at all, but gave ventilation and light, +also a means of escape by way of a rope ladder over the roof. But the +rope had fallen to pieces long ago, and the prisoner of these days might +never have found means of escape, had it not been for that trump-card +named Bertie. The room under the twisted chimney would have been a +convenient home substitute for the family vault.</p> + +<p>Fate was for us, however—and for her. Even the Lady with the Shears +might have felt compunction in cutting short the thread of so fair, so +sweet a life as Cecil Scarlett's. Anyhow, that was what Terry said in +favour of Destiny, when some days had passed, and it was clear that with +good care the girl would live.</p> + +<p>We didn't take her to the inn, as I had planned when keeping the taxi, +for Terry—caring less than nothing now for the night's rest of Princess +Avalesco—ruthlessly routed the ladies from their beauty sleep. What +they thought about us, and about the half-conscious invalid, I don't +know; for true to my bargain with the Scarletts, no explanations +detrimental to them were made. I think it passed with the ladies that +the girl had arrived ill, in a late train; and that Terry, emboldened by +love of her, begged his tenant's hospitality. So, you see, they were +partly right. Besides, the Princess Avalesco had lived in Roumania, +where <i>anything</i> can happen.</p> + +<p>When Jim brought back Bertie, he brought also a doctor—by request. The +doctor was his friend; and Jim's friends are generally ready to—well, +to overlook unconventionalities.</p> + +<p>I told you Princess Avalesco loved herself so much that she didn't miss +Terry's love. She missed it so little that after a few weeks' romance +she proposed a bedside wedding at Dun Moat, with herself as hostess; +for, of course, nothing would induce her to shorten her tenancy!</p> + +<p>Cecil had confessed to falling in love with Terry through the window, at +first sight.</p> + +<p>Therefore the wedding did take place, with Jim Courtenaye as best man, +and myself as "Matron of Honour," as Americans say. Cecil looked so +divine as a bride that no woman who saw her could have helped wishing to +be married against a background of pillows! I almost envied her. But Jim +said that he didn't envy Terry. His ideal of a bride was entirely +different, and he was prepared to describe her to me some day when I was +in a good humour!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III</h2> + +<h3>THE DARK VEIL</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IC" id="CHAPTER_IC"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE GIRL WITH THE LETTER</h3> + + +<p>Brightening continued to be fun. As time went on I brightened charming +people, queer people, people with their hearts in the right place and +their "H's" in the wrong one. I was an expensive luxury, but it paid to +have me, as it pays to get a good doctor or the best quality in boots.</p> + +<p>After several successful operations and some lurid adventures, I was +doing so well on the whole that I felt the need of a secretary. How to +hit on the right person was the problem, for I wanted her young, but not +too young; pretty, but not too pretty; lively, not giddy; sensible, yet +never a bore; a lady, but not a howling swell; accomplished, but not +overwhelming; in fact, perfection.</p> + +<p>This time I didn't hide my light under a bushel of initials, nor in a +box at a newspaper office. I announced that the "Princess di Miramare +requires immediately the services of a gentlewoman (aged from twenty-one +to thirty) for secretarial work four or five hours six days of the week. +Must be intelligent and experienced typist-stenographer. Salary, three +guineas a week. Apply personally, between 9:30 and 11:30 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> No +letters considered."</p> + +<p>I gave the address of my own flat and awaited developments with high +hope; for I conceitedly expected an "ad." under my own name to attract a +good class of applicants.</p> + +<p>It appeared in several London dailies and succeeded like a July sale. I +wouldn't have believed that there were such crowds of pretty typists on +earth! Luckily, the lift boy was young, so he enjoyed the rush.</p> + +<p>As for me, I felt like a spider that has got religion and pities its +flies; there were so many flies—I mean girls—and each in one way or +other was more desirable than the rest! I might have been reduced to +tossing up a copper or having the applicants draw lots, if something +very special hadn't happened.</p> + +<p>The twenty-sixth girl brought a letter of introduction from Robert +Lorillard.</p> + +<p><i>Robert Lorillard!</i> Why, the very name is a thrill!</p> + +<p>Of course I was in love with Robert Lorillard when I was seventeen, just +before the war. Everybody was in love with him that year. It was the +fashionable thing to be. Whenever Grandmother let me come up to town I +went to the theatre to adore dear Robert. Women used to boast that +they'd seen him fifty times in some favourite play. But never did he act +on the stage so stirring a part as that thrust upon him in August, 1914! +I <i>must</i> let the girl with the letter wait while I tell you the story, +in case you've not heard the true version.</p> + +<p>While she hung upon my decision, and I gazed at Lorillard's signature +(worth guineas as an autograph), my mind raced back along the years.</p> + +<p>Oh, that gorgeous spring before the war!</p> + +<p>I wasn't "<i>out</i>"; but somehow I contrived to be "<i>in</i>." That is, in all +the things that I'd have died rather than miss.</p> + +<p>We were absurdly poor, but Grandmother knew everyone; and that April, +while she was looking for a town house and arranging to present me, we +stayed with the Duchess of Stane. Her daughter, Lady June, was <i>the</i> +girl in Society just then. She had been The Girl for several years. She +was the prettiest, the most original, and the most daring one in her +set. She wasn't twenty-three, but she'd picked up the most extraordinary +reputation! I should think there could hardly have been more interest in +the doings of "professional beauties" in old days than was taken in +hers. No illustrated weekly was complete without her newest portrait +done by the photographer of the minute; no picture Daily existed that +wouldn't pay well for a snapshot of Lady June Dana, even with a foot out +of focus, or a hand as big as her head! And she <i>loved</i> it all! She +lived, lived every minute! It didn't seem as if there could be a world +without June.</p> + +<p>I was only a flapper, but I worshipped at the shrine, and the goddess +didn't mind being worshipped. She used to let me perch on her bed when +she took her morning tea, looking a dream in a rosebud-wreathed bit of +tulle called a boudoir cap, and a nighty like the first outline sketch +for a ballgown. She reeled off yards of stuff for my benefit about the +men who loved her (their name was legion!), and among others was Robert +Lorillard.</p> + +<p>All the clever people who "did" things came to Stane House, provided +they were good to look at and interesting in themselves. Lorillard was +there nearly every Sunday for luncheon, and at other times, too. I +couldn't help staring at him, though I knew it was rude, for he was so +handsome, so—almost divine!</p> + +<p>One laughs at writers who make their heroes "Greek statues," but really +Lorillard <i>was</i> like the Apollo Belvedere, in the Vatican: those perfect +features, that high yet winning air (someone has said) "of the greatest +statue that ever was a gentleman, the greatest gentleman that ever was a +statue."</p> + +<p>I think June met Lorillard away from home often: and once, when +Grandmother and I had gone to live in our own house, and I'd been +presented, June took me behind the scenes after a matinée at his +theatre. He was charming to me, and I loved him more than ever, with +that delicious, hopeless, agonizing love of seventeen.</p> + +<p>People talked about June with Lorillard, but no more than with a dozen +other men. Nobody dreamed of their marrying, and none less than she +herself. As for him, though he was madly in love, he must have known +that as an eligible he'd have as much chance with a royal princess as +with Lady June Dana.</p> + +<p>It was in this way that matters stood when the war broke out. And among +the first volunteers of note went Robert Lorillard. No doubt he would +have gone sooner or later in any case. But being taken up, thrown down, +smiled at, and frowned on by June was getting upon his nerves, as even I +could see, so war—fighting, and dying perhaps—must have been a welcome +counter-irritant.</p> + +<p>The season was over, but Grandmother kept on the house she had taken, as +an <i>ouvroir</i>, where she mobilized a regiment of women for war work. It +was in the same square as Stane House, where the Duchess was mobilizing +a rival regiment. June and I worked under our different taskmistresses; +but I saw a good deal of her—and all that went on. The moment she heard +that Lorillard had offered himself, and was furiously training for a +commission, she was a changed girl. She was like a creature burning with +fever; but I thought her more beautiful than she'd ever been, with that +rose-flame in her cheeks and blue fire in her eyes.</p> + +<p>One afternoon she got me off from work, asking me to shop with her. But +instead of going to Bond Street, we made straight for Robert Lorillard's +flat in St. James's Square. How he could have been there that day I +don't know, for he was in some training camp or other I suppose; but +she'd sent an urgent wire, no doubt, begging him to get a few hours' +leave.</p> + +<p>Anyhow, there he <i>was</i>—waiting for us. I shall never forget his +face—though he forgot my existence! June forgot it also. I'd been +dragged at her chariot wheels (it was a taxi!) to play propriety; my +first appearance as a chaperon. I might as well have been a fly on the +wall for both of them!</p> + +<p>Robert opened the door of the flat himself when we rang (servants were +superfluous for that interview!) and they looked at each other, those +two. Eyes drank eyes! Lorillard didn't seem to see me. I drifted vaguely +in after June, and effaced myself superficially. The most rarefied sense +of honour couldn't be expected, perhaps, in a flapper whose favourite +stage hero was about to play <i>the</i> part of his life—unrehearsed—with +the said flapper's most admired heroine.</p> + +<p>Instead of shutting myself up in a cupboard or something, or at the +least closing my eyes and stuffing my fingers into my ears, I hovered in +a handy background. I saw June burst out crying and throw herself into +Lorillard's arms. I heard her sob that she realized now she couldn't +live without him; that he was the only person on earth who +mattered—ever had, or ever would matter. I heard him gasp a few +explosive "Darlings!" and "Angels!" And then I heard June coolly—no, +hotly!—propose that they should be married at once—<i>at once</i>!</p> + +<p>Even <i>I</i> floated sympathetically on a rose-coloured wave of love, as I +listened and looked; so where must Lorillard have floated—he who had +adored, and never hoped?</p> + +<p>In one of his own plays the noble hero would have put June from him in +super-unselfishness, declaiming "No, beloved. I cannot accept this +sacrifice, made on a mad impulse. I love you too much to take you for my +own." But, thank God, real men aren't built on those stiff lines! As for +this one, he simply <i>hugged</i> his glorious, incredible luck (including +the giver) as hard as he could.</p> + +<p>It took the two about one hour to come to themselves, and remember that +they had heads as well as hearts; while I, for my part, remembered +mostly my right foot, which had gone to sleep during efforts of +self-obliteration. I <i>had</i> to stamp it at last, which drew surprised +attention to me; so I was officially offered the rôle of confidante, and +agreed with June that the wedding <i>must</i> be secret. The Duchess and four +<i>terrifically</i> powerful uncles would make as much fuss as if June were +Queen Elizabeth bent on marrying a commoner, and it would end in the +lovers being parted.</p> + +<p>Well, they were married by special license three days later, with me and +a man friend of Lorillard's as witnesses. When the knot was safely tied, +June and Robert went together and broke it to the Duchess—not the knot, +but the news. The Duchess of Stane is supposed to know more bad words +than any other peeress in England, and judging from June's account of +the scene, she hurled them all at Lorillard, with a few spontaneous +creations for her daughter. When the lady and her vocabulary were +exhausted, however, common sense refilled the vacuum. The Duchess and +the Family made the best of a bad bargain, hoping, no doubt, that +Lorillard would soon be safely killed; and a delicious dish of romance +was served up to the public.</p> + +<p><i>I</i> was the only one beyond pardon, it seemed. According to the Duchess +I was a wicked little treacherous cat not to have told her what was +going on, so that it could have been stopped in time. A complaint was +made to Grandmother. But that peppery old darling—after scolding me +well—took my part, and quarrelled with the Duchess.</p> + +<p>June was too busy being <i>The</i> Bride of All War Brides to bother much +with me, and Lorillard was training hard for France. So a kind of magic +glass wall arose between the Affair and me. Months passed (everyone +knows the history of those months!) and then the air raids began: +Zeppelins over London!</p> + +<p>It was <i>smart</i>, you know, not to be frightened, but to run out and gape, +or go up on the roof, when one of those great silver shapes was sighted +in the night sky. June went on the roof. Oh poor, beautiful June! A +fragment of shrapnel pierced her heart and killed her instantly, before +she could have felt a pang.</p> + +<p>The news almost "broke Lorillard up," so his pal who witnessed the +marriage with me put the case. Robert hadn't even once been back in +"Blighty" since he first went out. Ninety-six hours' leave was due just +then. He spent it coming to June's funeral, and—returning to the Front.</p> + +<p>Since that tragic time long ago he had seen a great deal of fighting, +had been wounded twice, had received his Captaincy and a D. S. O. Four +years and a half had been eaten by Hun locusts since he'd last appeared +on the stage, and more than three since the death of June. Everyone +thought that Lorillard would take up his old career where he had laid it +down. But he refused several star parts, and announced that he never +intended to act again. The reason was, he said, that he did not wish to +do so; that he could hardly remember how he had felt at the time when +acting made up the great interest of his life.</p> + +<p>He bought a quaint old cottage near the river, not many miles from a +house the Duchess owned—a happy house, where he had spent week-ends +that wonderful summer of 1914. June had loved the place, and her body +lay (buried in a glass coffin to preserve its beauty for ever) in the +cedar-shaded graveyard of the country church near by. Once she had +laughingly told Lorillard she would like to lie there if she died, and +he had persuaded the Duchess to fulfil the wish. Instead of a gravestone +there was a sundial, with the motto "All her days were happy days and +all her hours were hours of sun."</p> + +<p>Robert Lorillard's cottage was within walking distance of the +churchyard, and I imagine he often went there. Anyhow, he went nowhere +else. After some months an anonymous book of poems appeared—poems of +such extreme beauty and pure passion that all the critics talked about +them. Bye and bye others began to talk, and it leaked out through the +publisher that Lorillard was the author.</p> + +<p>I loved those poems so much that I couldn't resist scribbling a few +lines to Robert in my first flush of enthusiasm. He didn't answer. I'd +hardly expected a reply; but now, long after, here was a letter from him +introducing a girl who wanted to be my secretary!</p> + +<p>He wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Princess di Miramare</span>,</p> + +<p>I don't ask if you remember me. I <i>know</i> you do, because of one we +have both greatly loved. I meant to thank you long ago for the kind +things you took the trouble to say about my verses. The thoughts +your name called up were very poignant. I put off acknowledging +your note. But you will forgive me, because you are a real friend; +and for that reason I venture to send you a strong personal +recommendation with Miss Joyce Arnold, who will ask for a position +as your secretary. I saw your advertisement in the <i>Times</i>, and +showed it to Miss Arnold, offering to introduce her to you. She +nursed me in France when she was a V. A. D. (she has a decoration, +bye the bye, for her courage in hideous air raids), and she has +been my secretary for some months. All I need say about her I can +put into a few words. <i>She is absolutely perfect.</i> It will be a +great wrench for me to lose her valuable help with the work I give +my time to nowadays, but I am going abroad for a while, and shall +not need a secretary.</p> + +<p>You too have lived and suffered since we met! Do take from me +remembrances and thoughts of a friendship which will never fade.</p> + +<p>Yours sincerely always,</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Robert Lorillard.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p>I'd been too much excited when she said, "I have an introduction to you +from Captain Lorillard," to do more than glance at the girl, and ask her +to sit down. But as I finished the letter I looked up, to meet the gaze +of a pair of gray eyes.</p> + +<p>Caught staring, Miss Arnold blushed; and what with those eyes and that +colour I thought her one of the most delightful girls I'd ever seen.</p> + +<p>I don't mean that she was one of the prettiest. She was (and is) pretty. +But it wasn't entirely her <i>looks</i> you thought of, in seeing her first. +It was something that shone out from her eyes, and seemed to make a +sweet, happy brightness all around her. Eyes are windows, and something +<i>must</i> be on the other side, but, alas! it seldom shines through. The +windows are dim, or the blinds are down to cover dulness. Joyce Arnold +had a living spirit behind those big, bright soul-windows that were her +eyes!</p> + +<p>As for the rest, she was tall and slim, and delicately long-limbed. She +had milk-white skin with a soft touch of rose on the cheek bones; a few +freckles which were like the dust from tiger-lily petals, and a +charming, sensitive mouth, full and red.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course I want you!" I said. "I'm lucky to secure you, too! How +glad I am that you didn't come after I'd engaged someone else! But even +if you had, I'd have managed to get rid of her one way or other."</p> + +<p>Miss Arnold smiled. She had the most contagious smile!—though it struck +me even then that it wasn't a <i>merry</i> smile. Her face, with its piquant +little nose, was meant to be gay and happy I thought; yet it wasn't +either. It was more plucky and brave; and the eyes had known sadness, I +felt sure. I guessed her age as twenty-three or twenty-four.</p> + +<p>She said that she would love to work for me. The girls who were waiting +to be interviewed were sent politely away in search of other engagements +while I settled things with Miss Arnold. The more I looked at her, the +more I talked with her, the more definite became an impression that I'd +seen her before—a long time ago. At last I asked her the question: "Can +it be that we've met somewhere?"</p> + +<p>Colour streamed over her pale face. "Yes, Princess, we have," she said. +"At least, we didn't exactly <i>meet</i>. It couldn't be called that."</p> + +<p>"What was it then, if not a meeting?" I encouraged her.</p> + +<p>"I was in my first job as secretary. I was with Miss Opal Fawcett. When +it was Ben Ali's day out—Ben Ali was her Arab butler, you know—I used +to open the door. I opened it for you and—and Lady June Dana when you +came. I remember quite well, though I never thought <i>you</i> would."</p> + +<p>Why did the girl blush so? I wondered. Could it be that she was ashamed +of having been with Opal Fawcett, or—was it something to do with the +mention of June? Miss Arnold had evidently just left her place with +Robert Lorillard and probably the name of his wife had been "taboo" +between them, for I couldn't fancy Robert talking of June with any +one—unless with some old friend who had known her well.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's it!" I exclaimed. "Now I do remember. June and I spoke of +you afterward, as we were going away. We said, 'What an interesting +girl!' Nearly five years ago! It seems a hundred."</p> + +<p>Miss Arnold didn't speak, and again my thoughts flew back.</p> + +<p>Opal Fawcett suddenly sprang into fame with the breaking out of the war, +when all the sweethearts and wives of England yearned to give "mascots" +to their loved men who fought, or to get news from beyond the veil, of +those who had "gone west." Opal had, however, been making her weird way +to success for several years before. She had a strange history—as +strange as her own personality.</p> + +<p>A man named Fawcett edited a Spiritualistic paper, called the <i>Gleam</i>. +One foggy October night (it was All Hallow E'en) he heard a shrill, +wailing cry outside his old house in Westminster. (Naturally it was a +<i>haunted</i> house, or he wouldn't have cared to live in it!) Someone had +left a tiny baby girl in a basket at his door, and with it a letter in a +woman's handwriting. This said that the child had been born in October, +so its name must be Opal.</p> + +<p>Fawcett was a bachelor; but he imagined that spirit influences had +turned the unknown mother's thoughts to him. For this reason he kept the +baby, obligingly named it Opal, and brought it up in his own religious +beliefs.</p> + +<p>Opal was extremely proud of her romantic début in life, and when she had +decided upon a career for herself, she wrote her autobiography up to +date. As she was quite young at the time—not more than twenty-five—the +book was short. She had a certain number of copies bound in specially +dyed silk supposed to be of an opal tint, changeable from blue to +pinkish purple, and these she gave to her friends or sold to her +clients.</p> + +<p>I say "clients," because, after being a celebrated "child medium" during +her foster father's life, and then failing on the stage as an actress, +she discovered that palmistry was her forte. At least it was one among +several others. You told her the date when you were born, and she "did" +your horoscope. She advised people also what colours they ought to wear +to "suit their aura," and what jewels were lucky or unlucky. Later, when +the war came, she took to crystal gazing. Perhaps she had begun it +before, but it was then that she suddenly "caught on." One heard all +one's friends talking about her, saying, "Have you ever been to Opal +Fawcett? She's <i>absolutely wonderful</i>! You must go!" Accordingly we +went.</p> + +<p>When June and Lorillard were waiting in secret suspense for their +special license, June implored Robert to let Opal look into the crystal +for him, and read his hand. He tried to beg off, because he had met Miss +Fawcett during her disastrous year on the stage. In a play of ancient +Rome in which he was the star, Opal Fawcett had been a sort of +walking-on martyr, and he had a scene with her in the arena, defending +her from a doped, milk-fed lion. Opal had acted, clung, and twined so +much more than necessary that Robert had disliked the scene intensely, +always fearing that the audience might "queer" it by laughing. He would +not complain to the management, because the girl had been given the part +through official friendship, and was already marked down as prey by the +critics. He hadn't wished to do her harm; but neither did he care to +have his future foretold by her.</p> + +<p>June was so keen, however, that he consented to be led like a lamb to +the sacrifice. I heard from her how they went together to the old house +which the spiritualist had left to his adopted daughter; and I heard +what happened at the interview. June was vexed because Opal <i>would</i> see +Robert alone. She had wanted to be in the room, and listen to +everything! Opal was most ungrateful, June said, because she (June) had +sent lots of people to have their "hands read," and get special jewels +prescribed for them, like medicines. Robert had laughed to June about +what Opal claimed to see for him in her crystal, but had pretended to +forget most of the "silly stuff," and be unable to repeat it. June had +worried, fearing lest misfortunes had appeared in the crystal, and that +Robert wished to hide the fact from her.</p> + +<p>"I'll get it all out of Opal myself!" she exclaimed to me, and took me +with her to Miss Fawcett's next day.</p> + +<p>The excuse for this visit was to have my hand "told," and to order a +mascot for Robert, to take with him to the front: his own lucky jewel +set in a design made to fit his horoscope!</p> + +<p>I was delighted to go, for I'd never seen a fortune teller; but June was +too eager to talk about Robert to spare me much time with the seeress. +My hand-telling was rather perfunctory, for Miss Fawcett didn't feel the +same need to see me alone which she had felt with Lorillard, and June +was very much on the spot, sighing, fussing, and looking at her +wrist-watch.</p> + +<p>Opal was as reticent about the interview with Lorillard as Robert had +been, though, unlike him, she didn't laugh. So poor June got little for +her pains, and I learned nothing about my character that Grandmother +hadn't told me when she was cross. Still, it was an experience. I'd +never forgotten the tall, white, angular young woman wearing amethysts +and a purple robe, in a purple room: a creature who looked as if she'd +founded herself on Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and overshot the mark. It +seemed, also, that I'd never forgotten her secretary, though perhaps I'd +not thought of the girl from that day to this.</p> + +<p>"Do tell me how you happened to be with Opal Fawcett," I couldn't help +blurting out from the depths of my curiosity. "You seem +so—so—absolutely <i>alien</i> from her and her 'atmosphere'."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's quite simple," said Joyce Arnold, not betraying herself if she +considered me intrusive or rude. "An aunt of mine—a dear old maid—was +a great disciple of Mr. Fawcett. She thought Opal the wonder of the +world, at about ten or twelve, as 'the child medium,' and she used to +take me often to the house. I was five or six years younger than Opal, +and Aunt Jenny hoped it would 'spiritualize' me to play with her. We +never quite lost sight of each other after that, Opal and I. When she +went into business—I mean, when she became a hand-reader and so on—I +was beginning what I called my 'profession.' She engaged me as her +secretary, and I stayed on till I left her to 'do my bit' in the war, as +a V. A. D. That's the way I met Captain Lorillard, you know. It was the +most splendid thing that ever happened, when he asked me to work for him +after he was invalided back from the Front. You see, I was dead tired +after four years without a rest. We'd had a lot of air raids at my +hospital, and I suppose it was rather a strain. I was ordered home. And +oh, it's been Paradise at that heavenly place on the river, helping to +put down in black and white the beautiful thoughts of such a man!"</p> + +<p>As she spoke, an expression of rapture, that was like light, illumined +the girl's face for an instant, bright as a flash of sunshine on a white +bird's wing. But it passed, and her eyes darkened with some quick memory +of pain. She looked down, thick black lashes shadowing her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" I thought. "There's a <i>story</i> here!"</p> + +<p>Robert Lorillard wrote that Miss Arnold was "perfect." Yet he had sent +her away. He said he was going away himself. But I felt sure he wasn't. +Or else, he was going on purpose. He had <i>searched the newspapers to +find a place for her</i>. If he hadn't done that deliberately, he would +never have seen my advertisement.</p> + +<p>And she? The girl was breaking her heart at the loss of her "Paradise."</p> + +<p>What did it mean?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIC" id="CHAPTER_IIC"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE HERMIT</h3> + + +<p>Joyce Arnold was ready to begin work at once.</p> + +<p>She had, it seemed, already given up her lodgings in the village near +Robert Lorillard's cottage. Opal Fawcett had offered the hospitality of +her house for a fortnight, and while there Joyce would pay her way by +writing Opal's letters in spare hours, the newest secretary being absent +on holiday. In the meantime, now that it was decided she should come to +me, Miss Arnold would look for rooms somewhere in my neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>I let it go at this for a few days. But when just half a week had passed +I realized that Joyce Arnold wasn't merely a perfect secretary, she was +a perfect companion as well. Not perfect in a horrid, "high-brow" way, +but simply adorable to have in the house.</p> + +<p>It was on a Wednesday that she brought me Lorillard's letter. On the +following Saturday, at luncheon, I suddenly said, "Look here, Miss +Arnold, how would you like to live with me instead of in lodgings?"</p> + +<p>She blushed with surprise. (She blushed easily and beautifully.)</p> + +<p>"Why, I—should love it, of course," she stammered, "if you're really +sure that you——"</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm sure," I cut her short. "What I'm beginning to wonder is, +how I ever got on without you!"</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>"You've known me only three days and a half! And——"</p> + +<p>"Long enough to be sure that you're absolutely IT," said I. "If already +you seem to me indispensable, how <i>could</i> Robert Lorillard have made up +his mind to part with you, after <i>months</i>?"</p> + +<p>I didn't mean to be cruel or inquisitorial. The words sprang out—spoke +themselves. But I could have boxed my own ears when I saw their effect +on the girl. She grew red, then white, and tears gushed to her eyes. +They didn't fall, because she was afraid to wink, and stared me steadily +in the face, hoping the salt lake might safely soak back. All the same I +saw that I'd struck a hard blow.</p> + +<p>"Captain Lorillard was very nice, and really sorry in a way to lose me, +I think," she replied, rather primly. "But he told you, didn't he, that +he was going away?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course! Stupid of me to forget for a minute," I mumbled, +earnestly peeling a plum, so that she might have time to dispose of +those tears without absorbing them. I was more certain than ever that +here was a "story" in the broken connection between Joyce Arnold and +Robert Lorillard: that if he were really leaving home it was for a +reason which concerned <i>her</i>.</p> + +<p>It wasn't all curiosity which made me rack my brain with mental +questions. It was partly old admiration for Robert and new affection for +his late secretary. "Why should he want to get rid of such a girl?" I +asked myself, as at last I ate the plum.</p> + +<p>The fruit was more easily swallowed than the idea that he hadn't +<i>wanted</i> Joyce Arnold to go on working for him. It wouldn't be human for +man or woman—especially man—<i>not</i> to want her. But—well—I tried to +put the thought aside for the moment, in order to wrestle with it when +those eyes of hers could no longer read my mind.</p> + +<p>I turned the subject to Opal Fawcett.</p> + +<p>"Could you leave Miss Fawcett at once, and come to me?" I asked. "Would +she be vexed? Or would you rather stay with her over Sunday?"</p> + +<p>"I could come this afternoon," Joyce said. "I'd be glad to. And I don't +think Opal would mind. She wanted me at first. But—but——Well, I'm +beginning to bore her now; or anyhow, we're getting on each other's +nerves."</p> + +<p>This reply, and the embarrassed look on Joyce's face, set me going upon +a new track. Was Opal Fawcett in the "story" which my imagination had +begun to write around Miss Arnold and Robert Lorillard? If so, what +could be her part in it?</p> + +<p>I found no satisfactory answer. Years ago, when she was on the stage and +acting with Lorillard, Opal had perhaps been in love with him, like +hundreds of other women. But since then he'd married, and fought in the +war, and later had led the life of a hermit, while she pursued her +successful "career" in town. It was unlikely that they had seen much of +each other, even if their old, slight acquaintance had been kept up at +all. Still, Opal might have been curious about Lorillard and the "simple +life." She might have welcomed Joyce for the sake of what she could tell +of him, and Joyce might have rebelled when she saw what Opal wanted from +her.</p> + +<p>I thanked my own wits for giving me this "tip." Without it, I mightn't +have resisted the strong temptation to proceed with a little dextrous +"pumping" on my own—just a word wedged into some chink in the armour +now and then, to find out if poor Joyce had fallen a victim to +Lorillard's undying charm.</p> + +<p>As it was, I determined to shut up like a clam, and do as I would be +done by were I in the girl's place. If she'd slipped into loving her +employer, and he had thought best to banish her, for her own good, the +wound in poor Joyce's self-respect must be as deep as that in her heart. +Every sensitive nerve must throb with anguish, and only a <i>wretch</i> would +deliberately probe the hurt with questions, in mere selfish curiosity.</p> + +<p>"It's not your business," I said to myself. And I vowed to do all I +could to make Joyce Arnold forget—whatever it was that she might want +to forget.</p> + +<p>She did come to me that afternoon. I had one spare room in my flat, and +I made it as pretty and homelike as I could with flowers and books and +little things I stole from my own quarters. The girl was pathetically +grateful! She opened out to me like a flower—that is, in affection. I +felt in her a warm, eager anxiety to serve and help me, not for the +wages I gave, but for love. It was like a perfume in the place. And +Joyce Arnold was intelligent as well as sweet. She had been highly +educated, and there seemed to be few things she hadn't thought about. +Most of the old aunt's money had been spent in making the girl what she +was, so there was little left; but Joyce would always be able to earn +her living.</p> + +<p>If she tired of secretarial work, she could quite well teach music, both +piano and voice production. She had taken singing lessons from a famous +and successful man. Had her voice been strong enough, she might have got +concert engagements, it was so honey-sweet, so exquisitely trained. But +she called it a "twilight voice"; which it really was, and often I gave +up going out for the joy of having her sing to me alone in the dusk.</p> + +<p>It was only at those times that I knew—actually <i>knew</i>!—how sad she +was, to the point of heartbreak. By day, when we worked or talked +together, her manner was charmingly bright. She was interested in my +affairs, and her quiet, delicious sense of humour was one of her +greatest attractions for me. But at the piano, before the lights were +on, the girl was at the mercy of her secret, whatever it might be. It +came like a ghost, and stared her in the eyes. It said to her: "You +can't shut me out. It is to <i>me</i> you sing. I <i>make</i> you sing!"</p> + +<p>To hear that "twilight voice" of hers, half crooning, half chanting, +those passion-flower songs of Laurence Hope's, or "Omar," would have +waked a soul in a stone image!</p> + +<p>Good heavens! how could Robert Lorillard have sent her away? How, on the +contrary, could he have helped wanting this noble, brave, sweet creature +to warm his life for ever?</p> + +<p>That's what I asked myself over and over again. And on top of that +question another. What if—he <i>hadn't</i> helped it?</p> + +<p>It was one evening, while she improvised a queer little "song of sleep" +for me that this thought came. It burst like a bombshell in my brain; +and the reason it hadn't burst before was because my mind always +pictured June and Robert together.</p> + +<p>I was lying deep among cushions on a sofa, and involuntarily I started +up.</p> + +<p>Joyce broke off her song in the midst.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," I said; "only—it just popped into my head that I'd forgotten +to telephone for—for a car to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"For a car?" Joyce echoed. "How stupid of me, if you mentioned it! I +can't remember——"</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't mention it," I said. (No wonder, when I hadn't even +<i>thought</i> of it until this minute!) "But I—I <i>meant</i> to. I'd made up my +mind to go to 'Pergolas,' the Duchess of Stane's place on the river; you +must have seen it when you were working for Robert Lorillard."</p> + +<p>It was the first time I'd uttered his name since that impulsive break at +the luncheon table, over a fortnight ago now!</p> + +<p>Whether or not her face blushed I couldn't see in the twilight, but her +<i>voice</i> blushed as she said:</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I've seen—the gates. Surely the duchess isn't there at this +time of the year?"</p> + +<p>"She generally takes a 'rest cure' of a week or two at Pergolas this +month. It's perfect peace, and you know how dreamlike the river is in +autumn."</p> + +<p>"I—know," Joyce murmured. "The woods all golden, and mists like creamy +veils across the blue distance. I know!"</p> + +<p>There was a passion of suppressed longing and regret in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like to go with me?" I coaxed. "It's such lovely country +for a spin. And—I've never been there; but I suppose we must pass close +to Robert Lorillard's cottage? We go through Stanerton village. We could +stop and see if he's still at home, or if he's gone——"</p> + +<p>"No—no, thank you, Princess," Joyce said, hastily, "I don't—care very +much for motoring. If you're to be away to-morrow I'll get through some +mending, and some letters of my own."</p> + +<p>I didn't argue. I should have been surprised if she'd accepted. It would +have made the thing commonplace. And it would have upset my plan. I +can't call it a "deep-laid plan," because I'd laid it on no firmer +foundation than the spur of the moment; but I was wildly excited about +it. Fully armoured like Minerva it had leapt into my brain while I said +to myself, "What <i>if</i>——?"</p> + +<p>Joyce 'phoned to the garage where I hired cars occasionally, and ordered +something to come at ten o'clock next morning. For me to take this joy +ride meant throwing over a whole day's engagements like so many +ninepins. But I didn't care a rap!</p> + +<p>I could see when I was ready to start that Joyce was even more excited +than I. No doubt she was thinking that, when I came back, I might bring +news of <i>him</i>. We spoke, however, only of the duchess.</p> + +<p>To me, a harmless, necessary fib isn't much more vicious than a cat of +the same description; that is, if the fib is for the benefit of a +friend. But I'd rather tell the truth if it can be managed, so I really +intended to call on the Duchess. The village of Stanerton—on the +outskirts of which Lorillard lived—happened to be on my way to +Pergolas. I couldn't help <i>that</i>, could I? So I told my chauffeur to ask +for River Orchard Cottage—the address on Robert's note introducing Miss +Arnold.</p> + +<p>Everyone seemed to know the place. It was half a mile out of the +village, and you went to it up a side road: a very old cottage altered +and modernized. The name was old, too: it really was an orchard, and it +was really on the river. That was what half a dozen people informed us +in a breath, and they would have added much information about Lorillard +himself if I'd cared to hear. But all I wanted to learn about him from +them was whether he had gone away. He hadn't. He had been seen out +walking the day before.</p> + +<p>"I <i>told</i> you so!" I said to myself.</p> + +<p>As the car slowed down and stopped before a white gate I seemed to lose +my identity for a moment. It became merged with that of Joyce Arnold. I +felt as if she—the <i>real</i> Joyce—had raced here in some winged vehicle +of thousand-spirit power, travelling far faster than any road-bound +earthly car, and, having waited for me, now slipped into my skin.</p> + +<p>The sight of that gate made my heart beat as it must have made hers beat +every day when she came in the morning to work. Yes! As I laid my hand +on the latch I wasn't my somewhat blasée and sophisticated self: I was +the girl to whom this place was Paradise.</p> + +<p>The white gate was flanked by two tall clipped yews. Inside, a wide path +of irregular paving-stones, with grass and flowers sprouting between, +led to a low thatched cottage—oh, but a glorified cottage: a cottage +that looked as if it had died and gone to heaven! The flagged path had +tubs on either side. In them grew funny little Dutch treelets shaped +like birds and animals of different sorts; and the lawn kept all the +noble, gnarled giants that once had made it an orchard. The cottage was +yellow, like cottages in Devonshire, and the old thatch had the gray +satin sheen of chinchilla. A huge magnolia was trained over the front, +and climbing roses and wisteria, all in the sere and yellow leaf or bare +now; but I could picture the place in spring, when the diamond-paned bow +windows sparkled through a canopy of flowers, when the great apple trees +were like a pink-and-white sunrise of blossom, and underneath spread a +carpet of forget-me-nots and tulips.</p> + +<p>How sweet must have been the air then, how blue the river background, +and how melodious the low song of a distant weir!</p> + +<p>To-day, the air was faintly acrid with the scent of bonfire smoke—the +odour of autumn; and the sounds of wind and water over the weir were sad +as a song of homesickness.</p> + +<p>I tapped an old-fashioned knocker upon a low green door. An elderly maid +appeared. I saw by the bleak glint of a pale eye that she meant to say, +"Not at home," and hastened to forestall her.</p> + +<p>"See if Captain Lorillard is in, and if so tell him that Princess di +Miramare has come from town on purpose for a talk with him," I flung in +the stolid face.</p> + +<p>There was no answer to that except obedience! The woman left me waiting +in a delightful little square hall furnished with a very few, very +beautiful, old things. And in a minute Robert Lorillard almost bounded +out of a room into which the maid had vanished.</p> + +<p>It was the first time we had seen each other since the day he married +June Dana.</p> + +<p>I had sat down on a cushioned chest in the hall. At sight of him I +jumped up, and meaning to hold out a hand, found myself holding out two! +He took both, pressed them, and without speaking we looked long at each +other. For both of us the past had come alive.</p> + +<p>He was the same, yet not the same. Certainly not less handsome, but +changed, as all men who have been through the war are changed—anyhow, +imaginative men. Though he had been back from the Front for over a year +(he was invalided out after his last wound, just before the Armistice) +the tan wasn't off his face yet, perhaps never would be. There were a +few lines round his eyes and a few silver threads in his black hair. He +smiled at me; but it was the smile of a man who has suffered, and known +a hell of loneliness.</p> + +<p>It was Robert who spoke first, saying entirely commonplace things in the +beautiful voice that used to thrill London. He was so glad to see me! +How nice it was of me to come! Then, suddenly, he remembered something. +I could <i>see</i> him remembering. He remembered that he was supposed to be +away.</p> + +<p>"I ought to be in France," he said. "All my arrangements are made to go. +Yet I haven't got off. I'm glad now that I haven't."</p> + +<p>"So am I, very glad," I echoed. "I should have been too disappointed! +But—I <i>felt</i> you wouldn't be gone."</p> + +<p>He looked somewhat startled.</p> + +<p>"I always was a procrastinator," he said. "Come into my study, won't +you?"</p> + +<p>Still holding me by the hand he led me like a child into the room out of +which he had shot—an adorable room, with a beamed ceiling and +diamond-paned windows looking under trees to the river. In front of his +desk—where he could glance up for inspiration as he wrote—was a +life-sized portrait of June, by Sargent; June in the gray dress and hat +she had worn the day she promised—no, <i>offered</i>—to marry Robert.</p> + +<p>"You see!" he said, with a slight gesture toward the picture, with its +bunched red-bronze hair and brilliant eyes of blue, "this is where I sit +and work."</p> + +<p>"And where used Joyce Arnold to sit and work?" something in me blurted +out.</p> + +<p>The man winced—just visibly—no more. His eyes flashed to mine a kind +of challenge. There was sudden anger in it, and pleading as well. Then, +of course, I <i>knew</i>—all I had come to find out. And he must have known +that I knew!</p> + +<p>But I'd come for a great deal more than finding out.</p> + +<p>I don't think I'm a coward, yet I was dreadfully frightened—in a blue +funk of doing or saying the wrong thing at a moment when it might be +"now or never." My knees felt like badly poached eggs with no toast to +repose upon. I lost my head a little, and what I did I didn't do really, +because it did itself.</p> + +<p>I looked as scared as I felt, and gasped: "Oh, <i>Robert</i>!" (I'd never +called him "Robert" to his face before; only behind his back.)</p> + +<p>My face of fright deflected his rage. You can't be furious with a +quivering jelly! But he didn't speak. The challenge in his eyes softened +to reproach. Then he looked at the portrait.</p> + +<p>"Miss Arnold sat where she, too, could see June," he answered quietly.</p> + +<p>"Poor, poor Joyce!" I said. "And poor you!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, I mean—and I, too, can see June while I say it!—I mean that you +are making a terrible mistake. Oh, Robert Lorillard, don't pretend not +to understand. We're not two strangers fencing! I'm not just a bold +creature rushing in where angels fear to tread. I know!—I <i>have</i> rushed +in, but I'm not bold. I'm frightened to death. Only—I had to come. +Every day I see that glorious girl breaking her heart. She hasn't said a +word, or looked a look, or wept a weep. She's a <i>soldier</i>. But she's +like a lost soul turned out of Paradise. The more I got to know of her +the more I felt you <i>couldn't</i> have sent her away and found another +place for her because you were bored. So I came to see you. And you +needn't mind my knowing the real reason you sent her out of your house. +I won't tell her. If any one does that it must be you. And it <i>ought</i> to +be you. You love each other. You belong to each other. You'd be divinely +happy together. You're wretched apart."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> say that?" Robert exclaimed, when by sheer force of lungs I'd +made him hear me through. "You—June's friend!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It's because I was her friend, and knew her so well, that I want +you to listen to your own heart; for if you don't, you'll break Joyce +Arnold's. June wouldn't want you to sacrifice your two lives on the +shrine of her memory. She loved happiness, herself. And she liked other +people to be happy."</p> + +<p>Robert's eyes lit, whether with joy or anger I couldn't tell.</p> + +<p>"You think June would be willing to have me marry another woman?" he +said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, if you loved the woman. And you do love her. It would be +useless to tell me you don't."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to tell you I don't. I've tried not to. I hoped she +didn't care."</p> + +<p>"She does. Desperately, frightfully. I do believe it's killing her."</p> + +<p>"God! And she saved my life. Elizabeth, I'd give mine for her, a dozen +times over, but——"</p> + +<p>"What she needs is for you to give it <i>to</i> her, not for her: give it +once and for all, to have and to hold while your heart's in your body."</p> + +<p>I fired advice at him like bullets from a Maxim gun, and every bullet +reached its billet. I was so carried away by my wish for joy to rise +from tragedy that I hardly knew what I said, yet I felt that I had +caught Lorillard and carried him with me. The next thing I definitely +knew with my mere brain, I was sitting down with elbows on Robert's +desk, facing him as he leaned toward me. My whole self was a listening +Ear, while he told—as a man hypnotized might tell the hypnotizer—the +tale of his acquaintance with Joyce Arnold.</p> + +<p>I'd already learned from his letter and from words she had let drop that +Joyce had nursed him in a hospital in France, when she was "doing her +bit" as a V. A. D. But she had been silent about the life-saving +episode, which had won for her a decoration and Robert Lorillard's deep +admiration and gratitude.</p> + +<p>It seemed that during an air raid, when German machines were bombing the +hospital, Joyce had in her ward three officers just operated upon, and +too weak to walk. A bomb fell and killed one of these as Joyce and +another nurse were about to move his cot into the next ward. Then, in a +sudden horror of darkness and noise of destroying aeroplanes, she had +carried Robert in her arms to a place of comparative safety. After that +she had returned to her own ward and got the other man who lay in his +cot, though her fellow nurse had been struck down, wounded or dead.</p> + +<p>"How she did it I've never known, or she either," said Lorillard, +dreaming back into the past. "She's tall and strong, of course, and at +that time I was reduced to a living skeleton. Still, even in my bones +I'm a good deal bigger than she is. The weight must have been enough to +crush her, yet she carried me from one ward to another, in the dark, +when the light had been struck out. And the wound in my side never bled +a drop. It was like a miracle."</p> + +<p>"'Spect she loved you lots already, without quite knowing it," I told +him. "There've been miracles going on in the world ever since Christ, +and they always will go on, because love works them, and <i>only</i> love. At +least, that's <i>my</i> idea! And I don't believe God would have let Joyce +work that one, the way she did, if He hadn't meant her love to wake love +in you."</p> + +<p>"If I could think so," said Robert, "it would make all the difference; +for I've been fighting my own heart with the whole strength of my soul, +and it's been a hard struggle. I felt it would be such a hideous +treachery to June—my beautiful June, who gave herself to me as a +goddess might to a mortal!—the meanest ingratitude to let another woman +take her place when her back is turned—even such a splendid woman as +Joyce Arnold."</p> + +<p>"I know just how you feel," I humoured him. "You remember, I was with +June when she threw herself into your arms and offered to marry you. You +were in love with her, and you'd never dreamed till that minute there +was any hope. But that was a different love from this, I'm sure, because +no two girls could be more different, one from another, than June Dana +and Joyce Arnold. Your love for June was just glorious romance. Perhaps, +if she'd lived, and you and she had passed years together as husband and +wife, the wonderful colours of the glory would have faded a little. She +tired so of every-day things. But Joyce is born to be the companion of a +man she loves, and she would never tire or let him tire. You and June +hardly had enough time together to realize that you were married. And +it's over three years and a half since she—since the gods who loved her +let her die young. She can't come to this world again. She basked in joy +herself; and she won't grudge it to you, if she knows. And for you, joy +and Joyce are one, for the rest of both your lives."</p> + +<p>Lorillard sprang up suddenly and seized my hands.</p> + +<p>"Portia come back to life and judgment—I believe you're right!" he +cried. "Take me to town with you. Take me to Joyce!"</p> + +<p>As we stood, thrilled, hand in hand, the door opened. The same servant +who had let me in announced acidly: "<i>Another</i> lady to see you, sir."</p> + +<p>The lady in question had come so near the door that she must have seen +us before we could start apart.</p> + +<p>I knew her at first glance: Opal Fawcett.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIC" id="CHAPTER_IIIC"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE CHAIR AT THE SAVOY</h3> + + +<p>It was five years since I'd seen Opal Fawcett—for the first and last +time, that day I went to her house with June.</p> + +<p>Then she had gleamed wraithlike in the purple dusk of her purple room, +with its purple-shaded lamps. Now she stood in full daylight, against +the frank background of a country cottage wall. Yet she was still a mere +film of a woman. She seemed to carry her own eerie effect with her +wherever she went, as the heroines of operas are accompanied by their +special spot-light and <i>leitmotif</i>.</p> + +<p>Whether the servant was untrained, or spiteful because a long-standing +rule had been broken in my favour, I can't tell. But I'm sure that, if +he'd been given half a chance, Robert would have made some excuse not to +see Opal. There she was, however, on the threshold, and looking like one +of those "Dwellers on the Threshold" you read of in psychic books.</p> + +<p>As he had no invisible cloak, and couldn't crawl under a sofa, poor +Robert was obliged to say pleasantly, "How do you do?"</p> + +<p>Standing back a little, trying to look about two inches tall instead of +five foot ten, I watched the greeting. I wanted to judge from it, if I +could, to what extent the old acquaintance had been kept up. But I might +have saved myself waste of brain tissue. Robert was anxious to leave no +mystery.</p> + +<p>"Princess," he said, hastily, when he had taken his guest's slim hand in +its gray glove, "Princess, I think you must have heard of Miss Opal +Fawcett."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. And we have met—once," I replied.</p> + +<p>Opal's narrow gray eyes turned to me—not without reluctance I thought.</p> + +<p>"I remember well," she murmured, in her plaintive voice. "I never forget +a face. You were Miss Courtenaye then. Lately I've been hearing of you +from Miss Arnold, who used to be my secretary, and is now yours."</p> + +<p>I was thankful she didn't bring in <i>June's</i> name!</p> + +<p>"Miss Fawcett and I have known each other a good many years," Robert +hurried on. "She was once in a play with me, before she found her real +<i>métier</i>. She kindly comes to see me now and then, when she can take a +day off."</p> + +<p>"I want to bid you good-bye—if you are really going out of England," +Opal said.</p> + +<p>She had ceased to look at me now, but I went on looking hard at her. She +was in what might be a spirit conception of a motor costume: smoke gray +velvet, and yards of long, floating veil shot from gray to mauve. She +wore a close toque with two little jutting Mercury wings, from behind +which those yards of unnecessary chiffon fell. She had a narrow oval +face, which Nature and (I thought) Art combined to make pale as pearl. +Her hair, pushed forward by the toque, was so colourless a brown that it +looked like thick shadow. She had a beautifully cut, delicate nose, but +her lips were thin and the upper one rather long and flat, otherwise she +would have been pretty. Even as it was she had a kind of fascination, +and I thought her the most graceful, willowy creature I'd ever seen.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Robert, "as it happens I've put off going abroad, through a +kind of mental laziness. But in the ordinary course of events you'd have +come to-day only to find me gone—which would have been a pity. When I +answered your letter, I told you——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I <i>felt</i> you'd still be here," she cut him short. "Apparently +the Princess had the same premonition."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I just happened to be passing," I fibbed, "and took my chance. +Fortunately, I came in the nick of time to give Captain Lorillard a lift +to town in my car. It will save him a journey by train."</p> + +<p>"Then I am in the nick of time, too!" said Opal. "If I'd been ten +minutes later I might have missed him. I felt <i>that</i>, too! I told my +taxi man to drive at least as fast as the legal limit."</p> + +<p>I guessed she was longing to get Robert to herself, and that he was glad +there was no chance of it. Was he <i>really</i> going abroad? she wanted to +know. Or only just to London for a change?</p> + +<p>Robert was restive under her uncanny questionings, but answered that he +wasn't quite sure about the future. Travelling in France and Italy +seemed to be disagreeable at the moment. Passports, too, were a bother. +He'd be more certain of his plans in a few days, and would let her know.</p> + +<p>Opal betrayed no crude emotion. Yet I was sure that, under her +restrained manner—soft as a gentle breeze on a summer night—she would +have enjoyed stamping her foot and having hysterics. Instead, she asked +Robert about a psychic play she wanted him to write (he hadn't written a +line of it!), told him a little news concerning people they both knew, +and bethought herself that she "mustn't keep us."</p> + +<p>Not more than twenty minutes after she had floated in Miss Fawcett +floated forth again. Robert took her to her taxi, and then could hardly +wait to get off in my car. As for me, I'd forgotten all about the +Duchess. We chose the longer of the two roads to London, hoping to miss +Opal; but soon passed her taxi going at a leisurely pace. The Wraith +must have had another of her mystic "feelings," and counted on our +choice of that turning!</p> + +<p>"She says she has 'helpers' from beyond," Robert explained, when we were +flying on, far ahead. "She asks their advice, and they tell her what to +do in daily life. She wanted to provide me with one or two, but I wasn't +'taking any.' Not that I'm a convinced materialist, or that I don't +believe the dark veil can ever be lifted—I'm rather inclined the other +way round—but I prefer to manage my own affairs without 'helpers' I've +never known or seen on earth. Of course, it would be different if——Oh, +you know what I mean. But even then—well, I should be afraid of being +deceived. It's better not to begin anything like that when you can't be +sure."</p> + +<p>"Did Opal Fawcett ever try to persuade you to—to——?" Courage failed +me. But Robert understood only too well what was in my mind.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she did," he admitted. "She wrote me—after—that awful thing +happened. I hadn't heard from her for a long time till then. I'd almost +forgotten her existence. She said in the letter that June's spirit had +come to her with a message for me."</p> + +<p>"<i>Cheek!</i>" I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm afraid that's rather the way I felt about it, though probably +Opal meant well, and a lot of people think she's wonderful. Several +friends begged me in urgent letters to go to Opal Fawcett: assured me +she'd given them indescribable comfort, put them in touch with those +they loved who'd 'passed on.' But somehow I couldn't be persuaded, +Princess. A voice inside me always used to say: 'Why should June want to +talk to you through Opal Fawcett? If she can come back, why shouldn't +she speak with you direct, instead of through a third person?'"</p> + +<p>"That's how I should have argued it out in your place," I agreed. +"And—and June never——?"</p> + +<p>"No. She never came, never made me realize her near presence, never +seemed to influence me in favour of Opal—though Opal didn't give up +till months had passed. When she first came after writing to say she +must see me, it was to beg me to visit her for <i>June's sake</i>. Afterward, +when she saw she was making me uncomfortable, she stopped her +persuasions. Since then—fairly often when Joyce Arnold was here—she +has turned up at the cottage: sometimes just for a friendly chat like an +ordinary human being (though I never feel she is one), sometimes to +discuss that 'psychic play'—as she calls it—an idea of hers she wants +me to work out for the stage."</p> + +<p>"Is it a good idea?" I wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Mysterious and dramatic at the same time. Yet I've always made +excuses. I don't fancy collaborating with Miss Fawcett, though that may +sound ungrateful."</p> + +<p>It didn't, to my ears, especially as Opal's object seemed transparent as +the depths of her own crystal. Of course she was still in love with +Robert, and had seized first one chance, then another, of getting into +touch with him. I was rather sorry for her, in a vague, impersonal way; +for to love Robert Lorillard and lose him would hurt. I could realize +that, without the trouble and pain of being seriously in love with him +myself.</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing," I thought, "that Joyce Arnold's stopping with me at +this time and not with Opal Fawcett! It would be as much as the girl's +life is worth to be engaged to Robert in <i>that</i> house!"</p> + +<p>Could Opal suspect, I wondered, the truth about the broken love story? +Somehow I thought not. I might be mistaken, but the rather patronizing +way in which she'd spoken of Joyce didn't seem like that of a jealous +woman. If Joyce and she had got upon each other's nerves lately because +of Robert, I imagined that suspicion had been on the other side. Joyce +would have been more than human if she could go on accepting hospitality +from a woman who so plainly showed her love for Robert Lorillard.</p> + +<p>We raced back to London, for I feared that Robert's mood might change +for the worse—that an autumn chill of remorse might shiver through his +veins.</p> + +<p>All was well, however—very well. I made him talk to me of Joyce nearly +the whole way; and at the end of the journey I had him waiting for her +in the drawing room of my flat before he quite knew what had happened to +him.</p> + +<p>My secretary was in her own room, writing her own letters as she'd said +she would do.</p> + +<p>"Back already, Princess?" she exclaimed, jumping up when I'd knocked and +been told to come in. "Why, you've hardly more than had time to get +there and back, it seems, to say nothing of lunch!"</p> + +<p>"I haven't had any lunch," I said.</p> + +<p>"No lunch? Poor darling! Why——"</p> + +<p>"I was too busy," I broke in. "And I wanted to get back."</p> + +<p>"Only this morning you were longing to go!"</p> + +<p>"I know! It does sound chameleon-like. But second thoughts are often +best. Come into the drawing room and you'll see that mine were—much +best."</p> + +<p>She came, in all innocence. I opened the door. I thrust her in. I +exclaimed: "Bless you, my children!" and shut the two in together.</p> + +<p>This was taking it boldly for granted that Joyce was as much in love +with Robert as he with her. But why be early Victorian and ignore the +lovely, naked truth, instead of late Georgian and save beating round the +bush for both of the lovers?</p> + +<p>Those words of mine figuratively flung them into each other's arms, +where—according to my idea—the sooner they were the better!</p> + +<p>I should think if my words missed fire, their eyes didn't miss, judging +from what I'd seen in hers when speaking of him, in his when speaking of +her! And certainly the pair of them couldn't have wasted <i>much</i> time in +foolish preliminaries; for in about half an hour Joyce appeared in the +dining room, where I was eating an <i>immense</i> luncheon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Princess!" she breathed, hovering just over the threshold; and +instantly Robert loomed behind her. "It's too wonderful. It can't be +true."</p> + +<p>Robert didn't speak. He merely gazed. Years had rolled off him since +morning. He looked an inspired boy, with a dash of silver powder on his +hair. Slipping his arm round Joyce's waist he brought her to me. As I +sat at the table they both knelt down close to my feet, and each +earnestly kissed one of my hands! It would have been a beautiful effect +if I hadn't choked, trying wildly to bolt a mouthful of something, and +had to be slapped on the back. That choke was a disguised blessing, +however, for it made us all laugh when I got my breath; and when you're +on the top pinnacle of a great emotion, it's a safe outlet to laugh!</p> + +<p>My suggestion was, that nobody but our three selves should share the +secret, and that the wedding—to be hurried on—should be sprung as a +surprise upon the public. Robert and Joyce agreed on general principles; +but each made one exception.</p> + +<p>Robert said that he felt it would be "caddish" to make a bid for +happiness without telling the Duchess of Stane what was in his mind. She +couldn't reasonably object to his marrying again, and wouldn't object, +he argued; but if he didn't confide in her she'd have a right to think +him a coward.</p> + +<p>Joyce's one exception—of all people on earth!—was Opal Fawcett! And +when I shrieked "Why?" she'd only say that she "owed a debt of gratitude +to Opal." Therefore Opal had a right to know before any one else that +she was engaged.</p> + +<p>The girl didn't add "to Robert Lorillard," but a flash of intuition like +a searchlight showed me the meaning behind her words. Living in the same +house with Opal, eating Opal's bread and salt (very little else, I +daresay!), Joyce had guessed Opal's secret—or had been forced to hear a +confidence. That, and nothing else, was the reason why she wouldn't be +engaged to Robert "behind Opal's back!"</p> + +<p>Well, I hope I'm not precisely a coward myself, but I didn't envy Joyce +Arnold and Robert Lorillard their self-appointed tasks. They were +carried out, however, with soldierly promptness the day after the +engagement, and nothing terrific happened—or at least, was reported.</p> + +<p>"Opal was very sweet," Joyce announced, vouchsafing no details of the +interview.</p> + +<p>"The—Duchess was very sensible," was Robert's description of what +passed between him and his exalted ex-mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you asked them not to tell?" was my one question.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Opal <i>won't</i> tell!" exclaimed Joyce; and I believed that she was +right. According to Opal's view, <i>telling</i> things only helped them to +happen.</p> + +<p>"I begged the Duchess to say nothing to anybody," answered Robert. Our +eyes met, and we smiled—Robert rather ruefully.</p> + +<p>Of course the Duchess did the contrary of what she'd been begged to do, +and said something to everybody. In less than a week the world was aware +that Robert Lorillard, its lost idol, was coming back to life; that he +who had been for a few months the husband of wonderful June Dana—the +Duchess of Stane's daughter—was engaged to a "V.-A.-D. girl who'd +nursed him in the war, and had been his secretary or something."</p> + +<p>But, after all, the talk mattered very little to those most concerned. +They were divinely happy, the two who were talked about, though they +would have liked to be let alone. I suppose, for Robert, it was a +different kind of happiness from that which the condescension of his +goddess had given him: less dazzling perhaps; more like the warm +sweetness of early spring and its flowers, compared with a tropical +summer of scented magnolias and daturas. June had been a goddess +stepping down from her golden pedestal, and Joyce was a loving, adoring +human girl, ready for all that wifehood might mean.</p> + +<p>Robert shut up the little place by the river (where they planned to live +later), and stopped at an hotel in town, though he had never let the +flat in St. James's Square, the scene of his engagement to June.</p> + +<p>I began helping Joyce choose a trousseau that could be got together in +haste, for they were to go to the south of France and Italy for their +honeymoon; and one day, after shopping the whole morning and part of the +afternoon, we were to meet Robert for tea at the Savoy.</p> + +<p>You know that soft amber light there is in the big <i>foyer</i> of the Savoy +at tea-time, like the beautiful subdued light in dreams? Since the war +it brings back to me ghosts of all the jolly, handsome boys one used to +see there, whose bodies sleep now under the poppies and <i>bluets</i> of +France; and as Joyce and I walked in, rather late, the thought of those +boys and those days came over me with the sobbing music of the violins.</p> + +<p>"It's like the beat, beat of invisible hearts," I said to myself. And +suddenly I was sad.</p> + +<p>There sat Robert, waiting for us. He had taken a table for three, and +one of the chairs, I noticed, was a noble one covered with velvet +brocade—a chair like a Queen's throne.</p> + +<p>He rose at sight of us, and I saw that a little woman at a table close +by was looking at him with intense interest. In fact, her interest in +Robert gave her a kind of fictitious interest of her own, in my eyes, +she seemed so absorbed in him.</p> + +<p>She was one of those women you'd know to be American if you met them +crawling up the North Pole; and as she was in travelling dress I fancied +that it was not long since she had landed.</p> + +<p>"She probably admired him on the stage when she was here before the war, +and hasn't been in England since till now," I thought, to be interrupted +by Robert himself.</p> + +<p>"That armchair's for you, Princess," he said, as I was going to slip +into a smaller one and leave the "throne" for the bride-elect.</p> + +<p>For an instant we disputed; then I was about to yield, laughing, when +the little woman in brown jumped up with a gasp.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you <i>can't</i> sit in that chair!" she exclaimed. "Don't you +<i>see</i>—there's someone there?"</p> + +<p>We all three started and stared, thinking, of course, that the creature +was mad. But her face looked sane, and pathetically pleading.</p> + +<p>"Do forgive me!" she begged. "I forget that everyone doesn't see what I +see. <i>They</i> are so clear to me always. I'm not insane. But I couldn't +let you sit in that chair. You may have heard of me. I am Priscilla Hay +Reardon, of Boston. I can't at this moment give you the name of the +lovely girl—the lady in the chair—but she would tell me, I think, if I +asked her. I must describe her to you, though, she's so beautiful, and +she so wants you all—no, not <i>all</i>; only the gentleman—to recognize +her. She has red-brown hair, in glossy waves, and immense blue eyes, +like violet flame. She has a dainty nose; full, drooping red lips, the +upper one very short and haughty; a cleft in her chin; wonderful +complexion, with rosy cheeks, the colour high under the eyes; a long +throat; a splendid figure, though slim; and she is dressed in gray, with +an ostrich plume trailing over a gray hat that shades her forehead. She +has a string of gray pearls round her neck—<i>black</i> pearls she says they +are; she wears a chiffon scarf held by an emerald brooch, and on her +hand is a ring with a marvellous square emerald."</p> + +<p>Robert, Joyce, and I were speechless. The description of June was +exact—June in the gray dress and hat she had worn the day we went to +Robert's rooms, the day they were engaged; the dress he had made her +wear when Sargent painted her portrait.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVC" id="CHAPTER_IVC"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE SPIRIT OF JUNE</h3> + + +<p>Before one of us could utter a word, the little woman hurried on.</p> + +<p>"Ah, the lovely girl has begun to talk very fast now! I can hardly +understand what she says, because she's half crying. It's to +you she speaks, sir; I don't know your name! But, yes—it's +<i>Robert</i>... 'Robert!' the girl is sobbing. 'Have you forgotten me +already?'... Do those words convey any special impression to your mind, +sir, or has this spirit mistaken you for someone else?"</p> + +<p>Robert was ghastly, and Joyce looked as if she were going to faint. Even +I—to whom this scene meant less than to them—even I was flabbergasted. +That is the <i>one</i> word! If you don't know what it means, you're lucky, +because in that case you've never been it. I should translate from +experience: "<span class="smcap">Flabbergasted</span>; astounded and bewildered at the same time, +with a slight dash of premature second childhood thrown in."</p> + +<p>I heard Robert answer in a strained voice:</p> + +<p>"The words do convey an impression to my mind. But—this is too +sacred—too private a subject. We can't discuss it here. I——"</p> + +<p>"I know!" the woman breathlessly agreed. "<i>She</i> feels it, too. She +wouldn't have chosen a place like this. She's explaining—how for a long +time she's tried to reach you, but couldn't make you understand. Now +I've given her the chance. She's suffering terribly because of the +barrier between you. I pity her. I wish I could help! Maybe I could if +you'd care to come to my rooms. I'm staying in this hotel. I've just +arrived in England from Boston, the first visit in my life. I haven't +been in London much more than two hours now! I've got a little suite +upstairs."</p> + +<p>If she'd got a "little suite" at the Savoy, the woman must have money. +She couldn't be a common or garden medium cadging for mere fees. +Besides, no common or garden person, an absolute stranger to Robert +Lorillard, met by sheer accident, could have described June Dana and +that gray dress of four years ago; her jewels, too! Robert's name she +might have picked up if Joyce or I had let it drop by accident; but the +last was inexplicable. The thing that had happened—that was +happening—seemed to me miraculous, and tragic. I felt that Fate had +seized the bright bird of happiness and would crush it to death, unless +something intervened. And what could intervene? I struggled not to see +the future as a foregone conclusion. But I could see it in no other way +except by shutting my eyes.</p> + +<p>Robert turned to Joyce. He didn't say to her, "What am I to do?" Yet she +read the silent question and answered it.</p> + +<p>"Of course you must go," she said. "It—whether it's genuine or not, +you'll have to find out. You can't let it drop."</p> + +<p>"No, I can't let it drop," he echoed. He looked stricken. He, too, saw +the dark, fatal hand grasping the white bird.</p> + +<p>He had loved June passionately, but the beautiful body he'd held in his +arms lay under that sundial by the riverside. Her spirit was of another +world. And he'd not have been a human, hot-blooded man, if the +reproachful wraith of an old love could be more to him than the brave +girl who'd saved his life and won his soul back from despair.</p> + +<p>I saw, as if through their eyes, the thing they faced together, those +two, and suddenly I rebelled against that figure of Destiny. I was wild +to save the white bird before its wings had ceased to flutter. I didn't +know at all what to do. But I had to do something. I simply <i>had</i> to!</p> + +<p>Miss Reardon rose.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to come with me now?" she asked, addressing Robert, not +Joyce or me. She ignored us, but not in a rude way. Indeed, there was a +direct and rather childlike simplicity in her manner, which impressed +one with her genuineness. I was afraid—horribly afraid—and almost +sure, that she <i>was</i> genuine. I respected her against my will, because +she didn't worry to be polite; but at the same time I didn't intend to +be shunted. I determined to be in at the death—or whatever it was!</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to invite us, too?" I asked. "If the—the apparition +is the spirit we think we recognize, she and I were dear friends."</p> + +<p>Miss Reardon's round, mild eyes searched my face. Then they turned as if +to consult another face which only they could see. It was creepy to +watch them gaze steadily at something in that big, <i>empty</i> armchair.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she agreed. "The lady—Lady——Could it be 'June'?—It sounds +like June—says it's true you were her friend. But she says '<i>Not the +other.</i>' The other mustn't come."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't wish to come," Joyce protested. She was waxen pale. "I'll go +home," she said to Robert. "Don't bother about me. Don't think about me +at all. Afterward you can—tell me whatever you care to tell."</p> + +<p>"No!" Robert and I spoke together, moved by the same thought. "Don't go +home. Wait here for us."</p> + +<p>"Very well," the girl consented, more to save argument at such a moment, +I think, than because she wished to do what we asked.</p> + +<p>She sank down in one of the chairs we had taken and Robert and I +followed Miss Reardon. She appeared to think that we were sure to know +her name quite well. I didn't know it, for I was a stranger in the world +of Spiritualism. But her air of being modestly proud of the name seemed +to prove that her reputation as a medium was good—that she'd never been +found out in any fraud. And going up in the lift the words spoke +themselves over and over in my head: "She couldn't know who Robert is, +if it's true she's never been in England before, and if she has come to +London to-day. At least, I don't see how she could."</p> + +<p>In silence we let Miss Reardon lead us to the sitting room of her suite +on the third floor. It was small but pretty, and smelt of La France +roses, though none were visible, nor were there any other flowers there. +Robert and I looked at each other as this perfume rushed to meet us. La +France roses were June's favourites, and belonged to the month of her +birth. Robert had sent them to her often, especially when they were out +of season and difficult to get.</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i> is here, waiting for us!" exclaimed Miss Reardon. "Oh, <i>surely</i> +you must see her—on the sofa, with her feet crossed—such pretty +diamond buckles on her shoes!—and her lap full of roses. She holds up +one rose, she kisses it, to you—Robert—Robert—some name that begins +with L. I can't hear it clearly. But Robert is enough."</p> + +<p>Yes, Robert was enough—more than enough!</p> + +<p>Miss Reardon asked in an almost matter-of-fact way if he would like to +sit down on the sofa beside June, who wished him to do so. He didn't +answer; but he sat down, and his eyes stared at vacancy. I knew from +their expression, however, that he saw nothing.</p> + +<p>"What will be the next thing?" I wondered.</p> + +<p>I had not long to wait to find out!</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i> asks me to take your hand and hers. Then she will talk to you +through me," Miss Reardon explained. As she spoke, she drew up a small +chair in front of the sofa, leaned forward, took Robert's right hand in +hers, and held out the left, as if grasping another hand—a hand unseen.</p> + +<p>As the medium did this, with thin elbows resting on thin knees, she +closed her eyes. A look of <i>blankness</i> came over her face like a mist. I +can't describe it in any other way. Presently her chin dropped slightly. +She seemed to sleep.</p> + +<p>Neither Robert nor I had uttered a word since we entered the room. We +waited tensely.</p> + +<p>Just what I expected to happen I hardly know, for I had no experience of +"manifestations" or séances. But what did happen surprised me so that I +started, and just contrived to suppress a gasp.</p> + +<p>A voice. It did not sound like Miss Reardon's voice, with its rather +pleasant American accent. It was a creamy English voice, young and +full-noted. "<i>June!</i>" I whispered under my breath, where I sat across +the length of the room from the sofa. I glanced at Robert. There was +surprise on his face, and some other emotion deep as his heart. But it +was not joy.</p> + +<p>"Dearest, have you forgotten me so soon?" the voice asked. "Speak to me! +It's I, your June."</p> + +<p>It was a wrench for Robert to speak, I know. There was the pull of +self-consciousness in the opposite direction—distaste for conversation +with the Invisible while alien eyes watched, alien ears listened. And +then, to reply as if to June, was virtually to admit that he believed in +her presence, that all doubt of the medium was erased from his mind. But +after a second's pause he obeyed the command.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I've not forgotten and I never can forget."</p> + +<p>"Yet you are engaged to marry this Joyce Arnold!" mourned the voice that +was like June's.</p> + +<p>I almost jumped out of my chair at the sound of Joyce's name. It was +another proof that the medium was genuine.</p> + +<p>Robert's tone as he answered was more convinced than before I thought. +And the youth had died out of his eyes. They looked old.</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to live all my life alone, now that I've lost you, +June?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Darling, you are not alone!" answered the voice. "I'm always with you. +I love you so much that I've chosen to stay near you, and be earth +bound, rather than lead my own life on the plane where I might be. I +thought you would want me here. I thought that some day, if I tried long +enough, you would feel my touch, you would see my face. After a while I +hoped I was succeeding. I looked at you from the eyes of my portrait in +your study. Now and then it seemed as if you <i>knew</i>. But then that girl +interfered. Oh, Robert, in giving up my progression from plane to plane +till you could join me, has the sacrifice been all in vain?"</p> + +<p>The voice wrung my heart. It shook as with a gust of fears. Its pleading +sent little stabs of ice through my veins. So what must Robert have +felt?</p> + +<p>"No, no! The sacrifice isn't in vain!" he cried. "I didn't know, I +didn't understand that those on the other side came back to us, and +cared for us in the same way they cared on earth. I am yours now and +always, June, of course. Order my life as you will."</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear one, I thank you!" The voice rose high in happiness. "I +felt you wouldn't fail me if I could only <i>reach</i> you, and at last my +prayer is answered. Nothing can separate us now through eternity if you +love me. You won't marry that girl?"</p> + +<p>"Not if it is against your wish, June. It must be that you see things +more clearly, where you are, than I can see them. If you tell me to +break my word to Joyce Arnold, I must—I will do so."</p> + +<p>"I tell you this, my dearest," said the voice. "If you do <i>not</i> break +with her, you and I are lost to each other for ever. When I chose to be +earth bound I staked everything on my belief in your love. Without it in +<i>full</i>, I shall drift—drift, through the years, through ages, I know +not how long, in expiation. Besides, I am not <i>dead</i>, I am more alive +than I was in what you call life. You are my husband, beloved, as much +as you ever were. Think what I suffer seeing another woman in your arms! +My capacity for suffering is increased a thousandfold—as is my capacity +for joy. If you make her your wife——"</p> + +<p>"I will not!" Robert choked. "I promise you that. Never shall you suffer +through me if I can help it."</p> + +<p>"Darling!" breathed the voice. "My husband! How happy you make me. This +is our true <i>marriage</i>—the marriage of spirits. Oh, do not let the +barrier rise between us again. Put Joyce Arnold out of your heart as +well as your life, and talk to me every day in future. Will you do +that?"</p> + +<p>"How can I to talk to you every day?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"As we are talking now. Through a medium. This one will not always be +near you. But there will be somebody. I've often tried to get word +through to you. I never could, because you wouldn't <i>believe</i>. Now you +believe, and we need not be parted again. You know the way to <i>open the +door</i>. It is never shut. It stands ajar. Remember!"</p> + +<p>"I will remember," Robert echoed. And his voice was sad as the sound of +the sea on a lonely shore at night. There was no warm happiness for him +in the opening of a door between two worlds. The loss of Joyce was more +to him than the gain of this spirit-wife who claimed him from far off as +all her own. It seemed to me that a released soul should have read the +truth in his unveiled heart. But perhaps it did read—and did not care.</p> + +<p>The voice was talking on.</p> + +<p>"I am repaid for everything now," it said. "My sacrifice is no +sacrifice. For to-day I must say good-bye. Power is leaving me. I have +felt too much. I must rest, and regain vitality—for to-morrow. +<i>To-morrow</i>, Robert, my Robert! By that time we can talk with no +restraint, for you will have parted with Joyce Arnold. After to-day you +will never see her again?"</p> + +<p>"No. After to-day I will never see her again, voluntarily, as that is +your wish."</p> + +<p>"Good! What time to-morrow will you talk with me?"</p> + +<p>"At any time you name."</p> + +<p>"At this same hour, then, in this same room."</p> + +<p>"So be it. If the medium consents."</p> + +<p>"I shall make her consent. And you and I will agree upon someone else to +bring us together, when she must go elsewhere, as I can see through her +mind that she soon must. Good-bye, dearest husband, for twenty-four long +hours. Yet it isn't really good-bye, for I am seldom far from you. Now +that you <i>know</i>, you will feel me near. I——"</p> + +<p>The voice seemed to fade. The last words were a faint whisper. The new +sentence died as it began. The medium's eyelids quivered. Her flat +breast rose and fell. The "influence" was gone!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VC" id="CHAPTER_VC"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE BARGAIN</h3> + + +<p>That night was one of the worst in my life. I was so fond of Robert +Lorillard, and I'd grown to love Joyce Arnold so well that the breaking +of their love idyll hurt as if it had been my own.</p> + +<p>Never shall I forget the hour when we three talked together at my flat +after that séance at the Savoy, or the look on those two faces as Robert +and Joyce agreed to part! Even I had acquiesced at first in that +decision—but only while I was still half stunned by the shock of the +great surprise, and thrilled by the seeming miracle. At sight of the two +I loved quietly giving each other up, making sacrifice of their hearts +on a cold altar, I had a revulsion of feeling.</p> + +<p>I jumped up, and broke out desperately.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it's true! Something <i>tells</i> me it isn't! Don't spoil +your lives without making sure."</p> + +<p>"How can we be surer than we are?" Robert asked. "You recognized June's +voice."</p> + +<p>"I <i>thought</i> then that I did," I amended. "I was excited. Now, I don't +trust my own impression."</p> + +<p>"But the perfume of La France roses? Even if the woman could have found +out other things, how should she know about a small detail like June's +favourite flower? How could she have the perfume already in her room +when we came—as if she were sure of our coming there—which of course +she couldn't have been," Robert argued.</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>see</i> how she could have been sure," I had to grant him. "I +don't see through any of it. But they're so deadly clever, these +people—the fraudulent ones, I mean. They couldn't impress the public as +they do if they weren't up to every trick. All I say is, <i>wait</i>. Don't +decide irrevocably yet. The way the voice talked didn't seem to me a bit +like June. Only the tones were like hers; and they might have been +imitated by anybody who'd known her, or who'd been coached by someone."</p> + +<p>"Dear Princess, you're so anxious for our happiness that I fear you're +thinking of impossible things. Who could have an object in parting Joyce +and me? I can think of no one. Still less could this stranger from +America have a motive, even if she lied, and really knew who I was +before she spoke to us at the Savoy."</p> + +<p>"I admit it does sound just as impossible as you say!" I agreed, +forlornly. "But things that <i>sound</i> impossible may be possible. And we +must find out. In justice to Joyce and yourself—even in justice to +June's spirit, which I <i>can't</i> think would be so selfish—we must find +out!"</p> + +<p>"What would you suggest?" Joyce asked rather timidly. But there was a +faint colour in her cheeks, like a spark in the ashes of hope.</p> + +<p>"Detectives!" I said. "Or rather <i>a</i> detective. I know a good man. He +served me very well once, when some of our family treasures disappeared +from Courtenaye Abbey, and it rather looked as if I'd stolen them +myself. He can learn without any shadow of doubt when Miss Reardon did +land, and when she came to London. Besides, he's sure to have colleagues +on the other side who can give him all sorts of details about the woman: +how she's thought of at home, whether she's ever been caught out as a +cheat, and so on. Will you both consent to that? Because if you will, +I'll 'phone to my man this moment."</p> + +<p>They did consent. At least, Robert did, for Joyce left the decision +entirely to him. She was so afraid, poor girl, of seeming determined to +<i>hold</i> him at any price, that she would hardly speak. As for Robert, +though he felt that I was justified in getting to the bottom of things, +I saw that he believed in the truth of the message he'd received. If it +were not the spirit of June who had come to command his allegiance, he +still had a right to his warm earthly happiness with Joyce Arnold. But +if it were indeed her spirit who claimed all he had to give for the rest +of life, it was a fair debt, and he would pay in full.</p> + +<p>I received the detective (my old friend Smith) alone, in another room, +when he came. The necessary discussion would have been torture for +Robert and intolerable for Joyce. When Smith left I had at least this +encouragement to give the two: it would be simple to learn what I wished +to learn about Miss Reardon, on both sides of the Atlantic.</p> + +<p>That was better than nothing. But it didn't make the dark watches of the +night less dark. I had an ugly presentiment that Smith, smart as he was, +would get hold of little to help us, if anything. Yet at the same time I +felt that there <i>was</i> something to get hold of—somewhere!</p> + +<p>If I hadn't implored them to wait, Joyce and Robert would have decided +to publish the news that their marriage (which somehow everyone knew +about!) would "not take place." This concession they did make to me; but +they agreed together that they mustn't meet. My cheerful flat felt like +a large grave fitted with all modern conveniences, when it had been +deprived of Robert. And Joyce trying to be normal and not to shed gloom +over me, her employer, was <i>too</i> agonizing!</p> + +<p>Robert didn't even write to Joyce. I suppose he couldn't trust himself. +But he wrote to me, and gave the history of his second interview with +Miss Reardon. June had come again, and had reminded him of incidents +about which, he said, "no outsider could possibly know."</p> + +<p>"I can't help believing now that there are more things in heaven and +earth than I'd dreamed of in my philosophy," he ended his letter. +"There's no getting round the fact that what I should have thought a +miracle has happened. The spirit of June has claimed me from the 'other +side.' And even if I were brutal enough, disloyal enough, to disown the +claim, to pretend to Joyce and myself that I <i>didn't</i> believe, neither +Joyce nor I could have a moment's happiness, married. She knows that as +well as I do. As my wife her life would be spoiled. June would always +stand between us, separating us one from the other. I think I should be +driven mad. Joyce's heart would be broken!</p> + +<p>"I've promised to talk with June through a medium every day. Miss +Reardon has to leave London in a fortnight, but June's voice asked me to +go to Opal Fawcett. You remember my telling you that Opal suggested this +long ago, saying that June wanted to get in touch with me? I wouldn't +hear of it then, because at that time I had no reason to believe in the +genuineness of visits from one world to another. Now it's different. I +shall go to Opal.</p> + +<p>"Tell Joyce that I'll write her to-night. It won't be a letter such as I +should wish to write. But she will understand."</p> + +<p>Yes, she would understand! One could always trust Joyce to understand, +even if she were on the rack!</p> + +<p>It was the next day—the third day after the unforgettable one at the +Savoy—when my tame detective brought his budget. He would have come +even sooner, he said, if there hadn't been a delay in the cable service.</p> + +<p>Miss Reardon, Smith learned, had never been exposed as an impostor. She +was respected personally, and had attained a certain amount of fame both +in Boston (where she lived) and New York. She had been several times +invited to visit England, but had never been able to accept until now. +She had arrived by the ship and at the time stated. When we met her at +the Savoy, she could not have been more than two hours in London. +Therefore her story seemed to be true in every detail, and what was +more, she had not been met at ship or train by any one.</p> + +<p>I simply <i>hated</i> poor dear little Smith. He ought to have nosed out +<i>something</i> against the woman! What are detectives <i>for</i>?</p> + +<p>"You've been an angel to fight for my happiness," Joyce said. "I adore +you for it. And so does Robert, I know—though he mustn't put such +feelings into words, or even <i>have</i> feelings if he can help it. There's +nothing more to fight about now. The best thing I can pray for is that +Robert may forget our—dream, and that he may be happy in this other +dream—of June."</p> + +<p>"And you?" I asked. "What prayer do you say for yourself? Do <i>you</i> pray +to forget?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" she answered. "I don't want to forget. I wouldn't forget, if I +could. You see, it wasn't a dream to me. It was—it always will be—the +best thing in my life—the glory of my life. In my heart I shall live it +all over and over again till I die. I don't mind suffering. I've seen so +much pain in the war, and the courage that went with it. I shall have my +roses—not La France; deep red roses they'll be, red as blood, and sharp +with thorns, but sweet as heaven. There!" and her voice changed. "Now +you know, Princess! We'll never speak of this again, because we don't +need to, do we?"</p> + +<p>"No—o," I agreed. "You're a grand girl, Joyce, worth two of——But +never mind! And I'll try to make you as happy as I can."</p> + +<p>She thanked me for that; she was always thanking me for something. Soon, +however, she broke the news that she must go away. She loved me and her +work, yet she couldn't stop in London; she just couldn't. Not as things +were. If Robert had been turning his back on England she might have +stayed. But his promise to communicate with June daily through Opal +bound him to London. Joyce thought that she might try India. She had +friends there in the Army and in the Civil Service. She might do useful +work as a nurse among the purdah women and their babies, where mortality +was very high, she'd heard. "I <i>must</i> be busy—busy every minute of the +day," she cried, hiding her anguish with that smile of hers which I'd +learned to love.</p> + +<p>What Robert had said to her in his promised letter, the only one he +wrote, she didn't tell. I knew no more than that it had been written and +received. Probably it wasn't an ideal letter for a girl to wear over her +heart, hidden under her dress. Robert would have felt it unfair to write +that kind of letter. All the same I'm sure that Joyce <i>did</i> wear it +there!</p> + +<p>As for me, I was absolutely <i>sick</i> about everything. I felt as if my two +dearest friends had been put in prison on a false charge, and as +though—if I hadn't cotton wool for a brain—I ought to be able to get +them out.</p> + +<p>"There's a clue to the labyrinth if I could see it," I told myself so +often that I was tired of the thought. And the most irritating part was +that now and then I seemed to catch a half glimpse of the clue dangling +back and forth like a thread of spider's web close to my eyes. But +invariably it was gone before I'd <i>really</i> caught sight of it. And all +the good that <i>concentrating</i> did was to bump my intelligence against +the pale image of Opal Fawcett.</p> + +<p>I didn't understand how Opal, even with the best—or worst—will in the +world, could have stage-managed this drama, though I should have liked +to think she had done it.</p> + +<p>Miss Reardon frankly admitted having heard of Opal (who hadn't heard of +her), among those interested in spiritism, during the last few years; +but as the American woman had never before been in England, and Opal had +never crossed to America, the Boston medium hardly needed to say that +she'd never met Miss Fawcett. As for correspondence, if there <i>were</i> a +secret between the pair, of course they'd both deny it. And so, though I +longed to fling a challenge to Opal, I saw that it would be stupid to +put the two women, if guilty, on their guard. Besides, how <i>could</i> they, +through any correspondence, have contrived the things that had happened?</p> + +<p>Suddenly, through the darkness of my doubts, shot a lightning flash: the +thought of Jim Courtenaye.</p> + +<p>Superficially judging, Sir James Courtenaye, wild man of the West, but +lately transplanted, appeared the last person to assist in working out a +psychic problem. All the same a great longing to prop myself against him +(figuratively!) overwhelmed me; and for fear the impulse might pass, I +wired at once:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Please come if you can. Wish to consult you.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Di Miramare.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p>Jim was, as usual, hovering between Courtenaye Coombe and Courtenaye +Abbey. There were hours between us, even by telegraph, and the best I +expected was an answer in the afternoon to my morning's message. But at +six o'clock his name was announced, and he walked into the drawing room +of my flat as large as life, or a size or two larger.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" I gasped. "You've <i>come</i>?"</p> + +<p>"You're not surprised, are you?" he retorted.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," I said. "I didn't suppose——"</p> + +<p>"Then you're not so brainy as I thought you were," said he. "Also you +didn't look at time-tables. What awful catastrophe has happened to you, +Elizabeth, to make you want to see me?"</p> + +<p>I couldn't help laughing, although I didn't feel in the least like +laughter; and besides, he had no right to call me Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>"Nothing has happened to <i>me</i>," I explained. "It's to somebody else——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, somebody you've been trying to 'brighten,' I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and failed," I confessed.</p> + +<p>He scowled.</p> + +<p>"A man?"</p> + +<p>"A man and his girl." Whereupon I emptied the whole story into the bowl +of Jim's intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Do you see light?" I asked at last.</p> + +<p>"No," he returned, stolidly. "I don't."</p> + +<p>Oh, how disappointed I was! I'd hardly known how much I'd counted on Jim +till I got that answer.</p> + +<p>"But I might find some," he added, when he'd watched the effect of his +words on me.</p> + +<p>"How?" I implored.</p> + +<p>"There's only one way, if any, to get the kind of light you want," said +Jim. "It might be a difficult way, and it might be a long one."</p> + +<p>"Yet you think light <i>could</i> be got? The kind of light I want?" I +clasped my hands and deliberately tried to look irresistible.</p> + +<p>"Who can tell? The one thing certain is, that trying would take all my +time away from everything else, maybe for weeks, maybe for months."</p> + +<p>His tone made my face feel the way faces look in those awful concave +mirrors: about three feet in length and three inches in width.</p> + +<p>"Then you won't undertake the task?" I quavered.</p> + +<p>"I don't say that," grudged Jim.</p> + +<p>"You <i>wouldn't</i> say it if you could meet Joyce Arnold," I coaxed. "She's +such a darling girl. Poor child, she's out now, pulling strings for a +job in India."</p> + +<p>"Meeting her wouldn't make any difference to me," said Jim. "It's for +you I'd try to bring off this stunt—if I tried at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then do it for me," I broke out.</p> + +<p>"That's what I was working up to," he replied. "I wouldn't say 'yes' and +I wouldn't say 'no' till I knew what you'd do for me in return if I +succeeded."</p> + +<p>"Why, I'd thank you a thousand times!" I cried. "I'd—I'd never forget +you as long as I live."</p> + +<p>"There's not much in that for me. I hate being thanked for things. And +what good would it do me to be remembered by you at a distance, perhaps +married to some beast or other?"</p> + +<p>"But if I marry I sha'n't marry a beast," I sweetly assured my +forty-fourth cousin four times removed.</p> + +<p>"I should think any man you married a beast, if he wasn't me," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" I breathed. "Surely <i>you</i> don't want to marry me!"</p> + +<p>"Surely I do," he retorted. "And what's more, you know it jolly well."</p> + +<p>"I don't."</p> + +<p>"You do. You've known it ever since that affair of the yacht. If you +hadn't, you wouldn't have asked me to hide the Scarlett kid. I knew then +that you knew. And you'd be a fool if you hadn't known—which you're +not."</p> + +<p>I said no more, because—I was found out! I <i>had</i> known. Only, I hadn't +let myself think about it much—until lately perhaps. But now and then I +<i>had</i> thought. I'd thought quite a good deal.</p> + +<p>When he had me silenced, Jim went on:</p> + +<p>"Just like a woman! You're willing to let me sacrifice all my +engagements and inclinations to start off on a wild-goose chase for you, +while you give nothing in return——"</p> + +<p>"But I would!" I cut in.</p> + +<p>"What would you give?"</p> + +<p>"What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"Yourself, of course."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"If you'll marry me in case I find out that someone's been playing a +devil's trick on Lorillard," said Jim, "I'll do—my damnedest! How's +that?"</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders, and looked debonair; which was easy, as my nose +is that shape. Yet my heart pounded.</p> + +<p>"You seem to think the sacrifice of your engagements and inclinations +worth a big price!"</p> + +<p>"I know it's a big price," he granted. "But every man has his price. +That happens to be mine. You may not have to pay, however, even in the +event of my success. Because, in the course of my operations I may do +something that'll land me in quod. In that case, you're free. I wouldn't +mate you with a gaol bird."</p> + +<p>I stared, and gasped.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you know me intimately enough to be sure that once I'm on the +warpath I stop at nothing?" he challenged.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you'd be easy to stop," I said. "That's why I've called +on you to help me. But really, I can't understand what there is in the +thing to send you to prison."</p> + +<p>"You don't need to understand," snorted Jim. "I sha'n't get there if I +can keep out, because that would be the way to lose my prize. But I +suppose from your point of view the great thing is for your two dearest +friends to be happy ever after."</p> + +<p>"Not at a terrible cost to you," I just stopped myself from saying. +Instead, I hedged: "You frighten me!" I cried. "And you make me +curious—<i>fearfully</i> curious. What <i>can</i> you be meaning to do?"</p> + +<p>"That's my business!" said Jim.</p> + +<p>"You've got a plan—already?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've got a plan—already, if——"</p> + +<p>"If what?"</p> + +<p>"If you agree to the bargain. Do you?"</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>He seized my hand and squeezed it hard.</p> + +<p>"Then I'm off," he said. "You won't hear from me till I have news, good +or bad. And meanwhile I have no address."</p> + +<p>With that he was gone.</p> + +<p>I felt as if he had left me alone in the dark.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIC" id="CHAPTER_VIC"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE LAST SÉANCE</h3> + + +<p>The only way in which I could keep Joyce with me for a little while +longer was by pretending to be ill. <i>That</i> fetched her. And it wasn't +all pretense, either, because I was horribly worried, not only about her +and Robert, but about Jim. And about myself.</p> + +<p>I said not a word to Joyce of Jim and his mission. So far as she knew +I'd abandoned hope—as she had. We heard nothing from Robert, or +concerning him, and each day that built itself up was a gloomier <i>cul de +sac</i> than the last.</p> + +<p>Bye and bye there came the end of Miss Reardon's fortnight in London. +"Now Robert will be turned over to Opal," I groaned to myself. And I was +sure that the same thought was in the mind of Joyce. Just one or two +days more, and after that a long monotony of bondage for him, year in +and year out!</p> + +<p>As I waked in the morning with these words on my lips, Joyce herself +knocked, playing nurse, with a tray of coffee and toast.</p> + +<p>"I would have let you sleep on," she said, "but a note has come by +messenger for you, with 'Urgent' on the envelope in such a nice +handwriting I felt you'd want to have it. So I brought your breakfast at +the same time."</p> + +<p>The nice handwriting was Jim's. He had vowed not to write till there was +"news, good or bad." My fingers trembled as I tore open the letter. I +read:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Make Lorillard invite you and Miss Arnold <i>and your fiancé</i> to a +séance before Miss Reardon goes. It will have to be to-day or +to-morrow. Don't take "no" for an answer. Manage it somehow. If you +insist, Lorillard will force Reardon to consent. When the stunt's +fixed up, let me hear at once.</p> + +<p>Yours, <span class="smcap">Jim</span>.</p> + +<p>L—— is at his flat. You know the address.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>By Jove! This was a facer! Could I bring the thing off? But I simply +<i>must</i>. I knew Jim well enough to be sure that the clock of fate had +been wound up by him, ready to strike, and that it wouldn't strike if I +didn't obey orders.</p> + +<p>I pondered for a minute whether or no to tell Joyce, but quickly decided +<i>no</i>. The request must first come from Robert.</p> + +<p>I braced myself with hot coffee, and thought hard. Then I asked Joyce +for writing materials, and scribbled a note to Robert. I wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>There is a reason why you <i>must</i> get us invited by Miss Reardon to +the last séance she gives before leaving. When I say "us," I mean +<i>Joyce</i> as well as myself, and the man I've just promised to marry. +I know this will seem shocking to you, perhaps impossible, as you +agreed not to see Joyce again, "<i>voluntarily</i>." But oh, Robert, +trust me, and <i>make</i> it possible for the sake of a brave girl who +once saved your life at the risk of her own. Seeing her this time +won't count as "voluntary" on your part. It is necessary.</p></blockquote> + +<p>When the note was ready I said to Joyce that I'd just had news of Robert +Lorillard from a great friend of mine who was much interested in his +welfare. This news necessitated my writing Robert, and as I was still in +bed I must request her to send the letter by hand.</p> + +<p>"Go out to the nearest post office yourself, and have a messenger take +it," I directed.</p> + +<p>While she was gone I got up, bathed, and put on street dress for the +first time since I'd been "playing 'possum."</p> + +<p>I felt much better, I explained when Joyce came back, and added that, +later in the day, I might even be inclined "for a walk or something."</p> + +<p>"If you're so well as that, you'll be ready to let me go to India soon, +won't you, dear?" she hinted. No doubt my few words about Robert, and +the sight of his name on a letter, had made the poor girl desperate +under her calm, controlled manner.</p> + +<p>I was desperate, too, knowing that her whole future depended on the +success of Jim's plan. If it failed, I should have to let her go, and +all would be over!</p> + +<p>"You must do what's best for you," I answered. "But don't talk about it +now. Wait till to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Joyce was dumb.</p> + +<p>Hours passed, and no reply from Robert. I began to fear he'd gone +away—or that he was hideously offended. We'd got through a pretence of +luncheon, when at last a messenger came. Thank heaven, Robert's +handwriting was on the envelope!</p> + +<p>He wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>I don't understand your wish, dear Princess. It seems like +deliberate torture of Joyce and me that she should be present when +I am visited by the spirit of June—for that is what actually +happens. June materializes. I see her, as well as hear her voice. +Can Joyce bear this? You seem to think she can, and so I must. For +you are a friend of friends, and you wouldn't put me to such a test +without the best of reasons.</p> + +<p>I expected that Miss Reardon would refuse to receive strangers on +such an occasion. But rather to my surprise she has consented, and +a séance is arranged for this evening at nine o'clock in her rooms. +To-morrow would have been too late, as she is leaving for the south +of France, to stay with some American millionairess at Cannes, who +hopes to get into touch with a son on the Other Side. You see, I +don't use that old, cold word "dead." I couldn't now I know how +near, and how like their earthly selves, are those who go beyond.</p> + +<p>So you are engaged to be married! Don't think I'm indifferent +because I leave mention of your news till the last. I'm deeply +interested. Bless you, Princess!</p> + +<p>Yours ever, R. L.</p></blockquote> + +<p>I read this letter, destroying it (in case Joyce became importunate), +and then broke it to her that Robert earnestly wished us to attend the +last séance with Miss Reardon.</p> + +<p>She turned sickly white.</p> + +<p>"I can't go!" she almost sobbed. "I simply can't."</p> + +<p>Then I said that it would hurt Robert horribly if she didn't. He +wouldn't have asked such a thing without the strongest motive. I would +be with her, I went on; and tried to pull her thoughts up out of tragic +gulfs by springing the news of my engagement upon her. It may have +sounded irrelevant, almost heartlessly so, but it braced the girl. And +she little guessed that the engagement would not exist save for Robert +and her!</p> + +<p>I 'phoned Jim at the address on his letter, a house in Westminster +which—when I happened to notice—was in the same street as Opal +Fawcett's. It was a relief to hear his voice answer "Hello!" for he had +demanded immediate knowledge of our plans; and goodness knew what +mysterious preparations for his <i>coup</i> he might have to elaborate.</p> + +<p>He would meet us at the Savoy, he said, at 8:45, and I could introduce +him to Miss Reardon before the séance began.</p> + +<p>Joyce and I started at 8:30, in a taxi, having made a mere stage +pretence of dinner. We hardly spoke on the way, but I held her hand, and +pressed it now and then.</p> + +<p>Jim was waiting for us just inside the revolving doors of the hotel.</p> + +<p>"I'd have liked to come for you in a car," he said aside to me, "but I +thought it would be hard on Miss Arnold—and maybe on you—to have more +of my society than need be, you know!"</p> + +<p>"Why on me?" I hastily inquired.</p> + +<p>His black eyes blazed into mine.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've sort of blackmailed you, haven't I?"</p> + +<p>"Have you?"</p> + +<p>"Into this engagement of ours."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I haven't got time to think of that just now!" I snapped. "Let's go +to Miss Reardon's rooms."</p> + +<p>We went. Jim said no more, except to mention that Captain Lorillard had +already gone up.</p> + +<p>Joyce may have imagined Jim to be the "great friend interested in +Robert's welfare," but as for me, I wondered how he knew Robert by +sight. Then I scolded myself: "Silly one! Hasn't he been +watching—playing detective for you?"</p> + +<p>It was poignant, remembering the last time when Robert, Joyce, and I had +met in Miss Reardon's sitting room—the last day of their happiness. But +we greeted each other quietly, like old friends, though Joyce's heart +must have contracted at sight of the man's changed face. All the renewed +youth and joyous manhood her love had given him had burned out of his +eyes. He looked as he'd looked when I saw him that day at River Orchard +Cottage.</p> + +<p>Miss Reardon was slightly nervous in manner, and flushed like a girl +when I introduced Sir James Courtenaye to her. But soon she recovered +her prim little poise, and began making arrangements for the séance.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lorillard has already tested my <i>bona fides</i> to his own +satisfaction," she said. "He has examined my small suite, and knows that +no person, no theatrical 'properties' are concealed about the place. If +any of you would like to look around, however, before we start, I'm more +than willing. Also if you'd care to bind my hands and feet, or sit in a +circle and hold me fast, I've no objection."</p> + +<p>As she made this offer, she glanced from one to the other of us. Pale, +silent Joyce shook her head. Jim "left it to Princess di Miramare," and +I decided that if Captain Lorillard was satisfied, we were.</p> + +<p>"Very well," purred Miss Reardon. "In that case there's nothing more to +wait for. Captain Lorillard, will you switch off the lights as usual?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I broke in, surprised, "I thought you'd told us that the +'influence' was just as strong in light as darkness?"</p> + +<p>"That is so," replied the medium, "except for materialization. For that, +darkness is essential. There's some <i>quality</i> in darkness that They +need. They can't get the <i>strength</i> to materialize in light conditions."</p> + +<p>"How can we see anything if the room's pitch-black?" I persisted.</p> + +<p>"Explain to your friends, Captain Lorillard, what takes place," bade +Miss Reardon.</p> + +<p>"When—June comes—she brings a faint radiance with her—seems to evolve +it out of herself," Robert said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>As he spoke he switched off the light, and profound silence fell upon +us.</p> + +<p>Some moments passed, and nothing happened.</p> + +<p>Joyce and I sat with locked cold hands. I was on the right of the +medium, and from my chair quite close to hers could easily have reached +out and touched her, if I'd wished. On her left, at about the same +distance, sat Robert. Jim was the only one who stood. He had refused a +chair, and propped his long length against the wall between two doors: +the door opening into the hall outside the suite, and that leading to +Miss Reardon's bedroom and bath.</p> + +<p>We could faintly hear each other breathe. Then, after five or six +minutes, perhaps, I heard odd, gasping sounds as if someone struggled +for breath. These gasps were punctuated with moans, and I should have +been frightened if the direction and nearness of the queer noise hadn't +told me at once that it came from the medium. I'd never before been to a +materializing séance, yet I felt instinctively that this was the +convulsive sort of thing to expect.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a dim light—oh, hardly a light!—a pale greenish glimmer, as +if there were a glowworm in the room—became faintly visible. It seemed +to swim in a delicate gauzy mist. Its height above the floor (this was +the thought flashing into my mind) was about that of a tall woman's +heart. A perfume of La France roses filled the room.</p> + +<p>At first our eyes, accustomed to darkness, could distinguish nothing +except this glowworm light and the surrounding haze of lacy gray. Then, +gradually, we became conscious of a figure—a slender shape in floating +draperies. More and more distinct it grew, as slowly it moved toward +us—toward Robert Lorillard; and my throat contracted as I made out the +semblance of June Dana.</p> + +<p>The form was clad in the gray dress which Miss Reardon had so +surprisingly described when we met her first—the dress June had worn +the day of her engagement—the dress of the portrait at River Orchard +Cottage. The gray hat with the long curling plume shaded the face, and +so obscured it that I should hardly have recognized it as June's had it +not been for the thick wheel of bright, red-brown hair on each side +bunching out under the hat exactly as June had worn her hair that year. +A long, thin scarf filmed like a cloud round the slowly moving figure, +looped over the arms, which waved gracefully as if the spirit-form swam +in air rather than walked. There was an illusive glitter of rings—just +such rings as June had worn: one emerald, one diamond. A dark streak +across the ice-white throat showed her famous black pearls; +and—strangest thing of all—the green light which glimmered through +filmy folds of scarf was born apparently in a glittering emerald brooch.</p> + +<p>At first the vision (which might have come through the wall of the room, +for all we could tell) floated toward Robert. None save spirit-eyes +could have made him out distinctly in the darkness that was lit only by +the small green gleam. But I fancied that he always sat in the same seat +for these séances; he had taken his chair in a way so matter of course. +Therefore the spirit would know where to find him!</p> + +<p>Within a few feet of distance, however, the form paused, and swayed as +if undecided. "She has seen that there are others in the room besides +Robert and the medium," I thought. "Will she be angry? Will she vanish?"</p> + +<p>Hardly had I time to finish the thought, however, when the electricity +was switched on with a click. The light flooding the room dazzled me for +a second, but in the bright blur I saw that Jim Courtenaye had seized +the gray figure. All ghostliness was gone from it. A woman was +struggling with him in dreadful silence—a tall, slim woman with June +Dana's red-bronze hair, June Dana's gray dress and hat and scarf.</p> + +<p>She writhed like a snake in Jim's merciless grasp, but she kept her head +bent not to show her face, till suddenly in some way her hat was knocked +off. With it—caught by a hatpin, perhaps—went the gorgeous, bunched +hair.</p> + +<p>"A wig!" I heard myself cry. And at the same instant Joyce gasped out +"<i>Opal!</i>"</p> + +<p>Yes, it was Opal, disguised as June, in the gray dress and hat and +scarf, with black pearls and emeralds all copied from the portrait—and +the haunting fragrance of roses that had been June's.</p> + +<p>The likeness was enough to deceive June's nearest and dearest in that +dimmest of dim lights which was like the ghost of a light, veiled with +all those chiffon scarves. But with the room bright as day, all +resemblance, except in clothes and wig and height, vanished at a glance.</p> + +<p>The woman caught in her cruel fraud was a pitiable sight, yet I had no +pity for her then. Staring at the whitened face, framed in dishevelled, +mouse-brown hair, the long upper lip painted red in a high Cupid's bow +to resemble June's lovely mouth, I was sick with disgust. As at last she +yielded in despair to Jim's fierce clutch, and dropped sobbing on the +sofa, I felt I could have struck her. But she had no thought for me nor +for any of us—not even for Jim, who had ruined the game, nor for Miss +Reardon, who must have sold her to him at a price; for no one at all +except Robert Lorillard.</p> + +<p>When she'd given up hope of escape, and lay panting, exhausted, flung +feebly across the sofa, she looked up at Robert.</p> + +<p>"I loved you," she wept. "That's why I did it; I couldn't let you go to +another woman. I thought I saw a way to keep you always near me—almost +as if you were mine. You can't <i>hate</i> a woman who loves you like that!"</p> + +<p>Robert did not answer. I think he was half dazed. He stood staring at +her, frozen still like the statue of a man. I was frightened for him. He +had endured too much. Joyce couldn't go to him yet, though he would be +hers—all hers, for ever—bye and bye—but <i>I</i> could go, as a friend.</p> + +<p>I laid my hand on his arm, and spoke his name softly.</p> + +<p>"Robert, I always felt there was fraud," I said. "Now, thank Heaven, we +know the truth before it's too late for you to be happy, as June herself +would want you to be happy, if she knew. She wasn't cruel—the <i>real</i> +June. She wasn't like this false one at heart. Go, now, I beg, and take +Joyce home to my flat—she's almost fainting. You must look after her. I +will stay here. Jim Courtenaye'll watch over me—and later we'll bring +you explanations of everything."</p> + +<p>So I got them both away. And when they were gone the whole story was +dragged from Opal. Jim forced her to confess; and with Robert out of +sight—lost for ever to the wretched woman—the task wasn't difficult. +You see, Miss Reardon <i>had</i> sold her beforehand. Jim doesn't care what +price he pays when he wants a thing!</p> + +<p>First of all, he'd taken a house that was to let furnished, near Opal's. +She didn't know him from Adam, but he had her description. He followed +her several times, and saw her go to the Savoy; even saw her go to Miss +Reardon's rooms. Then, to Miss Reardon he presented himself, <i>en +surprise</i>, and pretended to know five times as much as he did know; in +fact, as much as he suspected. By this trick he broke down her guard; +and before she had time to build it up again, flung a bribe of two +thousand pounds—ten thousand dollars—at her head. She couldn't resist, +and eventually told him everything.</p> + +<p>Opal and she had corresponded for several years, it seemed, as fellow +mediums, sending each other clients from one country to another. When +Opal learned that the Boston medium was coming to England, she asked if +Miss Reardon would do her a great favour. In return for it, the American +woman's cabin on shipboard and all expenses at one of London's best +hotels would be paid.</p> + +<p>This sounded alluring. Miss Reardon asked questions by letter, and by +letter those questions were answered. A plan was formed—a plan that was +a <i>plot</i>. Opal kept phonographic records of many voices among those of +her favourite clients—did this with their knowledge and consent, making +presents to them of their own records to give to friends. It was just an +"interesting fad" of hers! Such a record of June's voice she had posted +to Boston. Miss Reardon, who was a clever mimic (a fine professional +asset!) learned to imitate the voice. She had a description from Opal of +the celebrated gray costume with the jewels June wore, and knew well how +to "work" her knowledge of June's favourite perfume.</p> + +<p>As to that first meeting at the Savoy, Opal was aware that Joyce and I +met Robert there on most afternoons. A suite was taken for Miss Reardon +in the hotel, and the lady was directed to await developments in the +<i>foyer</i> at a certain hour—an old stage photograph of Robert Lorillard +in her hand-bag. The rest had been almost simple, thanks to Opal's +knowledge of June's life and doings; to her deadly cleverness, and the +device of a tiny electric light glimmering through a square of emerald +green glass on the "spirit's" breast, under scarves slowly unfolded. If +it had not been for Jim, Robert would have become her bond-slave, and +Joyce would have fled from England.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Well, are you satisfied?" Jim asked, spinning me home at last in his +own car.</p> + +<p>"More than satisfied," I said. "Joyce and Robert will marry after all, +and be the happiest couple on earth. They'll forget this horror."</p> + +<p>"Which is what you'd like to do if I'd let you, I suppose," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"Forget! You mean——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The promise I dragged out of you, and everything."</p> + +<p>"I never forget my promises," I primly answered.</p> + +<p>"But if I let you off it? Elizabeth, that's what I'm going to do! I love +you too much, my girl, to blackmail you permanently—to get you for my +wife in payment of a bargain. I may be pretty bad, but I'm hanged if I'm +as bad as that."</p> + +<p>I burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>"<i>Idiot!</i>" I gurgled. "Haven't you the wits to see I <i>want</i> to marry +you? I'm in love with you, you fool. Besides, I'm tired of being matron +of honour, and you being best man every time people I 'brighten' marry!"</p> + +<p>"It sha'n't happen again!" said Jim.</p> + +<p>And then he almost took my breath away. <i>What</i> a strong man he is!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_IV" id="BOOK_IV"></a>BOOK IV</h2> + +<h3>THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BRANDRETH</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_ID" id="CHAPTER_ID"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE MAN IN THE CUSHIONED CHAIR</h3> + + +<p>"Nice end of a honeymoon I'm having!" Jim grumbled. "With my wife +thinking and talking all the time about another fellow."</p> + +<p>"My darling, adored man!" I exclaimed. "You know perfectly well that +you're the background and undercurrent and foundation of all my +thoughts, every minute of the day and night. And this 'other fellow' is +<i>dying</i>."</p> + +<p>Yes; "darling, adored" were my adjectives for Jim Courtenaye, whom I had +once abused.</p> + +<p>All the same, if a cat may look at a king, a bride may just glance at a +man who isn't her bridegroom.</p> + +<p>"Ruling passion strong in—marriage, I suppose," said Jim. "I bet you'd +like to try your hand at 'brightening' that chap—though judging from +his face, he's almost past even your blandishments. <i>I</i> wouldn't be past +'em—not in my <i>coffin</i>! But it isn't every blighter who can love as I +do, you minx."</p> + +<p>"And 'tisn't every blighter who has such a perfect woman to love," I +capped him with calm conceit.</p> + +<p>"But I wish I <i>could</i> 'brighten' that poor fellow. Or else I wish that +someone else would!"</p> + +<p>And at this instant my wish was granted in the most amazing way!</p> + +<p>A girl appeared—but no, I mustn't let her arrive upon the scene just +yet. First, I must explain that Jim and I were on shipboard, coming back +to England from America, where we had been having the most wonderful +honeymoon. Jim had taken me out West, and showed me the places where he +had lived in his cowboy days. We had ridden long trails together, in the +Grand Canyon of Arizona, and in the Yosemite Valley of California. I had +never imagined that life could be so glorious, and our future +together—Jim's and mine—stretched before us like a dream of joy. We +were going to live in the dear old Abbey which had been the home of the +Courtenayes for hundreds and hundreds of years, and travel when we +liked. Because we were so much in love and so happy, I yearned to make a +few thousand other people happy also—though it did seem impossible that +any one on earth could be as joyous as we were.</p> + +<p>This was our second day out from New York on the <i>Aquitania</i>, and my +spirits had been slightly damped by discovering that two +fellow-passengers if not more were extremely miserable. One of these +lived in a stateroom next to our suite. In my cabin at night I could +hear her crying and moaning to herself in a fitful sleep. I had not seen +her, so far as I knew, but I fancied from the sound of those sobs that +she was young.</p> + +<p>When I told Jim, he wanted to change cabins with me, so that I should +not be disturbed. But I refused to budge, saying that I <i>wasn't</i> +disturbed. My neighbour didn't cry or talk in her sleep all through the +night by any means. Besides, once I had dropped off, the sounds were not +loud enough to wake me. This was true enough not to be a fib, but my +<i>realest</i> reason for clinging to the room was an odd fascination in that +mysterious sorrow on the other side of the wall; sorrow of a woman I +hadn't seen, might perhaps never see, yet to whom I could send out warm +waves of sympathy. I felt as if those waves had colours, blue and gold, +and that they would soothe the sufferer.</p> + +<p>Her case obsessed me until, in the sunshine of a second summer day at +sea, the one empty chair on our crowded deck was filled. A man was +helped into it by a valet or male nurse, and a steward. My first glimpse +of his face as he sank down on to carefully placed cushions made my +heart jump in my breast with pity and protest against the hardness of +fate.</p> + +<p>If he'd been old, or even middle-aged, or if he had been one of those +colourless characters dully sunk into chronic invalidism, I should have +felt only the pity without the protest. But he was young, and though it +was clear that he was desperately ill, it was clear, too, in a more +subtle, psychic way, that he had not been ill long; that love of life or +desire for denied happiness burned in him still.</p> + +<p>Of course Jim was not really vexed because I discussed this man and +wondered about him, but my thoughts did play round that piteously +romantic figure a good deal, and it rather amused Jim to see me forget +the mystery of the cabin in favour of the cushioned chair.</p> + +<p>"Once a Brightener, always a Brightener, I suppose!" he said. Now that +I'd dropped my "Princesshood" to marry James Courtenaye, I need never +"brighten" any one for money again. But I didn't see why I should not go +sailing along on a sunny career of brightening for love. According to +habit, therefore, my first thought was: What <i>could</i> be done for the man +in the cushioned chair?</p> + +<p>Maybe Jim was right! If he hadn't been young and almost better than +good-looking, my interest might not have been so keen. He was the wreck +of a gorgeous creature—one of those great, tall, muscular men you feel +were born to adorn the Guards.</p> + +<p>The reason (the physical reason, not the psychic one) for thinking he +hadn't been ill long was the colour of the invalid's face. The pallor of +illness hadn't had time to blanch the rich brown that life in the open +gives. So thin was the face that the aquiline features stood out +sharply; but they seemed to be carved in bronze, not moulded in plaster. +As for the psychic reason, I found it in the dark eyes that met mine now +and then. They were not black like those of my own Jim, which contrasted +so strikingly with auburn hair. Indeed, I couldn't tell whether the eyes +were brown or deep gray, for they were set in shadowy hollows, and the +brows and thick lashes were even darker than the hair, which was lightly +silvered at the temples. Handsome, arresting eyes they must always have +been; but what stirred me was the violent <i>wish</i> that seemed actually to +speak from them.</p> + +<p>Whether it was a wish to live, or a haunting wish for joy never +gratified, I could not decide. But I felt that it must have been burnt +out by a long illness.</p> + +<p>I had only just learned a few things about the man, when there came that +surprising answer to my prayer for someone to "brighten" him. My maid +had got acquainted with his valet-nurse, and had received a quantity of +information which she passed to me.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Tillett's" master was a Major Ralston Murray, an Englishman, who +had gone to live in California some years ago, and had made a big +fortune in oil. He had been in the British Army as a youth, Tillett +understood, and when the European war broke out, he went home to offer +himself to his country. He didn't return to America till after the +Armistice, though he had been badly wounded once or twice, as well as +gassed. At home in Bakersfield, the great oil town where he lived, +Murray's health had not improved. He had been recommended a long sea +journey, to Japan and China, and had taken the prescription. But instead +of doing him good, the trip had been his ruin. In China he was attacked +with a malady resembling yellow fever, though more obscure to +scientists. After weeks of desperate illness, the man had gained +strength for the return journey; but, reaching California, he was told +by specialists that he must not hope to recover. After that verdict his +one desire was to spend the last days of his life in England. Not long +before a distant relative had left him a place in Devonshire—an old +house which he had loved in his youth. Now he was on his way there, to +die.</p> + +<p>So this was the wonderful wish, I told myself. Yet I couldn't believe it +was all. I felt that there must be something deeper to account for the +burning look in those tortured eyes. And of course I was more than ever +interested, now that his destination proved to be near Courtenaye Abbey. +Ralston Old Manor was not nearly so large nor so important a place +historically as ours, but it was ancient enough, and very charming. +Though we were not more than fifteen miles away, I had never met the old +bachelor, the Mr. Ralston of my day. He was a great recluse, supposed to +have had his heart broken by my beautiful grandmother when they were +both young. It occurred to me that this Ralston Murray must be the old +man's namesake, and the place had been left him on that account.</p> + +<p>Now, at last, having explained the man in the cushioned chair, I can +come back to the moment when my wish was granted: the wish that, if not +I, someone else might "brighten" him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IID" id="CHAPTER_IID"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BRANDRETH</h3> + + +<p>You know, when you're on shipboard, how new people appear from day to +day, long after you've seen everyone on the passenger list! It is as if +they had been dropped on deck from stealthy aeroplanes in the dark +watches of the night.</p> + +<p>And that was the way in which this girl appeared—this girl who worked +the lightning change in Major Murray. It didn't seem possible that she +could have come on board the ship nearly two days ago, and we not have +heard of her, for she was the prettiest person I'd ever seen in my life. +One would have thought that rumours of her beauty would have spread, +since <i>someone</i> must have seen her, even if she had been shut up in her +cabin.</p> + +<p>Heads were turned in her direction as she came walking slowly toward us, +and thanks to this silent sensation—like a breeze rippling a field of +wheat—I saw the tall, slight figure in mourning while it was still far +off.</p> + +<p>The creature was devastatingly pretty, too pretty for any one's peace of +mind, including her own: the kind of girl you wouldn't ask to be your +bridesmaid for fear the bridegroom should change his mind at the altar!</p> + +<p>"Jim," I exclaimed, "the prettiest girl in the world is now coming +toward you."</p> + +<p>"Really?" said he. "I was under the impression that she sat beside me."</p> + +<p>I suppose I must have spoken rather more loudly than I meant, for my +excited warning to Jim caught the ear of Major Murray. My deep interest +in the invalid had woven an invisible link between him and me, though we +had never spoken, nor even smiled at each other: for sympathy inevitably +has this effect. Therefore his hearing was attuned to my voice more +readily than to others in his neighbourhood. He had apparently been half +asleep; but he opened his eyes wide just in time to see the girl as she +approached his chair. Never had I beheld such a sudden change on a human +face. It was a transfiguration.</p> + +<p>The man was very weak, but he sat straight up, and for a moment all look +of illness was swept away. "Rosemary!" he cried out, sharply.</p> + +<p>The girl stopped. She had been pale, but at sight of him and the sound +of his voice she flushed to her forehead. I thought that her first +impulse was to escape, but she controlled it.</p> + +<p>"Major Murray!" she faltered. "I—I didn't dream of—seeing you here."</p> + +<p>"I have dreamed many times of seeing you," he answered. "And I wished +for it—very much."</p> + +<p>"Ah," thought I, "<i>that</i> is the real wish! <i>That's</i> what the look in his +eyes means, not just getting back to England and dying in a certain +house. Now I <i>know</i>."</p> + +<p>Everyone near his chair had become more or less interested in Murray, +romantic and pathetic figure that he was. Now, a middle-aged man whose +chair was near to Murray's on the right, scrambled out of a fur rug. "I +am off to the smoking room," he said. "Won't you" (to the girl) "take my +chair and talk to your friend? I shall be away till after lunch, maybe +till tea-time."</p> + +<p>I fancied that the girl was divided in her mind between a longing to +stay and a longing to flee. But of course she couldn't refuse the offer, +and presently she was seated beside Major Murray, their arms touching. I +could hear almost all they said. This was not eavesdropping, because if +they'd cared to be secretive they could have lowered their voices.</p> + +<p>Soon, to my surprise, I learned that the girl was married. She didn't +look married, or have the air of being married, somehow, and in the +conversation that followed she contradicted herself two or three times. +Perhaps it was only because I confused my brain with wild guesses, but +from some things she said one would think she was free as air; from +others, that she was tied down to a rather monotonous kind of existence. +She spoke of America as if she knew it only from a short visit. Then, in +answer to a question of Murray's, she said, as if reluctantly, that she +had lived there, in New York, and Baltimore, and Washington, for years.</p> + +<p>It was quite evident to me—whether or not it was to Murray—that Mrs. +Brandreth (as he called her after the first outburst of "Rosemary!") +disliked talking of herself and her way of life. She wanted to talk +about Major Murray, or, failing that subject, of almost anything that +was remote from her own affairs.</p> + +<p>I gathered, however, that she and Murray had known each other eight +years ago or more, and that they had met somewhere abroad, out of +England. There had been an aunt of Rosemary's with whom she had +travelled as a young girl. The aunt was dead; but even the loss of a +loved relative didn't account to my mind for this girl's sensitiveness +about the past.</p> + +<p>"They must have been engaged, these two, and something happened to break +it off," I thought. "But <i>he</i> can bear to talk of old times, and she +can't. Odd, because she must have been ridiculously young for a love +affair all those years ago. She doesn't look more than twenty-one now, +though she must be more, of course—at least twenty-four. And he is +probably thirty-two or three."</p> + +<p>I am often what Jim calls "intuitive," and I had a strong impression +that there was something the beautiful Mrs. Brandreth was desperately +anxious to conceal, desperately afraid of betraying by accident. Could +it have to do with her husband? I wondered. She seemed very loth to +speak of him, and I couldn't make out from what she said whether the man +was still in existence. Her mourning—so becoming to her magnolia skin, +great dark eyes, and ash-blonde hair—didn't look like widow's mourning. +Still, it might be, with the first heaviness of crêpe thrown off. Or, of +course, the girl's peculiar reticence might mean that there had been, or +was to be, a divorce.</p> + +<p>I didn't move from my deck-chair till luncheon time, but I had to go +then with Jim; and we left Mrs. Brandreth ordering her food from the +deck steward. She would have it with Major Murray, who, poor fellow, was +allowed no other nourishment than milk.</p> + +<p>When we came back on deck it was to walk. We had been below for an hour +or more, but the girl and the man were still together. As Jim and I +passed and repassed those chairs, I could throw a quick glance in their +direction without being observed. Mrs. Brandreth's odd nervousness and +shy distress seemed to have gone. The two were talking so earnestly that +a school of porpoises might have jumped on deck without their knowing +that anything out of the way had happened.</p> + +<p>Later in the afternoon, the owner of Mrs. Brandreth's chair appeared; +but when she would blushingly have given up her place, he refused to +take it. "I've only come to say," he explained, "that one seat on deck +is the same to me as any other. So why shouldn't I have <i>your</i> chair, +wherever it is, and you keep mine? It's very nice for the Major here to +have found a friend, and it will do him a lot of good. I'm a doctor, and +if I were his physician, such society would be just what I should +prescribe for him."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandreth had a chair, it seemed, though she said she'd come on +board so tired that she had stayed in her cabin till this morning. +Whether or not she were pleased at heart with the proposal, she accepted +it after a little discussion, and Murray's tragic eyes burned with a new +light.</p> + +<p>I guessed that his wish had been to see this beautiful girl again before +he died. The fact that he was doomed to death no doubt spiritualized his +love. He no longer dreamed of being happy in ways which strong men of +his age call happiness; and so, in these days, he asked little of Fate. +Just a farewell sight of the loved one; a new memory of her to take away +with him. And if I were right in my judgment, this was the reason why, +even if Mrs. Brandreth had a husband in the background, these hours with +her would be hours of joy for Murray—without thought of any future.</p> + +<p>That evening, as Jim and I were strolling out of our little salon to +dinner, the door of the cabin adjoining mine opened, and it was with a +shock of surprise that I saw Mrs. Brandreth. So <i>she</i> was my mysterious +neighbour who cried and moaned in her sleep!... I was thrilled at the +discovery. But almost at once I told myself that I ought to have +Sherlocked the truth the moment this troubled, beautiful being had +appeared on deck.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandreth was in black, of course, but she had changed into +semi-evening dress, and her white neck was like swansdown in its folded +frame of filmy black gauze. Over the glittering waves of her ash-blonde +hair she had thrown a long black veil of embroidered Spanish lace, which +fell nearly to her knees, and somehow, before she could close the door, +a gust blew it back, shutting in the veil. The girl was struggling to +free herself when Jim said, "Let me help you."</p> + +<p>Naturally, she had to thank him, and explain how she ought to have +fastened her window, as ours was the windy side of the ship to-night. +She and I smiled at each other, and so our acquaintance began. I guessed +from the veil that she was dining in Murray's company, and pictured them +together with the deck to themselves, moonlight flooding the sea.</p> + +<p>Next day the smile and nod which Mrs. Brandreth and I exchanged won a +pleasant look from Major Murray for me. We began speaking soon after +that; and before another day had passed Jim or I often dropped into the +empty chair, if Mrs. Brandreth was not on deck. Murray was interested to +know that we would be neighbours of his, and that I was the +grand-daughter of the famous beauty his old bachelor cousin had loved.</p> + +<p>I remember it was the night after my first real talk with him that I met +Mrs. Brandreth again as we both opened our doors. Jim was playing bridge +or poker with some men, and hadn't noticed the dressing bugle. I was +ready, and going to remind him of the hour; yet I was charmed to be +delayed by Mrs. Brandreth. Hitherto, though friendly when we were with +our two men, or only one of them, she had seemed like a wild bird trying +to escape if we happened to be alone. It was as if she were afraid I +might ask questions which she would not wish to answer. But now she +stopped me of her own accord.</p> + +<p>"I—I've been wanting to tell you something," she began, with one of her +bright blushes. "It's only this: when I'm tired or nervous I'm afraid I +talk in my sleep. I came on board tired out. I had—a great grief a few +months ago, and I can't get over the strain of it. Sometimes when I wake +up I find myself crying, and have an impression that I've called out. +Now I know that you're next door, I'm rather worried lest I have +disturbed you."</p> + +<p>I hurried to reassure her. She hadn't disturbed me at all. I was, I +said, a splendid sleeper.</p> + +<p>"You haven't heard anything?" she persisted.</p> + +<p>I felt she would know I was fibbing if I did fib, so it wasn't worth +while. "I <i>have</i> heard a sound like sobbing now and then," I admitted.</p> + +<p>"But no words? I hope not, as people say such <i>silly</i> things in their +sleep, don't they?—things not even true."</p> + +<p>"I think I've heard you cry out 'Mother!' once or twice."</p> + +<p>"Oh! And that is all?"</p> + +<p>"Really, that's all—absolutely!" It was true, and I could speak with +such sincerity that I forced belief.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandreth looked relieved. "I'm glad!" she smiled. "I hate to make +myself ridiculous. And I'm trying very hard now to control my +subconscious self, which gets out of hand at night. It's simply the +effect of my—grief—my loss I spoke of just now. I'm fairly normal +otherwise."</p> + +<p>"I hope you're not entirely normal!" I smiled back. "People one speaks +of as 'normal' are so bromidic and dull! You look far too interesting, +too individual to be normal."</p> + +<p>She laughed. "So do you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not normal at all, thank goodness!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you're certainly interesting—and individual—far more than <i>I</i> +am."</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, I'm sympathetic," I said. "I'm tremendously interested in other +people. Not in their <i>affairs</i>, but in themselves. I never want to know +anything they don't want me to know, yet I'm so conceited, I always +imagine that I can help when they need help—just by sympathy alone, +without a spoken word. But to come back to you! I have a lovely remedy +for restlessness at night; not that I need it often myself, but my +French-Italian maid carries dried orange leaves and blossoms for me. She +thinks <i>tisanes</i> better than doctor's medicines. May she make some +orange-flower tea for you to-night at bedtime?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandreth had shown signs of stiffening a little as I began, but +she melted toward the last, and said that she would love to try the +poetic-sounding tea.</p> + +<p>It was concocted, proved a success, and she was grateful. Perhaps she +remembered my hint that I never wanted to know things which my friends +didn't want me to know, because she made some timid advances as the days +went on. We had quite intimate talks about books and various views of +life as we walked the deck together; and I began to feel that there was +something else she longed to say—something which rose constantly to her +lips, only to be frightened back again. What could it be? I wondered. +And would she in the end speak, or decide to be silent?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIID" id="CHAPTER_IIID"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE CONDITION SHE MADE</h3> + + +<p>I think she meant to be silent, but desperation drove her to speak, and +she spoke.</p> + +<p>I had a headache the last day out but one, and stayed in my cabin all +the afternoon. It seems that Mrs. Brandreth asked Jim if she might visit +me for a little while, and he consented.</p> + +<p>I was half dozing when she came, with a green silk curtain drawn across +the window. I suggested that she should push this curtain back, so that +we might have light to see each other.</p> + +<p>"Please, no!" she said. "I don't want light. I don't want to be seen. +Dear Lady Courtenaye—may I really call you 'Elizabeth,' as you asked me +to do?—I need so much to talk to you. And the darker it is, the +better."</p> + +<p>"Very well—Rosemary!" I answered. "I've guessed that you are +worried—or not quite happy. There's nothing I should like so much as to +help you if I could. I believe you know that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know—I feel it," she said. "I want your advice. I think you're +the only person whose advice I would take whether I liked it or not. I +don't understand why that is so. But it is. You're probably younger than +I am——"</p> + +<p>"I'm getting on for twenty-three," I informed the girl, when I had made +her sit down beside my bed.</p> + +<p>"And I'm nearly twenty-six!"</p> + +<p>"You look twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I look lots of things that I'm not," she sighed, in a voice +too gloomy for the half-joking words. "Oh, now that I'm trying to speak, +I don't know how to begin, or how far to go! I must confess one thing +frankly: and that is, I can't tell you <i>everything</i>."</p> + +<p>"Tell me what you want to tell: not a word more."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I thought you'd say that. Well, suppose you loved a man who +was very ill—so ill he couldn't possibly get well, and he begged you to +marry him—because then you might be in the same house till the end, and +he could die happily with you near: what would you do?"</p> + +<p>"If I loved him <i>enough</i>, I would marry him the very first minute I +could," was my prompt answer.</p> + +<p>"I do love him enough!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"But you hesitate?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, because——Oh, Elizabeth, there's a terrible obstacle."</p> + +<p>"An obstacle!" I echoed, forgetting my headache. "I can't understand +that, if—forgive me—if you're free."</p> + +<p>"I am free," the girl said. "Free in the way you mean. There's no <i>man</i> +in the way. The obstacle is—a woman."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" I cried, my heart lightened. "I wouldn't let a woman stand +between me and the man I loved, especially if he needed me as much +as—as——"</p> + +<p>"You needn't mind saying it. Of course you know as well as I do that +we're talking about Ralston Murray. And I believe he does need me. I +could make him happy—if I were always near him—for the few months he +has to live."</p> + +<p>"He would have a new lease of life given him with you," I ventured.</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head. "He says that the specialists gave him three +months at the most. And twelve days out of those three months have gone +already, since he left California."</p> + +<p>For an instant a doubt of her shot through me. Ralston Murray had been a +get-rich-quick oil speculator, so I had heard, anyhow, he was supposed +to be extremely well off. Besides, there was that lovely old place in +Devonshire, of which his widow would be mistress. I knew nothing of +Rosemary Brandreth's circumstances, and little of her character or +heart, except as I might judge from her face, and voice, and charming +ways. Was I <i>wrong</i> in the judgment I'd impulsively formed? Could it be +that she didn't truly care for Murray—that if she married him in spite +of the mysterious "obstacle," it would be for what she could get?</p> + +<p>Actually I shivered as this question asked itself in my mind! And I was +ashamed of it. But her tone and look had been strange. When I tried to +cheer her by hinting that Murray's lease of life might be longer because +of her love, she had looked frightened, almost horrified.</p> + +<p>For the first time I deliberately tried to read her soul, whose +sincerity I had more or less taken for granted. I stared into her eyes +through the green dusk which made us both look like mermaids under +water. Surely that exquisite face couldn't mask sordidness? I pushed the +doubt away.</p> + +<p>"All the more reason for you to make radiant the days that are left, if +you're strong enough to bear the strain," I said. And Rosemary answered +that she was strong enough for anything that would help him. She would +tell Ralston, she added, that she had asked my advice.</p> + +<p>"He wanted me to do it," she said. "He thought I oughtn't to decide +without speaking to a sweet, wise woman. And <i>you</i> are a sweet, wise +woman, although you're so young! When you are better, will you come on +deck and talk to Ralston?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will, if you think he'd care to have me," I promised. And +it was extraordinary how soon that headache of mine passed away! I was +able to talk with Ralston that evening, and assure him that, in my +opinion, he wasn't <i>at all</i> selfish in wanting Rosemary Brandreth to +"sacrifice" herself for him. It would be no sacrifice to a woman who +loved a man, I argued. He had done the right thing, it seemed to me, in +asking Mrs. Brandreth to marry him. If Jim were in his place, and I in +Rosemary's, I should have proposed if he hadn't!</p> + +<p>But while I was saying these things, I couldn't help wondering +underneath if she had mentioned the "obstacle" to Ralston, and if he +knew precisely what kind of "freedom to marry" her freedom was—whether +Mr. Blank Brandreth were dead or only divorced?</p> + +<p>Somehow I had the strongest impression that Rosemary had told Major +Murray next to nothing about herself—had perhaps begged him not to ask +questions, and that he had obeyed for fear of distressing—perhaps even +losing—the woman he adored.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I shall leave her everything," he announced, when Mrs. +Brandreth had strolled away with Jim in order to give me a few minutes +alone with Major Murray. "While she's gone, I'd like to talk with you +about that, because I want you to consult your husband for me. Rosemary +can't bear to discuss money and that sort of thing. I had almost to +force her to it to-day; for you see, I haven't long at best—and the +time may be shorter even than I think. At last I made her see my point +of view. I told her that I meant to make a new will, here on shipboard, +for fear I should——Well, you understand. I said it would be in her +favour, as Rosemary Brandreth, and then, after we were married—provided +I live to marry her, as I hope to do—I ought to add a codicil or +something—I don't quite know how one manages such things—changing +'Rosemary Brandreth' to 'my wife, Rosemary Murray.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I agreed. "I suppose you would have to do that. I don't know very +much about wills, either—but I remember hearing that a legacy to a wife +might be disputed if the will were in her favour as an engaged girl, and +mentioning her by her maiden name."</p> + +<p>"Brandreth isn't Rosemary's maiden name," he reminded me. "That was +Hillier. But it's the same thing legally. And disputes are what I want +to avoid. Still, I daren't delay, for fear of something happening to me. +There's a doctor chap in Devonshire, who would have inherited Ralston +Old Manor and the money that goes with it if my cousin hadn't chosen to +leave all he had to me instead. I believe, as a matter of fact, he's my +only living relative. I haven't seen him many times in my life, but we +correspond on business. Every penny I possess might go to Paul Jennings, +as well as the Ralston property—by some trick of the law—if I don't +tie it up for Rosemary in time. You see why I'm impatient. I want you +and Sir Jim to witness a will of sorts this very night. I shall sleep +better if it's done. But—there's a funny thing, Lady Courtenaye: a whim +of Rosemary's. I can't see light on it myself. Perhaps you could lead up +to the subject, and get her to explain."</p> + +<p>"What is the funny thing?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, at first she implored me not to leave money to her—actually +begged, with tears in her eyes. However, I explained that if she didn't +get what I have, a stranger would, which would make me unhappy. My being +'unhappy' settled the matter for her! But she made a queer condition. If +she allowed me to leave everything to her, the legacy must be arranged +somehow without altering it to her married name when she is my wife. It +must be in favour of 'Rosemary Brandreth,' not 'Rosemary Murray.' I +begged her to tell my why she wanted such an odd thing, and she said it +was a prejudice she had about women changing their names and taking +their husbands' names. Well, as a matter of fact, I believe a woman +marrying <i>can</i> keep her own name legally if she likes. Taking the +husband's name is a custom, not a necessity for a woman, I remember +hearing. But I'm not sure. Sir Jim may know. If not, he'll find out for +me. I haven't much strength, and it would be the greatest favour if he +would get some first-rate legal opinion about carrying out this wish of +Rosemary's."</p> + +<p>"Jim will be glad to do anything he can," I said, warmly. "We shall be +neighbours, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank Heaven!" he exclaimed. "I used not to think much about such +things, but I do feel as if you two had been sent me in my need, by +Providence. There was the wonderful coincidence of Rosemary being on my +ship—at least, one <i>calls</i> it a coincidence, but it must be something +deeper and more mysterious than that. Then, finding such friends as you +and Sir Jim—neighbours on deck, and neighbours on shore. I can't tell +you the comfort it is to know that Rosemary won't be left alone when I'm +gone."</p> + +<p>"Count on us," I repeated, "now and always."</p> + +<p>"I do," Murray answered. "As for the present, my first will in favour of +Rosemary Brandreth will be clear sailing. It is the second one—or the +codicil—after marriage, that raises a question. I suppose I needn't +worry about that till the time comes: yet I do. I want to be sure that +Rosemary is safe. I wish you could persuade her not to stick to the +point she's so keen on."</p> + +<p>"If you can't persuade her, it's not likely that I can," I objected. I +tried to keep my voice quite natural, but something in my tone must have +struck him.</p> + +<p>"You have an idea in your mind about this condition Rosemary makes!" he +challenged.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVD" id="CHAPTER_IVD"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE OLD LOVE STORY</h3> + + +<p>"Oh—one simply wonders a little!" I stammered.</p> + +<p>Major Murray's face changed. "Of course, there's one idea which presents +itself instantly to the mind," he said. "But it's such an obvious one! I +confess I had it myself at first—just for a moment. I even asked +Rosemary, because—well, she might have been in trouble that wasn't her +fault. I asked her if she were sure that she was free to marry—that +there was no legal hitch. I said that if there were, she must tell me +the truth without fear, and I would see if it couldn't be made right. +But she assured me that, so far as the law is concerned, she's as free +as though she were a girl. I believe her, Lady Courtenaye; and I think +you would believe if you could have looked into her eyes then. No, +there's another reason—not obvious like the first; on the contrary, +it's obscure. I wish you'd try to get light on it."</p> + +<p>"I'll try if you want me to," I promised. "But I don't expect to +succeed."</p> + +<p>Major Murray looked more anxious than I had seen him since Mrs. +Brandreth appeared on deck that second day at sea. "Hasn't she confided +in you at all?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Only"—I hesitated an instant—"only to tell me of her love, and her +engagement to you." This was the truth, with one tiny reservation. I +couldn't give Rosemary away, by mentioning the "obstacle" at which she'd +hinted.</p> + +<p>"She never even told you about our first engagement, eight years ago?" +he persisted.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd like to tell you that, if the story won't bore you?"</p> + +<p>"It will interest me," I said. "But perhaps Mrs. Brandreth mightn't——"</p> + +<p>"She won't mind; I'm sure of that, from things she's said. But it's a +subject easier for me to talk about than for her. She was travelling in +Italy with an aunt—a sister of her mother's—when we met. She was just +seventeen. I fell in love with her at first sight. Do you wonder? It was +at Bellagio, but I followed her and the aunt from place to place. The +aunt was a widow, who'd married an American, and I imagined that she +wasn't kind to her niece—the girl looked so unhappy. But I did Mrs. +Brandreth an injustice——"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brandreth?" I had to interrupt. "Rosemary was already——"</p> + +<p>"No, no! The aunt's name was Mrs. Brandreth. The man Rosemary married a +few weeks later was the nephew of her aunt's American husband. When I +asked Rosemary to be my wife, I heard the whole story. Rosemary told me +herself. The aunt, Mrs. John Brandreth, came to England to visit her +sister. It wasn't long after her husband had died, and she wasn't +strong, so the nephew—Guy Brandreth—travelled with her. He was a West +Point graduate, it seems; probably you know that West Point is the +American Sandhurst? He was still in the Army and on long leave. He and +the aunt both stayed at Mrs. Hillier's house in Surrey, and—I suppose +you can guess what happened?"</p> + +<p>"A—love affair?" I hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It didn't take Brandreth long to make up his mind what he wanted, +and to go for it. He proposed. Rosemary said 'Yes.' It was her first +love. But Brandreth had been practically engaged to an American girl—a +great heiress. He hadn't much himself beyond his pay, I fancy. Money was +an object to him—but Rosemary's beauty bowled him over, and he lost his +head. Bye and bye, when he began to see the light of common sense again, +and when he realized that Rosemary wouldn't have a red cent of her own, +he weakened. There was some slight lover's quarrel one day. Rosemary +broke off the engagement for the pleasure of hearing Brandreth beg to be +taken back. But he didn't beg. He took her at her word and went to +London, where the American girl had arrived. That same night he wrote +Rosemary that, as she didn't want him, he had offered himself to someone +who did. So ended the love story—for a time. And that's where I came +in."</p> + +<p>"Rosemary went to Italy?" I prompted him.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Her aunt felt responsible, and carried the girl away to help her +to forget. Rosemary told me this, but thought she had 'got over it,' and +said she would marry me if I wanted her. Of course, I did want her. I +believed—most men would—that I could teach her to love me. She was so +young. And even then I wasn't poor. I could give her a good time! The +poor child was keen on letting Brandreth know she wasn't mourning his +loss, and she'd heard he was still in London with his fiancée and her +millionaire papa. So she had our engagement announced in the <i>Morning +Post</i> and other London papers."</p> + +<p>"Well—and then?" I broke into a pause.</p> + +<p>"Guy Brandreth couldn't bear to let another fellow have the girl. He +must have loved her really, I suppose, with what was best in him. +Anyhow, he asked for his release from the heiress, and found out from +Mrs. Hillier where her daughter was. As soon as he could get there, he +turned up at the Villa d'Este, where Rosemary and her aunt were staying +then."</p> + +<p>"And you—were you there?"</p> + +<p>"No. If I had been, perhaps everything would have been different. I was +in the Army, and on leave, like Brandreth. I had to go back to my +regiment, but Rosemary'd promised to marry me on her eighteenth +birthday, which wasn't far off. I'd made an appointment to go and see +Mrs. Hillier on a certain day. But before the day came a telegram +arrived from the aunt, Mrs. Brandreth, to say that Rosemary had run away +with Guy.</p> + +<p>"It was a deadly blow. I went almost mad for a while—don't know what +kept me from killing myself, except that I've always despised suicide as +a coward's way out of trouble. I chucked the Army—had to make a +change—and went to California, where an old pal of mine had often +wanted me to join him. I knew that Brandreth was stationed down south +somewhere, so in California I should be as far from him and Rosemary as +if I stayed in England. Well—now you know the story—for I never saw +Rosemary or even heard of her from that time till the other day on board +this ship. Does what I've told help you at all to understand the +condition she wants me to make about her name, in my will?"</p> + +<p>"No, it doesn't," I had to confess. "You must just—<i>trust</i> Rosemary, +Major Murray."</p> + +<p>"I do," he answered, fervently.</p> + +<p>"I wish I did!" I could have echoed. But I said not a word, and tried to +remember only how sweet Rosemary Brandreth was.</p> + +<p>Before it was time for us to witness the will I repeated to Jim all that +Murray had told me, and watched his face. His eyebrows had drawn +together in a puzzled frown.</p> + +<p>"I hope she isn't going to play that poor chap another trick," he +grumbled. "It would finish him in an hour if she did."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she <i>won't</i>!" I cried. "She loves him."</p> + +<p>I was sure I was right about <i>that</i>. But I was sure of nothing else.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VD" id="CHAPTER_VD"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE MAN WITH THE BRILLIANT EYES</h3> + + +<p>Jim and I witnessed Ralston Murray's will, which left all he possessed +to "Mrs. Rosemary Brandreth." No reference was made in the document to +the fact that Rosemary was engaged to marry him.</p> + +<p>Next day we landed, and Murray was so buoyed up with happiness that he +was able to travel to London without a rest. He stayed at a quiet hotel +in St. James's Square, and we took Rosemary Brandreth with us to the +Savoy. Murray applied for a special licence, and the marriage was to +take place in town, as soon as possible, so that they two might travel +to Devonshire as husband and wife. Jim and I both pined for Courtenaye +Abbey, but we wouldn't desert our new friends. Besides, their affairs +had now become as exciting to us as a mystery play. There were many +questions we asked ourselves and each other concerning obscure and +unexplained details. But—if Murray didn't choose to ask them, they were +no business of ours!</p> + +<p>Jim consulted a firm considered to be among the smartest solicitors in +London; and thanks to their "smartness," by hook or by crook the +difficulty of the codicil was got over.</p> + +<p>The wedding was to take place at Major Murray's hotel, in the salon of +his suite, as he was not able to go through a ceremony in church. Jim +and I were the only invited guests; but at the last moment a third guest +invited himself: the cousin to whom the Ralston property would have gone +if its owner hadn't preferred Ralston Murray for his heir.</p> + +<p>It seemed that the distant relatives had always kept up a +correspondence—letters three or four times a year; and I imagine that +Murray made the disappointed man a consolation allowance, though he +hinted at nothing of the kind to me. In any case, Doctor Paul Jennings +(who lived and practised at Merriton, not far from Ralston Old Manor) +reported unofficially on the condition of the place at stated intervals. +Murray had wired the news of his arrival in England to Jennings, and +that he would be bringing a wife to Devonshire; whereupon the doctor +asked by telegram if he might attend the wedding. Neither Murray nor the +bride-elect could think of any reason why he should not come, so he was +politely bidden to be present.</p> + +<p>I was rather curious about the cousin to whom Murray had referred on +shipboard; and as the acquaintanceship between the two men seemed to be +entirely impersonal, I thought it "cheeky" of Jennings to wangle himself +to the wedding. Jim agreed with me as to the cheekiness. He said, +however, that the request was natural enough. This poor country doctor +had heard, no doubt, that Murray was doomed to death, and had +accordingly hoped great things for himself. There had seemed to be no +reason why these great things shouldn't happen: yet now the dying man +was about to take a wife! Jennings had been too impatient to wait till +the couple turned up in Devonshire to see what the lady was like.</p> + +<p>"Besides," Jim went on (with the shrewdness I always accused him of +picking up in America), "besides, the fellow probably hopes to make a +good impression on the bride, and so get taken on as family physician."</p> + +<p>"He'll be disappointed about <i>that</i>!" I exclaimed, with a flash of +naughty joy, for somehow I'd made up my mind not to like Doctor +Jennings. "Major Murray has promised Rosemary and me to consult Beverley +Drake about himself. It's the most perfect thing that Sir Beverley +should be in Exeter! Not to call him to the case would be tempting +Providence!"</p> + +<p>Jim doesn't know or care much about doctors, but even he knew something +of Sir Beverley Drake. He is the man, of course, who did such wonders in +the war for soldiers who'd contracted obscure tropical diseases while +serving in Egypt, India, Mesopotamia, Salonika, and so on.</p> + +<p>You could bet pretty safely that a person named Drake would be of +Devonshire extraction, and you would not lose your money on Beverley of +that ilk.</p> + +<p>He had spent half his life in the East, and hadn't been settled down as +a Harley Street specialist for many years when the war broke out. +Between 1914 and 1919 he had worn himself to a thread in France, and had +temporarily retired from active life to rest in his native town, Exeter. +But he had known both my wonderful grandmother and old Mr. Ralston. He +wasn't likely to refuse his services to Ralston Murray. Consequently, I +didn't quite see Doctor Paul Jennings getting a professional foothold in +Major Murray's house, no matter what his personal charm might be.</p> + +<p>As it turned out, the personal charm was a matter of opinion. Jennings +had the brightest eyes and the reddest lips ever seen on a man. He was +youngish, and looked more like a soldier than a doctor. Long ago some +Ralston girl had married a Jennings; consequently, the cousinship, +distant as it was. But though you can't associate Spain with a +"Jennings," there was Spanish blood in the man's veins. If you had met +him in Madrid, he would have looked more at home than as a doctor in a +Devonshire village. Not that he had stuck permanently to the village +since taking up practice there. He had gone to the Front, and brought +back a decoration. Also he had brought back a French wife, said to have +been an actress.</p> + +<p>I heard some of these things from Murray, some from Jennings himself on +the day of the wedding. And they made me more curious about the man than +I should have been otherwise. Why, for instance, the Parisian wife? Do +Parisian women, especially actresses, marry obscure English doctors in +country villages which are hardly on the map?</p> + +<p>No. There must be a very special reason for such a match; and I sought +for it when I met Paul Jennings. But his personality, though attractive +to many women, no doubt, wasn't quite enough to account for the +marriage. I resolved to look for something further when I got to +Devonshire and met Mrs. Jennings.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>You wouldn't believe that a wedding ceremony in a private sitting room +of an old-fashioned hotel, with the bridegroom stretched on a sofa, +could be the prettiest sight imaginable; but it was. I never saw so +charming or so pathetic a picture!</p> + +<p>Jim and I had sent quantities of flowers, and Doctor Jennings had sent +some, too. Rosemary and I arranged them, for there was no conventional +nonsense about this bride keeping herself in seclusion till the last +minute! Her wish was to be with the man she loved as often as she could, +and to belong to him with as little delay as possible.</p> + +<p>We transformed the room into a pink-and-white bower, and then taxied +back to the Savoy to dress. There had been no time for Rosemary to have +a gown made, and as she had several white frocks I advised her to wear +one which Murray hadn't seen. But no! She wouldn't do that. She must be +married in something new; in fact, <i>everything</i> new, nothing she'd ever +worn before. The girl seemed superstitious about this: and her pent-up +emotion was so intense that the least opposition would have reduced her +to tears.</p> + +<p>Luckily she found in a Bond Street shop an exquisite model gown just +over from Paris. It was pale dove-colour and silver, and there was an +adorable hat to match. The faint gray, which had a delicate suggestion +of rose in its shadows, enhanced the pearly tints of the bride's +complexion, the coral of her lips, and the gold of her ash-blonde hair. +She was a vision when I brought her back to her lover, just in time to +be at his side before the clergyman in his surplice appeared from the +next room.</p> + +<p>To see her kneeling by Murray's sofa with her hand in his sent the tears +stinging to my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. She looked like an +angel of sweetness and light, and I reproached myself bitterly because I +had half suspected her of mercenary plans.</p> + +<p>Once during the ceremony I glanced at Doctor Jennings. He was gazing at +the bride as I had gazed, fixedly, absorbedly, with his brilliant eyes. +So intent was his look that I wondered its magnetism did not call +Rosemary's eyes to his; but she was as unconscious of his stare as he of +mine. He must have admired her; yet there was something deeper than +admiration; and I would have given a good deal to know what it +was—whether benevolent or otherwise. His expression, however, told no +tale beyond its intense interest.</p> + +<p>There was a little feast after the wedding, with an imposing cake, and +everything that other, happier brides have. It seemed a mockery to drink +health to the newly married pair, knowing as we did that Ralston Murray +had been given three months at most to live. Yet we drank, and made a +brave pretence at all the conventional wedding merriment; for if we +hadn't laughed, some of us would have cried.</p> + +<p>An hour later Major and Mrs. Murray started off on the first stage of +their journey to Devonshire. They went by car, a magnificent Rolls-Royce +rather like a travelling boudoir; and in another car was Murray's +nurse-valet, with the comfortable elderly maid I had found for Rosemary.</p> + +<p>They were to travel at a moderate pace, to stay a night at Glastonbury, +and go on next morning to Ralston Old Manor, which they expected to +reach early in the afternoon. As for Jim and me, we were too keen on +seeing the dear old Abbey together, as our future home, to waste a +minute more than need be <i>en route</i>, no matter how beautiful the journey +by road.</p> + +<p>Our packing had been done before the wedding, and we were in a fast +express tearing westward an hour after the Murrays had set off by car.</p> + +<p>Ours had been such a long honeymoon—months in America—that outsiders +considered it over and done with long ago. We two knew that it wasn't +over and done with, and never would be, but we couldn't go about +proclaiming that fact; therefore we made no objection when Doctor +Jennings proposed travelling in the train with us. We reflected that, if +he were in the same train he would be in the same compartment, and so it +happened; but, though I didn't warm to the man, I was interested in +trying to study the character behind those brilliant eyes.</p> + +<p>Some people's eyes seem to reveal their souls as through clear windows. +Other eyes conceal, as if they were imitation windows, made of mirrors. +I thought that Paul Jennings' were the mirror windows; but he had a +manner which appeared almost ostentatiously frank. He told us of the +difficulties he had had in getting on, before the war, and praised +Ralston Murray's generosity. "Ralston would never tell you this," he +said, "but it was he who made it possible for me to marry. He has been +awfully decent to me, though we hardly know each other except through +letters; and I only wish I could do something for him in return. All +I've been able to do so far is very little: just to look after the +Manor, and now to get the place ready for Murray and his bride: or +rather, my wife has done most of that. I wish I were a great doctor, and +my joy would be to put my skill at Ralston's service. But as it is, +he'll no doubt try to get an opinion from Beverley Drake?"</p> + +<p>Jennings put this as a question rather than stating it, and I guessed +that there had been no talk on the subject between him and Murray. But +there could be no secret: and Jim answered promptly that we were staying +in Exeter on purpose to see Sir Beverley. We'd made an appointment with +him by telegram, Jim added, and would go on the rest of the way, which +was short, by car. Even with that delay we should reach the Abbey in +time for dinner.</p> + +<p>"My wife is meeting me at Exeter, as I have business there," Doctor +Jennings replied. "She will come to the train. I hope you will let me +introduce her to you, Lady Courtenaye?"</p> + +<p>I murmured that I should be charmed, and felt in my bones that he hoped +we would invite them to motor with us. Jim glanced at me for a +"pointer," but I looked sweetly blank. It would not have taken us far +out of our way to drop the Jenningses at Merriton. But I just didn't +want to do it. So <i>there</i>!</p> + +<p>All the same, I was curious to see what the Parisian wife was like; and +at Exeter we three got out of the train together. "There she is!" +exclaimed Jennings suddenly, and his face lit up.</p> + +<p>"He's in love!" I thought, and caught sight of the lady to whom he was +waving his hand.</p> + +<p>"Why, you've married Gaby Lorraine!" I cried, before I had stopped to +think.</p> + +<p>But the doctor was not offended. "Yes, I have, and I'm jolly proud of +her!" he said. "It's she, not I, who keeps dark in Merriton about her +past glories.... She wants only to be Mrs. Paul Jennings here in the +country. Hello, chérie! Here I am!"</p> + +<p>Gaby Lorraine was a well-known musical comedy actress; at least <i>had</i> +been. Before the war and even during the first year of the war she had +been seen and heard a good deal in England. Because of her pretty +singing voice and smart recitations, she had been taken up by people +more or less in Society. Then she had disappeared, about the time that +Grandmother took me to Rome, and letters from friends mentioning her had +said there was some "hushed-up scandal." Exactly what it was nobody +seemed to know. One thought it had to do with cocaine. Another fancied +it was a question of kleptomania or "something really weird." The world +had forgotten her since, but here she was, a Mrs. Jennings, married to a +Devonshire village doctor, greeting her husband like a good wife at the +railway station.</p> + +<p>Nothing could have been more perfect than her conception of this new +part she'd chosen to play. Neat, smooth brown hair; plain tailor-made +coat and skirt; little white waistcoat; close-fitting toque; low-heeled +russet shoes; gloves to match: admirable! Only the "liquid powder" which +gives the strange pallor loved in Paris suggested that this <i>chic</i> +figure had ever shown itself on the stage.</p> + +<p>"I wish I knew <i>what</i> the scandal had been!" I murmured half to myself +and half to Jim, as we parted in the station after introductions.</p> + +<p>"That sounds unlike you, darling," Jim reproached me. "Why should you +want to know?"</p> + +<p>"Because," I explained, "whatever it was, is the reason why she married +this country doctor. If there'd been no scandal, Mademoiselle Gaby +Lorraine wouldn't be Mrs. Paul Jennings."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VID" id="CHAPTER_VID"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE PICTURES</h3> + + +<p>Our interview with Sir Beverley Drake was most satisfactory. Because he +had known old Mr. Ralston and Grandmother, the great specialist granted +my earnest request.</p> + +<p>"I had almost vowed not to receive one solitary patient," he laughed, +"yet here I am promising to motor thirty miles for the pleasure of +calling on one."</p> + +<p>"You won't regret it," I prophesied. "You will find Major Murray an +interesting man, and as enthralling a case as you ever met. As for the +bride, you'll fall in love with her. Every man must."</p> + +<p>It was finally arranged that he should visit Ralston Murray early in the +following week. He could not go before, as he was expecting visitors; +but it was already Wednesday, so there were not many days to wait.</p> + +<p>Jim and I had decided not to run over to see the Murrays at once, but to +give them time to "settle in." We would go on Sunday afternoon, we +thought; but on Saturday I had a telegram from Rosemary. "Would Sir +Beverley be offended if we asked him not to come, after all? Ralston +thinks it not worth while."</p> + +<p>I was utterly amazed, for in London she had seemed as keen on consulting +the specialist as I was, and had thanked us warmly for the offer of +breaking our journey at Exeter.</p> + +<p>"We can't force Sir Beverley on Murray," Jim said. "It wouldn't be fair +to either of them." But I insisted.</p> + +<p>"There's something odd about this," I told him. "Let's spin over to-day +instead of to-morrow, and tell the Murrays that Sir Beverley <i>would</i> be +offended. I shall say to Rosemary that as we asked him to call, it would +be humiliating to us to have him treated in such a way."</p> + +<p>I think Jim has laid down for himself a certain line of action with me. +He yields to me on all matters as to which he's comparatively +indifferent, so that I won't notice much when he turns into the Rock of +Gibraltar over big issues.</p> + +<p>This was one of the occasions when he yielded, and we flashed to Ralston +Old Manor directly after luncheon. There wasn't time for a telegram to +be delivered there before our arrival, and the Manor had no 'phone, so +we appeared <i>en surprise</i>. And the "surprise" was a double one, for I +was amazed to come upon Mrs. Jennings walking with Rosemary down the elm +avenue. Evidently the visitor was going home, and her hostess was +accompanying her as far as the gate. Our car running along the drive +startled them from what seemed to be the most intimate talk. At sight of +us they both looked up, and their manner changed. Rosemary smiled a +welcome. Gaby smiled, in politeness. But before the smile there was the +fraction of a second when each face revealed something it didn't mean to +reveal—or I imagined it. Rosemary's had lost the look of exalted +happiness which had thrilled me on her wedding day. For that instant it +had a haunted look. As for Gaby, the fleeting expression of her face was +not so hard to understand. For some reason she was annoyed that we had +come, and felt an impulse of dislike toward us.</p> + +<p>"Can those two have met before?" I asked myself. It seemed improbable: +yet it was odd that strangers who had known each other only a couple of +days should be on such terms.</p> + +<p>They parted on the spot, when we had slowed down, Mrs. Jennings walking +on alone the short distance to the gate, and Rosemary getting into the +car with us, to drive to the house. I couldn't resist asking the +question, "Had you ever seen Mrs. Jennings before she was married?" For, +after all, there was no reason why I should not ask it. But Rosemary +looked me full in the face as she answered:</p> + +<p>"No, I never met her until she and her husband called the day before +yesterday. She had been very kind about getting the house beautifully +ready for us, and finding servants. I feel I know her quite well, +because she has come in every day to explain about repairs that have had +to be made, and that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Do you like her?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I think she's tremendously clever," Rosemary said.</p> + +<p>I was inclined to think so, too. "It's <i>she</i> who has been trying to +persuade the Murrays not to have Sir Beverley Drake," I told myself. +"She wants the job for her husband."</p> + +<p>Happiness had had a wonderful effect upon Murray, even in this short +time. It seemed to have electrified him with a new vitality. He had +walked a few steps without any help, and for the first time in many +weeks felt an appetite for food.</p> + +<p>"If I didn't <i>know</i> there was no hope for me, I should almost think +there was some!" he said, laughing. "Of course there isn't any! This is +only a flash in the pan, but I may as well enjoy it while it lasts, and +it makes things a little less tragic for my angel of mercy. I feel that +it might be best to 'let well alone,' as they say, and not disturb +myself with a new treatment. All the American specialists agreed that +nothing on earth could change the course of events, so why fuss, as I'm +more comfortable than I hoped to be? If you don't think it would be rude +to Sir Beverley——"</p> + +<p>But there I broke in upon him, and Jim helped me out. We <i>did</i> think it +would be rude. Sir Beverley would be wounded. For our sakes, if for +nothing else, we asked that Sir Beverley should be allowed to make his +call and examination as arranged.</p> + +<p>Murray did not protest much when he saw how we took his suggestion; and +Rosemary protested not at all. She simply sat still with a queer, +<i>fatal</i> look on her beautiful face; and suspicions of her began to stir +within me again. Did she not <i>want</i> to give her husband a chance of +life?</p> + +<p>The answer to that question, so far as Sir Beverley came into it, was +that she could easily have influenced Murray not to heed us if she had +been determined to do so. But that was just the effect she gave; lack of +determination. It was as if, in the end, she wanted Murray to decide for +himself, without being biassed by her.</p> + +<p>"That Gaby Lorraine <i>is</i> in it somehow, all the same," I decided. "She +was able to make Rosemary send us the telegram, and if we hadn't come +over, and argued, she would have got her away."</p> + +<p>It seemed rather sinister.</p> + +<p>Ralston Murray was charmed with his heritage, and wanted Rosemary to +show us all over the house, which she did. It was beautiful in its +simple way: low-ceilinged rooms, many with great beams, and exquisite +oak panelling of linen-fold and other patterns. But the fame of the +Manor, such as it was, lay in its portraits and pictures by famous +artists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Rosemary frankly +confessed that she knew very little about Old Masters of any age; and +Jim had been, as he said, in the same boat until the idea had struck him +of renewing the past glories of the family place, Courtenaye Abbey. +After renting the Abbey from me, and beginning to restore its +dilapidations, he had studied our heirlooms of every sort; had bought +books, and had consulted experts. Consequently, he had become as good a +judge of a Lely, a Gainsborough, a Romney, a Reynolds, and so on, as I +had become, through being my grandmother's grand-daughter.</p> + +<p>I wondered what was in his mind as we went through the hall and the +picture gallery, and began to be so excited over my own thoughts that I +could hardly wait to find out his.</p> + +<p>"Well, what is your impression of the famous collection?" I asked, the +instant our car whirled us away from the door of Ralston Old Manor. +"What do you think of everything?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Think</i>, my child?" echoed Jim. "I'm bursting with what I think; and +so, I expect, are you!"</p> + +<p>"I wonder how long it is since the pictures were valued?" I muttered.</p> + +<p>"I suppose they must have been done," said Jim, "at the time of old +Ralston's death, so that the amount of his estate could be judged."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I agreed; "I suppose the income-tax people, or whoever the fiends +are that assess heirs for death duties, would not have accepted any old +estimates. But that would mean that the pictures were all right ten +months ago."</p> + +<p>We looked at each other. "There's been some queer hocus-pocus going on," +mumbled Jim.</p> + +<p>"It sounds like black magic!" I breathed.</p> + +<p>"Black fraud," he amended. "Ought we to speak to Murray—just drop him a +hint, and suggest his getting an expert to have a look round?"</p> + +<p>"It would worry him, and he oughtn't to be worried now," I said.</p> + +<p>"Still, he wants everything to be all right for his wife when he goes +west."</p> + +<p>"I know," said I; "but I don't feel that these happy days of his—his +last days, perhaps—ought to be disturbed. If—if Rosemary loves him as +much as we believe she does, she'd rather have a fuss after he's gone +than before. We might be breaking open a wasp's nest if we spoke. And it +isn't our <i>business</i>, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Unless we could find out something on the quiet," thoughtfully +suggested Jim. "For instance, is there anybody in this neighbourhood +who's a pretty good artist and a smart copyist—anybody, I mean, who +could have had the run of the Manor while the house was unoccupied +except by a caretaker?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we might set ourselves to find out that," I assented. "And, by the +way—apropos of nothing, of course!—I think we might call on the +Jenningses, don't you?—as the doctor intimated that they didn't 'feel +grand enough' to call on us."</p> + +<p>"I think we might," echoed Jim. "And why not to-day, while we're close +to Merriton?"</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash I seized the speaking-tube and directed the chauffeur. +We had gone only a mile out of the way, and that was soon retraced.</p> + +<p>Both the doctor and his wife were at home, in their rather ugly modern +villa, which was one of the few blots on the beauty of Merriton. But +there were no pictures at all in the little drawing room. The +distempered walls were decorated with a few Persian rugs (not bad, +though of no great interest) given to Doctor Jennings, it seemed, by a +grateful patient now dead. By round-about ways we tried to learn whether +there was artistic talent in the family, but our efforts failed. As Jim +said later, when the call had ended in smoke, "There was nothing doing!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIID" id="CHAPTER_VIID"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>SIR BEVERLEY'S IMPRESSIONS</h3> + + +<p>Jim is not a bad amateur detective, and he didn't abandon his efforts to +get behind the portrait mystery. But we had decided that, for Murray's +sake, "discretion was the better part of valour" for us; and the care +with which he had to work added a lot to his difficulties. Besides, +there were a good many other things to think of just then: things +concerning ourselves, also things concerning the Murrays. And those +things which concerned them were a thousand times more important than +any faked heirlooms.</p> + +<p>Sir Beverley Drake gave some faint hope that Ralston Murray's life might +be saved. There was a serum upon which he had been experimenting for +years, and in which he had begun enthusiastically to believe, for +obscure tropical maladies resembling Murray's.</p> + +<p>We had asked him to motor on to the Abbey and luncheon, after his visit +to Ralston Old Manor, hardly daring to think that he would accept. But +he did accept; and I saw by his face the moment we met that the news he +had to give was, at the worst, not bad. I was so happy when I heard what +he had to say that I could have danced for joy.</p> + +<p>"Mind, I don't promise anything," Sir Beverley reminded me. "But there +<i>is</i> hope. Murray must have had a marvellous constitution to have gone +through what he has, in the war and since. If he hadn't had that, he'd +be dead now. And then, of course, this amazing romance of his—this +deathbed marriage—as you might call it—has given him a wonderful +fillip. Happiness is an elixir of life, even in the most desperate cases +at times, so I've got something hopeful to work on. I don't feel <i>sure</i> +even of a partial success for my treatment, and I told them that. It's +an experiment. If it fails, Murray may burn out rather than flicker out, +and go a few weeks sooner than he need if let alone. If it +succeeds—why, there's no limit to the success it <i>might</i> have!"</p> + +<p>"You mean, he might be entirely cured—a well man again?" I almost +gasped.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's just on the cards," Sir Beverley answered.</p> + +<p>"Of course, Murray decided at once to run the risk?" asked Jim.</p> + +<p>"Of course," replied the specialist. But he looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"And Rosemary?" I added. "Couldn't she have kissed your feet for the +blessed message of hope you gave her?"</p> + +<p>Sir Beverley smiled at the picture. "I saw no sign of such a desire on +the part of the beautiful lady," he said.</p> + +<p>"She's rather shy of expressing her emotions," I explained Rosemary to +the great man. "But she has the <i>deepest</i> feelings!"</p> + +<p>"So I should judge," he answered rather drily. "Perhaps, though, she has +no great faith in the experiment, and would prefer for her husband's +peace to let 'well enough alone,' as people vaguely say."</p> + +<p>Again I felt the disagreeable shock I'd experienced when Rosemary had +first spoken to me of Murray's death as certain. "It must be that," I +said, quickly. "She adores him."</p> + +<p>"She gave me proof of that, in case I'd doubted," Sir Beverley answered. +"I told them that before beginning the hypodermic injections of serum I +should like to change and purify Murray's blood by transfusion, and so +give him an extra chance. Mrs. Murray instantly offered her blood, and +didn't flinch when I told her a pint would be necessary. Her husband +refused to let her make such a sacrifice for him, and was quite +indignant that I didn't protest against it. But she begged, coaxed, +insisted. It was really a moving scene, and—er—went far to remove my +first impression."</p> + +<p>"What was your first impression?" I catechized. "Oh, don't think I ask +from curiosity! I'm Rosemary's friend. Jim and I are both as much +interested in Ralston Murray's case as if he were our brother. In a way, +we're responsible for the marriage—at least, we advised it. I know +Rosemary well, I believe, though she has a hard nature to understand. +And if you had an unfavourable impression of her, perhaps out of my +knowledge I might explain it away."</p> + +<p>"Well, to tell the truth," said Sir Beverley bluntly, "when I gave the +verdict which I'd thought would enchant her, Mrs. Murray seemed—not +happy, but terrified. I expected for a second or two that she would +faint. I must confess, I felt—chilled."</p> + +<p>"What—did she say?" I faltered.</p> + +<p>"She said nothing at all. She looked—frozen."</p> + +<p>"I hope poor Murray didn't get the same impression you got?" said Jim.</p> + +<p>"I don't think he did. She was sitting on the edge of his sofa, holding +his hand, after I'd made my examination of the patient, and had called +her back into the room. And when I told them what I hoped, I saw Mrs. +Murray squeeze his fingers suddenly very tight with her small ones. To +me—combined with the staring look in her eyes—the movement seemed +convulsive, such as you might see in a prisoner, pronounced guilty by +the foreman of the jury. But naturally no thought of that kind jumped +into Murray's head! When she pressed his hand, he lifted hers to his +lips and kissed it. All the same, my impression remained—like a lump of +ice I'd swallowed by mistake—until Mrs. Murray so eagerly offered her +blood for her husband. Then I had to acknowledge that she must be truly +in love with him—for some women, even affectionate wives, wouldn't have +the physical or mental courage for such an ordeal."</p> + +<p>"I hope she won't weaken when the time comes!" exclaimed Jim.</p> + +<p>"I don't somehow think she will weaken," Sir Beverley replied, a puzzled +frown drawing his thick eyebrows together.</p> + +<p>I was puzzled, too, but I praised Rosemary, and gave no hint of my own +miserable, reawakened suspicions. What I wanted to do was to see her as +soon as possible, and judge for myself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIID" id="CHAPTER_VIIID"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>WHILE WE WAITED</h3> + + +<p>When Sir Beverley Drake undertakes a case, he puts his whole soul into +it, and no sacrifice of time or trouble is too much. I loved the dear +man when he quietly announced that he would live at Ralston Old Manor, +coming in the day before the transfusion, and remaining till what he +called the "end of the treatment, first phase."</p> + +<p>This meant that he would be on the spot for a month. By that time he +could be practically certain whether or not the serum had "gripped" the +disease, and would at last conquer it. If "success" were the verdict, +Sir Beverley would instruct another doctor how to continue the +hypodermics and other treatment, and observe results.</p> + +<p>"Selfishly, I should have liked to put the patient into a nursing home +at Exeter," he said, "where I could stay at home and visit him once a +day. But I didn't feel that would be giving the man his best chance. +He's in love with his wife, and in love with his house. I wouldn't +separate him from either."</p> + +<p>This was splendid of Sir Beverley, and splendid for Murray—except for +one possibility which I foresaw. What if Rosemary or Murray himself +should suggest Paul Jennings as the doctor understudy? I was afraid that +this might happen, both because Jennings lived so near the Manor, and +because of the friendship which Rosemary had oddly struck up with the +French wife.</p> + +<p>I dared not prejudice Sir Beverley against Murray's distant cousin, for +I'd <i>heard</i> nothing to Paul's disadvantage—rather the contrary. He was +said to be a smart doctor, up to date in his methods, and "sure to get +on." Still, I thought of the changed portraits, and tried to put the +microbe of an idea into Sir Beverley's head. I told him that, if it +hadn't been for Ralston Murray, Jennings would without much doubt have +inherited the Manor, with a large sum of money.</p> + +<p>The specialist's quick brain caught what was in mine as if I'd tossed it +to him, like a ball. "I suppose, if Murray died now, Jennings could hope +for nothing," he said, "except perhaps a small legacy. Murray will have +made a will in his wife's favour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied, "or he made a will when he was engaged to her, and has +added a codicil since. But it's unusual in some ways, and might be +disputed."</p> + +<p>Sir Beverley smiled. "Well, don't worry," he reassured me. "I have my +own candidate to take over the job when I leave the Manor. I wouldn't +trust a stranger, no matter how good a doctor he might be. So that's +that."</p> + +<p>It was! I felt satisfied; and also more than satisfied with Rosemary. I +went to see her the day before the transfusion experiment, and found her +radiant in a strange, spiritual way. It seemed to me more like +exaltation than any earthly sort of happiness; and her words proved that +my feeling about it was right.</p> + +<p>"Whether Ralston lives or dies, I shall always be so thankful that I +could do this thing for him. I don't think it's a <i>big</i> thing, though he +does, and it was hard to persuade him. But to do it gives me the most +divine joy, which I can't describe. If I'd been born for that and +nothing else, it would be enough."</p> + +<p>"How you love him!" The words broke from me.</p> + +<p>"I do love him," she answered in a low voice, as if she spoke more to +herself than me. "Whatever may happen, I have loved him, and always will +in this world and the next."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you frightened?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Frightened?" she echoed. "Oh, <i>no</i>!"</p> + +<p>And quite a new sort of respect for her grew up within me—respect for +her physical courage. She was such a tall lily-in-silver-moonlight +creature, and so sensitive, that one could not have been disgusted with +her, as one can with some women, for cowardice; but she was brave in her +love. When she said that she was not frightened, I knew she wasn't +trying to make herself think so. She had no fear at all. She was eager +for the moment when she could make the gift.</p> + +<p>Jim and I were allowed to be in the house when the experiment was tried, +not with the hope of seeing Murray or Rosemary afterward, but in order +to know the result without waiting.</p> + +<p>We sat in the library, and were presently joined by Paul Jennings and +Gaby. They had grown so fond of "the hero and heroine of this romance" +(as Gaby put it) that they hadn't been able to keep away.</p> + +<p>Jennings explained to us in detail the whole process of transfusion, and +why it was more effectual in a case like Murray's than the saline +injections given by some modern men. I felt rather faint as I listened, +seeing as if in a picture what those two devoted ones were going +through. But I knew that they were in the hands of a master, and that +the assistant and nurses he had brought would be the most efficient of +their kind.</p> + +<p>"Would you do for me what your friend is doing for her husband?" Paul +Jennings suddenly flung the question at his wife. And she answered him, +not in words, but with a smile. I couldn't read what that smile meant, +and I wondered if he could.</p> + +<p>Jim would not have needed to <i>ask</i> me a thing like that!</p> + +<p>After what seemed a long time of suspense Sir Beverley came to tell us +the news—looking like a strong-faced, middle-aged pierrot in his +surgeon's "make-up."</p> + +<p>"All's well," he said. "They've both stood it grandly; and now they're +asleep. I thought you'd like to hear it from me, myself."</p> + +<p>Then he looked from us to the Jenningses, whom he had never seen before. +I introduced them, and for the first time I became aware of what Gaby +Lorraine could be when she wished intensely to charm a man. She radiated +some subtle attraction of sex—deliberately radiated it, and without one +spoken word. She hadn't tried that "stunt" on my Jim, and if she had on +Ralston Murray I hadn't been there to see. There was something she +wanted to get out of Sir Beverley!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IXD" id="CHAPTER_IXD"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE GOOD NEWS</h3> + + +<p>I thought I knew what that "something" was. I thought that Gaby wished +to "tame" Sir Beverley, and make him so much her slave that he would +appoint Paul to understudy him with Murray. I chuckled as I "deduced" +this ambition, for poor Gaby was in blissful ignorance of a certain +conversation I'd had with Sir Beverley.</p> + +<p>"She'll find him a hard nut to crack," I said to myself. Still, I +suffered some bad moments in the month that followed. The Jenningses +were as often at the Manor as we were, and Gaby came frequently alone, +seldom failing to see Sir Beverley. He did seem to admire her, and to +like Paul well enough to worry me.</p> + +<p>"Will he stick to his point about his own doctor?" I wondered. But when +the time came to prove his strength of mind, he did stick.</p> + +<p>When he had been at Ralston Old Manor four weeks and two days there was +a letter for me from him in my morning post at the Abbey. "I want you to +come along as soon as you can and break something to Mrs. Murray," he +wrote. "I think she would rather hear it from you than me."</p> + +<p>I hardly waited to finish breakfast; but I was more excited than +frightened. If the news had been bad, I thought that Sir Beverley was +the man to have told it straight out. If it were good, he wouldn't mind +tantalizing me a little.</p> + +<p>Sir Beverley was walking under the elms, his hands behind his back, +taking his early stroll, when my car drove up. I got out at once and +joined him.</p> + +<p>"The man's going to get well—<i>well</i>, I tell you!" he joyously +announced. "No dreary semi-invalid for a devoted wife to take care of, +but a man in the prime of life, for a woman to adore. I'm sure of it."</p> + +<p>"But how wonderful!" I cried, ecstatically squeezing his arm. "What a +triumph, after dozens of great doctors had given him up! Does he know +yet?"</p> + +<p>Sir Beverley shook his head. "I'm going to tell him this morning. I +wanted to wait till Mrs. Murray had been told."</p> + +<p>"Why on earth didn't you tell her yourself—tell them both together?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I only thought she'd rather get the good +news from an intimate friend like you. If it makes her break down a bit +she won't mind before you as she would before me, and it wouldn't be +wise to surprise her in front of the invalid. When Murray hears from my +lips, and Mrs. Murray from yours, there won't have to be any +preliminaries: they can just fall into each other's arms."</p> + +<p>I argued no further. Indeed, there was no need. I knew as well as if +he'd had the embarrassment of putting it into words, how Sir Beverley +had feared that Rosemary might disappoint her husband, if the great news +were told in his presence. I thought also that if she were "strange" in +the way she had been strange before, he didn't want to see her being it!</p> + +<p>All my lurking suspicions of Rosemary had died an ignominious death at +the moment when, radiant with the light of her own devotion, she had +tried to define the love she felt. I was sure that what Sir Beverley had +mistaken for "horror" was only an effort at self-control when—perhaps +rather suddenly—he had given his first hint of hope. But I didn't +insist to Sir Beverley. Rosemary would soon prove to him that I was +right.</p> + +<p>He and I walked into the house together, and as he went to his patient, +I inquired for Mrs. Murray. Her boudoir opened off a corridor which ran +at right angles out of the panelled hall where many of the once famous, +now infamous, portraits hung. Murray had been moved down to a wing on +the ground floor after Sir Beverley came to the Manor, and this boudoir +of Rosemary's had a door opening into that wing. It was a charming, +low-ceilinged room, with a network of old beams, leaded windows with +wide sills where bowls of flowers stood, and delightful chintz chosen by +Rosemary herself. She came almost at once, through the door leading from +the invalid's wing; and as the sunlight touched her bright hair and +white dress I was thrilled by her ethereal beauty. Never had she been +more lovely, but she looked fragile as a crystal vase.</p> + +<p>"Darling!" I exclaimed, snatching her in my arms. "You are a dream +to-day—but I want to see you more solid. You <i>will</i> be soon—a strong +pink rose instead of a white lily—because there's the most gorgeous +news to-day. I met Sir Beverley and he gave me leave to tell you, +because I love you so much. Your dear man is saved. <i>You've</i> helped to +save him, and——"</p> + +<p>The words died on my lips. I had to put out all my strength with a +sudden effort to keep her from falling. She didn't faint, but her knees +collapsed. I held her for an instant, then supported her till she had +sunk into a chair which was luckily near. If she hadn't been in my arms +I think she would have fallen. Her head lay against the high back of the +grandfather chair, and her face was so white that she reminded me of a +snow-wreath flitting past one's window, ghostlike at twilight.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were half closed. She didn't look at me, nor seem to be any +longer conscious of my presence; but I dropped on my knees beside her, +and covered her cold hands with my own.</p> + +<p>"I oughtn't to have told you so abruptly," I said. "Sir Beverley trusted +me. I've betrayed his trust. But I thought, as you knew there was hope, +hearing that now it was certainty wouldn't excite you too much. Oh, +Rosemary, dear, think how glorious it will be! No more fears, no more +anxieties. Instead of saying to yourself, 'I have him only for a few +weeks,' you will know that you have years together to look forward to. +You will be like Jim and me. You can travel. You can——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Rosemary almost whispered. "Yes, it is glorious—for Ralston. I +am thankful. You are—good to sympathize so much, and I'm grateful. +I—I'd hardly dreamed before that he <i>could</i> get well. All those +specialists, they were so sure; many of them very celebrated—as +celebrated as Sir Beverley—and he is only one against a dozen. That's +why it is—a surprise, you see."</p> + +<p>She was making so violent an effort to control herself that I felt +guiltily conscious of my eyes upon her face. One would have thought +that, instead of giving her the key to happiness, I had handed her that +of a dungeon where she would be shut up for life.</p> + +<p>"Would you rather I'd go?" I stammered. "Would you like to be alone?"</p> + +<p>She nodded, moistening her lips. "Yes, thank you, Elizabeth," she +breathed. "I—yes, for a little while I'd like to be alone—with my +joy—to pray."</p> + +<p>I jumped up like a marionette. "Of course," I said. "I understand."</p> + +<p>But I didn't understand, as perhaps she guessed from my quivering voice.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could make you—<i>really</i> understand," she sighed. "I—I'm +different from other women. I can't take things as they do—as you +would. But—I told you once, before, <i>whatever happens I love him</i>."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you do," I answered, as I opened the door and slipped softly +out. Yet that wasn't so true as it had been a few minutes ago. I felt as +if I'd been through an earthquake which had shaken me up without +warning.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad that it was I and not Sir Beverley who told her," I said to +myself. But I said it sadly. The sunshine was dimmed. I longed like a +child to escape from that house—escape quickly, and run to Jim's arms +as to a fortress.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Sir Beverley kept his promise, and sent for a man who had worked with +him in his experiments. Then he went back to Exeter, promising to return +if he were sent for, or in any case to look in once a fortnight.</p> + +<p>There was no need, however, to send for him. Ralston Murray got on—as +the new man, Doctor Thomas, said—"like a house on fire."</p> + +<p>At first there was little change to be noticed in his appearance. It was +only that the bad symptoms, the constant high temperature, the agonizing +pains in all the bones, and the deadly weakness, diminished and +presently ceased. Then, the next time Jim and I called, I cried out: +"Why, you are <i>fatter</i>!"</p> + +<p>Murray laughed with a gay, almost boyish ring in his laugh. +"Transformation of the Living Skeleton into the Fat Man!" he cried. +"What a happy world this is, after all, and I'm the happiest man in it; +that is, I would be, if Rosemary weren't shrinking as rapidly as I +increase. What <i>are</i> we to do with her? She says she's perfectly well. +But look at her little face."</p> + +<p>We looked at it, and though she smiled as brightly as she could, the +smile was camouflage. Always pearly, her skin was dead white now. Even +the lips had lost their coral red, though she bit them to bring back the +blood, and a slight hollow had broken the exquisite oval of her cheeks. +Her eyes looked far too big; and even her hair had dulled, losing +something of its moonlight sheen.</p> + +<p>"I'm perfectly all right!" she insisted. "It's only the reaction after +so much anxiety. <i>Anybody</i> would feel it, in my place."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," I soothed her. But I knew that there must be more than +that. She looked as if she never slept. My heart yearned over her, yet I +despaired of doing any good. She would not confide in me. All my +confidence in myself as a "Brightener" was gone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XD" id="CHAPTER_XD"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE CLIMAX</h3> + + +<p>From that time on I was haunted by Rosemary's thin, beautiful face, the +suppressed anguish in her eyes, and the wretched conviction that I was +of no use—that I'd stumbled against a high, blank wall. Often at night +I dreamed of her in a feverish way, queer dreams that I couldn't +remember when I waked, though they left me depressed and anxious. And +then, one night nearly four weeks after Murray had been pronounced a +saved man, came the climax.</p> + +<p>As usual, I was thinking of the Murrays when I went to bed—how well and +handsome and happy he was, how mysteriously and silently the girl was +fading. I must have dropped off to sleep with these thoughts in my mind, +and how long I slept I don't know, but I waked, sitting up, hearing loud +sobs. At first I imagined they were Rosemary's. Then I realized that +they were my own.</p> + +<p>In a moment Jim was with me, holding me tight, as if I were a child. +"Darling one, what is it? Tell Jim!" he implored.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I wailed. "Except the letter—or was it a telegram? And +then that dark precipice! She was on the edge. She called to me: +'Elizabeth—help! help!' But the whole ocean came rolling between us. +Oh, Jim, I <i>must</i> get to her!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's Rosemary you're talking about," Jim said. "But it was +only a dream, dearest child. You're not awake yet. Nothing has happened +to Rosemary."</p> + +<p>But I couldn't be consoled. "I suppose it was a dream," I wept. "But +it's true; I know it is. I <i>know</i> something has happened—something +terrible."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's hope it hasn't," soothed Jim. "What could happen in the +middle of the night? It's a quarter to three. We can't do anything till +morning. Then, if you still feel anxious, I'll take you over to the +Manor in the car as early as you like. That is, I will if you're good +and do your best to go to sleep again now."</p> + +<p>How I adored him, and how sorry I was for Rosemary because a black cloud +obscured the brightness of her love, which might have been as sweet as +mine!</p> + +<p>I couldn't sleep again as Jim wished me to do, but he comforted me, and +the dark hours passed. As soon as it was light, however, I bounded up, +bathed and dressed, and Jim did the same for the sake of "standing by"; +which was silly of us, perhaps, because it would be hardly decent to +start before half-past nine. If we did we should reach the Manor at an +absurd hour, especially as Ralston and Rosemary were lazy creatures, +even now, when he was rejoicing in this new lease of life. She hated to +get up early, and he liked to do what she liked.</p> + +<p>"If anything had been wrong, I think we should have got a telegram by +this time," said Jim, as he tried to make me eat breakfast. "You know +how quickly a wire is delivered at our office from Merriton, and——"</p> + +<p>At that instant a footman appeared with a brown envelope on a silver +tray. It was addressed to "Lady Courtenaye," but I asked Jim to open it +and read the message first.</p> + +<p>"Rosemary has—gone," he told me. "Murray asks if, by any chance, she +has come here. There's a 'reply-paid' form; but he wants us to run over +to him if we can."</p> + +<p>Jim scrawled an answer:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Deeply regret she is not here. Will be with you shortly.</p></blockquote> + +<p>and sent it off by the post-office boy who waited, though it was +probable that we should see Murray before our response to his question +reached him.</p> + +<p>I think I was never so sorry for any man in my life!</p> + +<p>"I have been too happy!" he said, when he had come to meet us in the +hall—walking firmly in these days—and had led us into his study or +"den." "She's such a friend of yours, Elizabeth. Has she consciously or +unconsciously given you some clue?"</p> + +<p>"No real clue," I told him, regretfully; "though I may think of a +forgotten hint when we've talked things over. But you must tell us +exactly what has happened."</p> + +<p>Poor Murray held himself in iron control. Perhaps he even "hoped for the +best," as Jim urged him to do. But I saw through the false calmness into +a despairing soul. Already the newly lit flame of restored vitality +burned low. He looked years older, and I would have given much if Sir +Beverley or even the understudy had been in the house. Doctor Thomas had +gone a week ago, however, Sir Beverley judging that Murray could now get +on by himself. Alas, he had not guessed how literally the man would be +left alone to do this!</p> + +<p>The morning of yesterday had passed, Murray said, in an ordinary way. +Then, by the second post, which arrived after luncheon, a registered +letter had come for Rosemary. Such letters appeared now and then, at +regular intervals, and Rosemary had explained that they were sent on by +her bank in London, and contained enclosures from America. Rosemary +never talked to him of these letters, or of America at all, having told +him once, before their marriage, that her one link with that country now +was her sister. Whether or not she was fond of the sister he could not +say; but she always seemed restless when one of these registered letters +arrived.</p> + +<p>Yesterday was no exception to the rule. When the letter was handed to +Rosemary she and her husband were having coffee and cigarettes in her +boudoir. She flushed at sight of the envelope, but tossed it aside +unopened, as though she took no interest in its contents, and continued +the conversation as if it had not been broken off. Murray felt uneasily +conscious, however, that she was thinking of the letter, and made an +excuse to leave her alone so that she might read it in peace. Depressed +and anxious, he strolled out on the lawn with the dogs. One of them made +a rush at the open bay window into the boudoir; and, snatching the +animal back by its collar, Murray caught a glimpse of Rosemary burning +something in the grate.</p> + +<p>Soon after she had joined him out of doors, and had made an effort to be +gay. He had thought, however, that she was absent-minded, and he longed +to ask what the trouble was; but America as a subject of conversation +was taboo.</p> + +<p>For the rest of the day they were mostly together, and never had +Rosemary been so loving or so sweet.</p> + +<p>At night Ralston had remained with his wife in her room till twelve. +They had talked of their wonderful meeting on the <i>Aquitania</i>, and the +life to which it had led. Then the clock striking midnight reminded +Rosemary that it was late. She had a headache, she said, and would take +some aspirin. Murray was banished to his own room, which adjoined hers, +but the door was left open between.</p> + +<p>It was some time before Ralston went to sleep, yet he heard no sound +from Rosemary's room. At last, however, he must have slumbered heavily, +for he knew no more till dawn. Somehow, he had got into the habit of +rousing at six, though he generally dozed again. This time he waked as +usual, and, remembering Rosemary's headache, tiptoed to the door and +peeped into the darkened room. To his surprise she was not in bed. +Still, he was not worried. His thought was that she had risen early and +stealthily, not to rouse him, and that she had gone to the bathroom next +door to bathe and dress for an early walk.</p> + +<p>He tapped at the bathroom door, but getting no answer, turned the +handle. Rosemary was not in the room, and there were no towels lying +about.</p> + +<p>Murray's next move was to draw back the curtains across one of the open +windows; and it was then that he saw an envelope stuck into the mirror +over the dressing table. His name was on it, and with a stab of +apprehension he broke the seal.</p> + +<p>The letter which this envelope had contained he showed to Jim and me. It +was written in pencil, and was very short. It said:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Good-bye, my Beloved. I must go, and I cannot even tell you why. +You may find out some day, but I hope not, for both our sakes. It +would only make you more unhappy. You would hate me, I think, if +you knew the truth. But oh, try not to do that. I love you so much! +I am so happy that you are growing well and strong, yet if I had +known I should not have dared to marry you, because from the first +this that has happened was bound to happen. Forgive me for hurting +you. I didn't mean to do it. I thought only to make your last days +on this earth happier, and to keep a blessed memory for myself. +While I live I shall love you, but it will be best for you to +forget.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Rosemary.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p>In spite of this farewell, Ralston had hoped to hear something of +Rosemary from me. At all events, he wanted our advice, Jim's and mine.</p> + +<p>It was a blow to him that we had no news to give; and it was hard even +to offer advice. What could we say? I had known for long that the girl +was miserable, and this sudden break-up of everything was more of a +shock than a surprise. I was afraid to say: "Get her back at any price!" +for—the price (not in money but in heart's blood) might prove too high. +Instead I hedged.</p> + +<p>"What if Rosemary is right?" I ventured. "What if it <i>would</i> be best as +she says, for both your sakes, to let her go?"</p> + +<p>Murray's eyes flashed rage. "Is that your <i>real</i> advice?" he flung at +me. "If it is, you're not the woman I thought you. I'll move heaven and +earth to get Rosemary back, because we love each other, and nothing else +matters."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's what I wanted to find out!" I exclaimed in a changed tone. +"That's the way I should feel in your place——"</p> + +<p>"I, too!" chimed in Jim.</p> + +<p>"And since that <i>is</i> the way you feel," I went on, "I've thought of +something, or rather, <i>someone</i>, that may help. Mrs. Paul Jennings."</p> + +<p>Ralston stared, and repeated the name.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Paul Jennings? What is she likely to know about Rosemary's secrets +that you don't know?"</p> + +<p>"That's for you to find out," I answered. "It's an impression I have. I +may be mistaken. But it's worth trying. I should send for Mrs. Paul +Jennings if I were you."</p> + +<p>"I will!" cried Murray. "I'll send a note now—and the car to fetch her +here."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XID" id="CHAPTER_XID"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>WHAT GABY TOLD</h3> + + +<p>It seemed to us that hours dragged heavily by, between the time that the +motor left and the time when we heard it draw up at the front door. A +moment later, and Gaby Jennings was shown into Murray's den, where we +three were waiting.</p> + +<p>Ralston had said in his short note that Rosemary had gone away suddenly, +and that he was most anxious. But there was no sign of distress on the +Frenchwoman's face. On the contrary, those big dark eyes of hers, which +could be so languorous, looked hard as glass as she smiled at me and +nodded at Jim.</p> + +<p>Her voice was soft, however, when she answered Ralston's question.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my poor Major!" she gently bleated. "You have all my sympathy. I +could say nothing. But I always feared—I feared this would come!"</p> + +<p>Ralston braced himself. "You know something, then?" he exclaimed. "You +have something to tell me!"</p> + +<p>"I do know something—yes," she said. "But whether I have something to +tell—ah, that is different. I must think first."</p> + +<p>"You mean, you wish to consult Paul," he prompted her. "But I can't wait +for that. For heaven's sake, Mrs. Jennings, speak out; don't keep me in +suspense."</p> + +<p>"I did not mean to consult Paul," Gaby replied. "When I read your note I +told Paul you asked me to come over alone, though it was not true. It is +better that we talk without Paul listening."</p> + +<p>"Shall Jim and I go away?" I asked quickly, speaking not to her, but to +Ralston.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered. "Mrs. Jennings can have nothing to say about Rosemary +which I wouldn't care for you and Jim to hear."</p> + +<p>I saw from Gaby's face that this verdict annoyed her, but she shrugged +her pretty shoulders. "As you will," she said. "For me, I would rather +Sir James and Lady Courtenaye were not here. But what matter? You would +repeat to them what passes between us."</p> + +<p>"Doubtless I should," Ralston agreed. "Now tell me what you have to +tell, I beg."</p> + +<p>"It is a very big thing," Gaby began. "Rosemary did not want me to tell. +She offered me bribes. I refused, because I would not bind myself. Yet +there is a favour you could do for me—for us—Major Murray. If you +would promise—I could not resist giving up Rosemary's secret."</p> + +<p>Ralston's face had hardened. I saw his dislike of her and what she +suggested. But he could not afford to refuse, and perhaps lose all +chance of finding his wife.</p> + +<p>"Will what you have to tell help me to get Rosemary back?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes—if after you have heard you still want her back," Gaby hedged. "I +can tell you where she is likely to be."</p> + +<p>"Nothing on God's earth you could tell would make me not want her back!" +he cried. "What is this favour you speak of?"</p> + +<p>"It is only that I ask you to take my husband as your doctor. Oh, do not +think it is from Paul I come! He does not know Rosemary's secret, or +that I make a price for this. If you do this—and why not, since Paul is +a good doctor, and you have now finished with others?—I will tell you +all I know about your wife."</p> + +<p>As she went on I was thinking fast. Poor Rosemary! I was sure that Gaby +had tried to work upon her fears—had promised secrecy if Mrs. Murray +would get Doctor Jennings taken on as Ralston's physician. At first +Rosemary had been inclined to yield. That must have been at the time +when she wired to stop Sir Beverley's visit, if not too late. Then we +had appeared on the scene, saying that it <i>was</i> too late, and urging +that Sir Beverley might offer Ralston a chance of life. At this +Rosemary's love for her husband had triumphed over fears for her own +sake. She had realized that by keeping Sir Beverley away she might be +standing between her husband and life itself. If there were a ray of +hope for him, she determined to help, not hinder, no matter what the +cost.</p> + +<p>Once she had refused Mrs. Jennings' request, she had been at the woman's +mercy; but Gaby had waited, expecting the thing that had happened +to-day, and seeing that her best chance for the future lay with Murray. +As for Jennings, it might be true that he wasn't in the plot; but if my +theory concerning the portraits were correct, he certainly <i>was</i> in it, +and had at least partially planned the whole scheme.</p> + +<p>I was so afraid Ralston might accept the bargain without stopping to +think, that I spoke without giving him time to open his lips. "Before +you decide to take Paul Jennings as your doctor, send for an expert to +look through your collection of portraits!"</p> + +<p>"What have the portraits to do with Doctor Jennings?" asked Ralston, +astonished.</p> + +<p>I stared at Gaby Jennings as I answered; but a woman who uses liquid +powder is fortified against a blush.</p> + +<p>"That's what I want you to find out before making a bargain with his +wife. All I know is, there are modern copies in the frames which once +held your greatest treasures. Only a person free to come and go here for +months could bring off such a fraud without too much risk. And if Doctor +Jennings <i>had</i> brought it off, would he be a safe person to look after +the health of the man he'd cheated?"</p> + +<p>Gaby Jennings sprang to her feet. "Lady Courtenaye, my husband can sue +you for slander!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"He can; but will he?" I retorted.</p> + +<p>"I go to tell him of what he is accused by you!" she said. "There is no +fear for us, because you have no proof. But it is finished now! I leave +this house where I have been insulted, and Major Murray may search the +world. He will never find his lost wife!"</p> + +<p>"Stop, Mrs. Jennings!" Murray commanded, sharply. "The house is mine, +and <i>I</i> have not insulted you. I thank Lady Courtenaye for trying to +protect me. But I don't intend to make any accusations against your +husband or you. Tell me what you know, and I will write a letter asking +Jennings to attend me as my doctor. That I promise."</p> + +<p>Gaby Jennings threw me a look of triumph; and I am ashamed to say that +for a minute I was so angry at the man's foolhardiness that I hardly +cared what happened to him. But it was for a minute only. I felt that +Jim would have done the same in his place; and I was anxious to help him +in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>The Frenchwoman accepted the promise, but suggested that Major Murray +might now wish to change his mind: he might like to be alone with her +when she made her revelations. Ralston was so far loyal to us, however, +that he refused to let us go. We were his best friends, and he was +deeply grateful, even though he had to act against our advice.</p> + +<p>"Let them hear, then, that Rosemary Brandreth is Rosemary Brandreth to +this hour—not Rosemary Murray," Gaby Jennings snapped out. "She is not +your wife, because Guy Brandreth is not dead, and they are not divorced. +She does not even love you, Major Murray. She loves madly her real +husband, and left him only because she was jealous of some flirtation he +had with another woman. Then she met you—on shipboard, was it not?—and +this idea came into her head: to go through a ceremony of marriage, and +get what she could to feather her nest when you were dead, and she was +free to return home."</p> + +<p>"My God! You lie!" broke out Ralston.</p> + +<p>"I do not lie. I can prove to you that I do not. I knew Guy and Rosemary +Brandreth before I left the stage. I was acting in the States. People +made much of me there, as in England, in those days. In a big town +called Baltimore, in Maryland, I met the Brandreths. I met them at their +own house and at other houses where I was invited. There could be no +mistake. But when I saw the lady here, as your wife, I might have +thought her husband was dead; I might have thought that, and no +more—except for one thing: she was foolish: she showed that she was +afraid of me. Because of her manner I suspected something wrong. Letters +take ages, so I cabled to a man who had been nice to me in Baltimore. It +was a long message I sent, with several questions. Soon the answer came. +It told me that Captain Guy Brandreth is now stationed in Washington. He +is alive, and not divorced from his wife. They had a little quarrel, and +she sailed for Europe, to stay three or four months, but there was not +even gossip about a separation when she went away. My friend said that +Captain Brandreth talked often about being anxious for his wife to come +back, and instead of taking advantage of her absence, he no longer +flirted with the lady of whom Mrs. Brandreth had been jealous. Now you +have heard all—and you <i>see</i> all, don't you? I know about the codicil +added to your will. You remember, my husband witnessed it, one day when +Sir James Courtenaye had meant to come over, but could not? Mrs. +Brandreth arranged cleverly. If you had died, as she was sure you would +die before the time when she was expected back, she could easily have +got your money—everything of which you had been possessed. She +waited—always hoping that you might die. But at last she had to give +up. She could stay no longer without fear of what her American husband +might do. If you don't believe, I will show you the cablegrams I have +received. But, in any case, you must read them!" And pulling from her +hand-bag several folded papers, Gaby forced them upon Ralston.</p> + +<p>Oh, with what horrible plausibility the story hung together! It fitted +in with everything I had ever guessed, suspected, or known of +Rosemary—except her ethereal sweetness, her seeming love for the man +she had now deserted. Could she have pretended well enough to deceive me +in spite of my suspicions? Above all, would she have offered the blood +from her veins to save Ralston Murray if she had not wanted him to live?</p> + +<p>My head buzzed with questions, and no answers were ready. Still I could +see, confusedly, that the terrible imposture Rosemary was accused of +might have been committed by a woman who loved its victim. Meeting him +on shipboard, old feelings might have crept back into her heart. On a +mad impulse she might have agreed to make his last weeks on earth happy. +As for the money, that extra temptation might have appealed to the worst +side of her nature.</p> + +<p>When Ralston implored desperately, "Do <i>you</i> believe this of Rosemary?" +I could not speak for a moment. I glanced from his despairing face to +Jim's perplexed one. Almost, I stammered, "I'm afraid I do believe!" But +the look I caught in Gaby's eyes as I turned stopped the words on my +lips.</p> + +<p>"No, I <i>don't</i> believe it of her—I can't, and won't!" I cried.</p> + +<p>"God help me, I do!" groaned Ralston, and breaking down at last, he +covered his face with his hands.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIID" id="CHAPTER_XIID"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE</h3> + + +<p>Well, there we had to leave matters for the moment.</p> + +<p>Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice. +Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one—except to be let +alone.</p> + +<p>He had said to Gaby Jennings that he would always want Rosemary back +whatever he heard about her past; but now, believing Gaby's story with +its additional proofs, at all events he had no more hope of getting her +back. In his eyes she was another man's wife. He did not expect to see +her again in this world.</p> + +<p>Jim and I could do nothing with him: Jim was helpless because he also, +at heart, believed Gaby, and defended Rosemary only to please me; I had +ceased to be of use, because I could give no reason for my faith in her. +What good to say: "There must be some awful misunderstanding!" when +there were those cablegrams from Baltimore and Washington? Gaby would +not have shown copies of her own messages with the address of her +correspondent, if she hadn't been willing that Murray should make +inquiries as to the man's identity and bona fides.</p> + +<p>We could not persuade him to wait, before keeping his promise to Mrs. +Jennings, until he had heard from America. He knew what he should hear, +he said. Besides, a promise was a promise. He didn't care whether Paul +had stolen his heirlooms or not, but there was no proof that he had, and +people must be presumed innocent until they were found to be guilty. Nor +did he care what Jennings' designs on him might be. It was too +far-fetched to suppose that the man had any designs; but no greater +kindness could now be done to him, Ralston, than to put him for ever out +of his misery.</p> + +<p>This was mad talk; but in a way Ralston Murray went mad that day when he +lost Rosemary. No doctor, no alienist, would have pronounced him mad, of +course. Rather would I have seemed insane in my defence of Rosemary +Brandreth. But when the man's heart broke, something snapped in his +brain. All was darkness there. He had turned his back on hope, and could +not bear to hear the word.</p> + +<p>We did persuade him, in justice to Rosemary, to let us cable a New York +detective agency whose head Jim had known well. This man was instructed +to learn whether Gaby's friend had told the truth about Captain +Brandreth and his wife: whether she had sailed for Europe on the +<i>Aquitania</i>, upon a certain date; and whether the pair had been living +together before Mrs. Brandreth left for Europe.</p> + +<p>When news came confirming Gaby's story, and, a little later, mentioning +that Mrs. Brandreth had returned from abroad, Ralston said: "I knew it +would be so. There's nothing more to do." But I felt that there was a +great deal more to do; and I was bent on doing it. The next thing was to +induce Jim to let me do it.</p> + +<p>To my first proposition he agreed willingly. Now that I had shot my +bolt, there was no longer any objection to employing detectives against +the Jenningses. Indeed, there was a strong incentive. If their guilt +could be proved, Ralston Murray would not be quite insane enough to keep +Paul on as his doctor.</p> + +<p>We both liked the idea of putting my old friend Mr. Smith on to the +case, and applied to him upon our own responsibility, without a word to +Murray. But this was nothing compared with my second suggestion. I +wanted to rush over to America and see for myself whether Rosemary was +living in Washington as the wife of Guy Brandreth.</p> + +<p>"What! You'd leave me here, and go across the Atlantic without me on a +wild-goose chase?" Jim shouted.</p> + +<p>"Who said anything about my going without you?" I retorted. "Oh, darling +Man, <i>do</i> take me!"</p> + +<p>That settled it: and as soon as the thing was decided, we were both keen +to start. Our one cause for hesitation was fear for Ralston Murray's +safety, now that he had so recklessly flung himself into Paul Jennings' +hands. Still, in the circumstances, we could do little good if we stayed +at home. Ralston had shut himself up, refusing to see any one—including +ourselves. His mental state was bad enough to sap his newly restored +health, even if I did Doctor Paul Jennings a grave injustice; and Mr. +Smith could watch the Jenningses better than we could.</p> + +<p>I did take the precaution to write Sir Beverley that his late patient +had fallen into the clutches of the Merriton doctor, and beg him to call +at the Manor some day, declining to take 'no' for an answer if he were +refused at the door: and then we sailed. It was on the <i>Aquitania</i> +again, and every moment brought back some recollection of Rosemary and +Ralston Murray.</p> + +<p>We travelled straight to Washington after landing, and were met at the +station by the young detective Jim's friend had engaged. He had +collected the information we needed for the beginning of our campaign, +and had bought tickets for the first performance of a new play that +night.</p> + +<p>"The Brandreths have a party going," he said, "and your places are next +to theirs. Yours are at the end of the row, so they'll have to pass you +going in, if you're early on the spot."</p> + +<p>I liked that detective. He had "struck" a smart idea!</p> + +<p>We had only just time to dress and dine at our hotel, and dash to the +theatre in a taxi, if we wished to arrive when the doors were opened.</p> + +<p>It was lucky we did this, for the audience assembled promptly, in order +to hear some music written for the new play by a popular composer. We +had hardly looked through the programme after settling down in our +chairs when a familiar fragrance floated to me. It was what I had always +called "Rosemary's <i>leitmotif</i>," expressed in perfume. I turned my head, +and—there she was in great beauty coming along the aisle with three or +four men and as many pretty women.</p> + +<p>I had got myself up that night expressly to attract +attention—Rosemary's attention. I was determined that she should not, +while laughing and talking with her friends, pass me by without +recognition. Consequently, I was dressed more suitably for a ball than a +play. I had on a gown of gold tissue, and my second best tiara, to say +nothing of a few more scattered diamonds and a double rope of pearls. It +was impossible for the most absent-minded eye to miss me, or my +black-browed, red-haired giant in evening dress—Jim. As I looked over +my shoulder at Rosemary, therefore, she looked at me. Our gaze +encountered, and—my jaw almost dropped. She showed not the slightest +sign of surprise; did not start, did not blush or turn pale. Her lovely +face expressed good-natured admiration, that was all.</p> + +<p>She glanced at Jim, too—as all women do glance—with interest. But it +was purely impersonal interest, as if to say, "There's a <i>man</i>!"</p> + +<p>Those black brows of his drew together in disapproval, because she had +no right to be so rosy and happy, so much more voluptuous in her beauty +than she had been when with Ralston Murray. Rosemary, however, seemed +quite unconscious of Jim's disgust. She had an air of conquering, +conscious charm, as if all the world must love and admire her—such an +air as she had never worn in our experience. Having looked us over with +calm admiration she marshalled her guests, and was especially charming +to one of the women, a dark, glowing creature almost as beautiful as +herself. Something within me whispered: "<i>That's</i> the woman she was +jealous of! This party is meant to advertise that they're the best of +friends."</p> + +<p>"Guy, you're to sit next Mrs. Dupont," she directed; and at the sound of +her voice my heart gave a little jump. There was a different quality +about this voice—a contralto quality. It was heavier, richer, less +flutelike than Rosemary's used to be.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dupont and Guy Brandreth passed us to reach their chairs. Guy was a +square-jawed, rather ugly, but extremely masculine young man of a type +intensely attractive to women.</p> + +<p>"She wants to show everyone how she trusts him now!" I thought. "She's +giving him Mrs. Dupont practically to himself for the evening."</p> + +<p>All the party pushed by, Rosemary and an elderly man, who, it appeared, +was Mr. Dupont, coming last. He sat between her and me, and they chatted +together before the music began; but now and then she looked past him at +me, without the slightest sign of embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Jim," I whispered, "<i>it isn't Rosemary</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Well—I was wondering!" he answered. "But—it <i>must</i> be."</p> + +<p>"It simply <i>isn't</i>," I insisted. "To-morrow I'm going to call on Mrs. +Guy Brandreth."</p> + +<p>"Supposing she won't see you?"</p> + +<p>"She will," I said. "I shall ring her up early before she can possibly +be out, and make an appointment."</p> + +<p>"If it is Rosemary, when she knows who you are she won't——" began Jim, +but I cut him short. I repeated again the same obstinate words: "It is +<i>not</i> Rosemary."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I called up Mrs. Guy Brandreth at nine o'clock next morning, and heard +the rich contralto voice asking "<i>Who</i> is it?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Courtenaye at Willard's Hotel," I boldly answered. "I've come from +England on purpose to see you. I have very important things to say."</p> + +<p>There was a slight pause; then the voice answered with a new vibration +in it: "When can you come? Or—no! When can you have me call on you? +That would be better."</p> + +<p>"I can have you call as soon as you care to start," I replied. "The +sooner the better."</p> + +<p>"I'm not dressed," said the quivering voice. "But I'll be with you at +ten o'clock."</p> + +<p>I told Jim, and we arranged that he should be out of the way till +ten-thirty. Then he was to walk into our private sitting room, where I +would receive Mrs. Brandreth. I thought that by that time we should be +ready for him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIIID" id="CHAPTER_XIIID"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BRANDRETH'S STORY</h3> + + +<p>She came—into a room with all the blinds up, the curtains pushed back, +and floods of sunshine streaming in.</p> + +<p>Just for an instant I was chilled with doubt of last night's impression, +for her face was so pale and anxious that she was more like Rosemary +than had been the red-rose vision at the theatre. But she was genuinely +surprised at sight of me.</p> + +<p>"Why!" she exclaimed. "You are the lovely lady who sat next us at the +play!"</p> + +<p>"Does my name suggest nothing to you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she echoed.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll sit down, and I'll tell you a story," I suggested.</p> + +<p>I began with the <i>Aquitania</i>: the man in the cushioned deck-chair, going +home condemned to die; the beautiful girl who appeared on the second day +out; the recognition. I mentioned no names. When I said, however, that +years ago the two had been engaged, a sudden light flashed into my +visitor's eyes. She would have interrupted, but I begged her to let me +go on; and she sat silent while I told the whole story. Then, before she +had time to speak, I said: "There's just <i>one</i> thing I know! You are not +the woman who came to England and married Ralston Murray. If you have a +heart in your breast, you'll tell me where to find that woman. He will +die unless she goes back to him."</p> + +<p>Her lips parted, but she pressed them tightly together again. I saw her +muscles stiffen in sympathy with some resolve.</p> + +<p>"The woman, whoever she was, must have personated me for a reason of her +own," she answered. "It's as deep a mystery to me as to you."</p> + +<p>I looked her in the eyes. "That's not true. Mrs. Brandreth," I flung at +her, brutally. "In spite of what I've said, you're afraid of me. I give +you my most sacred word that you shall be protected if you will help, as +you alone can, to save Ralston Murray. It is only if you <i>refuse</i> your +help that you may suffer. In that case, my husband and I will fight for +our friend. We won't consider you at all. Now that we have a strong clue +to this seeming mystery, and it is already close to our hands, +everything that you have done or have not done will soon come out."</p> + +<p>The beautiful woman broke down and began to cry. "What I did I had a +right to do!" she sobbed. "There was no harm! It was as much for the +sake of my husband's future happiness as my own, but if he finds out +he'll never love or trust me again. Men are so cruel!"</p> + +<p>"Tell me who went to England in your place, when you pretended to sail, +and he sha'n't find out. Only ourselves and Ralston Murray need ever +know," I urged.</p> + +<p>"It was—my twin sister," she gasped, "my sister Mary-Rose Hillier, who +sailed on the <i>Aquitania</i> as Mrs. Guy Brandreth. It was the only way I +could think of, so that I could be near my husband and watch him without +his having the slightest suspicion of what was going on. Mary-Rose owed +me a lot of money which I couldn't really afford to do without. It was +when she was still in England, before she came to America, that I let +her have it. My mother was dreadfully ill, and Mary-Rose adored her. She +wanted to call in great specialists, and begged me to help her. At first +I thought I couldn't. Guy and I are not rich! But he was flirting with a +woman—a cat of a woman: you saw her last night. I was nearly desperate. +Suddenly an idea came to me. I sold a rope of pearls I had, first +getting it copied, and making my sister promise she would do whatever I +asked if I sent her the thousand pounds she wanted. You look shocked—I +suppose because I bargained over my mother's health. But my husband was +more to me than my mother or any one else. Besides, Mother hadn't wished +me to marry Guy. She didn't want me to jilt Ralston Murray. I couldn't +forgive her for the way she behaved, and I never saw her after my +runaway wedding."</p> + +<p>"So it was you, and not your sister, who was engaged to Ralston Murray +eight years ago!" I couldn't resist.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It happened abroad—as you know, perhaps. Mary-Rose was away at a +boarding school, and they never met. The whole affair was so short, so +quickly over, I doubt if I ever even told Ralston that my sister and I +were twins. But he gave me a lot of lovely presents, and refused to take +them back—wrote that he'd burn them, pearls and all, if I sent them to +him. Yes, the pearls I sold were a gift from him when we were engaged. +And there were photographs of Ralston that Mary-Rose wouldn't let me +destroy. She kept them herself. She was sorry for Ralston—hearing the +story, and seeing some of his letters. She was a romantic girl, and +thought him the ideal man. She was half in love, without having seen him +in the flesh."</p> + +<p>"That is why she couldn't resist, on the <i>Aquitania</i>," I murmured. "When +Ralston asked her to marry him, she fell in love with the reality, I +suppose. Poor girl, what she must have gone through, unable to tell him +the truth, because she'd pledged herself to keep your secret, whatever +happened! I begin to see the whole thing now! When your mother died in +spite of the specialists, you made the girl come over to this side, +without your husband or any one knowing. You hid her in New York. You +planned your trip to Europe. You left Washington. Your cabin was taken +on the <i>Aquitania</i>, and Mary-Rose Hillier sailed as Rosemary Brandreth, +wearing clothes of yours, and even using the same perfume."</p> + +<p>"You've guessed it," she confessed. "We'd arranged what to do, in case +Guy went to the ship with me. But he and I were rather on official terms +because of things I'd said about Mrs. Dupont, and he let me travel to +New York alone. I learned from a famous theatrical wig-maker how to +disguise myself, and I lived in lodgings not half a mile from our house +for three months, watching what he did every day. At first I didn't find +out much, but later I began to see that I'd done him an injustice. He +didn't care seriously for the Dupont woman. It was only a flirtation. So +I was in a hurry to get Mary-Rose over here again, and reappear myself."</p> + +<p>"Why did you have to insist on her coming back to America?" I asked, +trying not to show how disgusted I was with the selfishness of the +creature—selfishness which had begun long ago, in throwing Ralston +over, and now without a thought had wrecked her sister's life.</p> + +<p>"Oh, to have her book her passage in my name and sail for home was the +only safe way! All had gone so well, I wouldn't spoil it at the end."</p> + +<p>"All had gone well with <i>you</i>," I said. "But what about <i>her</i>?"</p> + +<p>"She didn't tell me what you've told me to-day. I supposed till almost +the last that she was just travelling about, as we planned for her to +do. The only address I had was Mother's old bank, which was to forward +everything to Mary-Rose, on her own instructions. Then, a few weeks ago, +she wrote and asked if I could manage without her coming back to +America. She said it would make a lot of difference in her life, but she +didn't explain what she meant. If she'd made a clean breast of +everything I might have thought of some other way out; but——"</p> + +<p>"But as <i>she</i> didn't, <i>you</i> didn't," I finished the sentence. "Oh, how +different Mary-Rose Hillier is in heart from her sister Rosemary +Brandreth, though their faces are almost identical! She was always +thinking of you, and her promise to you. That promise was killing +her—that and her love for Ralston Murray. She didn't want his money, +and when she found he was determined to make a will in her favour she +thought of a way in which everything would come to <i>you</i>. It was you he +really loved—no doubt she argued with herself—and he wanted you to +inherit his fortune. Oh, poor tortured girl!—and I used to suspect that +she was mercenary. But, thank Heaven, Ralston didn't die, as he expected +so soon to do when he made that hurried will. The woman he truly loves +was never married before, and is his legal wife. Now, when she goes back +to him and he hears the whole truth he will be so happy that he'll live +for years, strong and well."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe even you can induce Mary-Rose to go back to Ralston +Murray," Mrs. Brandreth said. "She wouldn't think he could forgive her +for deceiving him."</p> + +<p>"He could forgive her anything after what he went through in losing +her," I said. "When you've told me where to find your sister, I will +tell her that—and a lot more things besides."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you can make her see your point of view!" Mrs. Brandreth +grudged. "If <i>my</i> secret is kept, I hope Mary-Rose may be happy. I don't +grudge her Ralston Murray or his fortune; but when she feels herself +<i>quite</i> safe as his wife she can pay me my thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"She <i>has</i> paid you, and more, with her heart's blood!" I exclaimed. +"Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"In New York. She told me she could never go to England again after what +had happened there. She seems awfully down, and I left her deciding +whether she should enter a charitable sisterhood. They take girls +without money, if they'll work in the slums, and Mary-Rose was anxious +to do that."</p> + +<p>"She won't be when she understands what work lies before her across the +sea," I retorted.</p> + +<p>Even as I spoke—and as Mrs. Guy Brandreth was writing down her sister's +address—I mentally marshalled the arguments I would use: the need to +save Ralston from himself, and above all from Paul and Gaby Jennings. +But, oh, the sudden stab I felt as those names came to my mind!</p> + +<p><i>How</i> keep the secret when Gaby Jennings had known the real Rosemary +Brandreth in Baltimore? All the complications would have to be explained +to her, if she were not to spread scandal—if she were not to whisper +revengefully among her friends: "Ralston Murray isn't really married to +his wife. I could have her arrested as a bigamist if I chose!"</p> + +<p>It was an awful question, that question of Gaby Jennings. But the answer +came like balm, after the stab, and that answer was—"<i>The pictures.</i>"</p> + +<p>By the time Jim and I reached England again, taking Mary-Rose with us, +my tame detective would have got at the truth about the stolen +treasures, and who had made the copies. Then all that Ralston need do +would be to say: "Tell the lies you want to tell about my wife (who <i>is</i> +my wife!); spread any gossip at all—and you go to prison, you and your +husband. Keep silence, and I will do the same."</p> + +<p>Well, we found Mary-Rose in New York. At first she was horrified at +sight of us. Her one desire had been to hide. But after I had talked +myself nearly dumb, and Jim had got in a word or two edgewise, she began +to hope. Even then she would not go back, though, until I had written +out her story for Ralston to read. He was to decide, and wire either +"Come to me," or "I cannot forgive."</p> + +<p>We took her to our hotel, to await the answer; but there something +happened which changed the whole outlook. A long cablegram was delivered +to me some days before it would be possible to hear from Ralston. It was +from Mr. Smith, and said:</p> + +<blockquote><p>G. J. and husband proved guilty portrait fraud. Woman's father +clever old Parisian artist smuggled to England copy pictures. Her +career on stage ruined by cocaine and attempt to change friend's +jewels for false. When she attempted nursing in war, went to pieces +again; health saved by P. J., but would not have married him if he +had not pretended to be R. M.'s heir. R. M. so ill I took liberty +send for Sir B. D. as you directed. Sir B. D. proved nothing +positive against P. J., but suspicion so strong I got rid of couple +by springing portrait discoveries on them and threatening arrest. +They agreed leave England if allowed do so quietly. Consulted R. +M., who wished them to go, and they have already gone. Sir B. D. +installed at Manor. Things going better but patient weak. Hope you +think I did right.—</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Smith.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p>I showed this message to Ralston's wife; and she said what I knew she +would say: "Oh, let's sail at once! Even if he doesn't want me, I must +be <i>near</i>."</p> + +<p>Of course he did want her. He loved her so much that—it seemed to +him—the only person who had to be forgiven was that creature in +Washington. Her he forgave because, if it hadn't been for her selfish +scheme he would never have met his "life-saving angel."</p> + +<p>Yes, that is his name for her now. It is a secret name, yet not so sweet +as Jim's for me. But that's a secret! And it's better than "The +Brightener."</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOKS_BY_C_N_A_M_WILLIAMSON" id="BOOKS_BY_C_N_A_M_WILLIAMSON"></a>BOOKS BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A Soldier of the Legion</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Everyman's Land</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It Happened in Egypt</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lady Betty Across the Water</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lord Loveland Discovers America</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">My Friend the Chauffeur</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Princess Virginia</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Rosemary in Search of a Father</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Secret History</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Set in Silver</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Brightener</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Car of Destiny</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Chaperon</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Golden Silence</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Great Pearl Secret</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Guests of Hercules</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Heather Moon</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Lightning Conductor</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Lightning Conductor Discovers America</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Lion's Mouse</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Motor Maid</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Port of Adventure</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Princess Passes</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Second Latchkey</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Brightener, by +C. 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N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Brightener + +Author: C. N. Williamson + A. M. Williamson + +Illustrator: Walter De Maris + +Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32428] +[Last updated: January 26, 2014] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHTENER *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE BRIGHTENER + + BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON + + FRONTISPIECE BY WALTER DE MARIS + + +GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY +1921 + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY +C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION +INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY AINSLEE's MAGAZINE CO., NEW YORK AND GREAT BRITAIN. +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +[Illustration: "A SLIGHT SOUND ATTRACTED OUR ATTENTION TO THE HISTORIC +STAIRWAY"] + + + + +PREFACE + +_To the Kind People Who Read Our Books:_ + + +I want to explain to you, in case it may interest you a little, why it +is that I want to keep the "firm name" (as we used to call it) of "C. N. +& A. M. Williamson," although my husband has gone out of this world. + +It is because I feel very strongly that he helps me with the work even +more than he was able to do in this world. I always had his advice, and +when we took motor tours he gave me his notes to use as well as my own. +But now there is far more help than that. I cannot explain in words: I +can only feel. And because of that feeling, I could not bear to have the +"C. N." disappear from the title page. + +Dear People who may read this, I hope that you will wish to see the +initials "C. N." with those of + +A. M. WILLIAMSON + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK I. THE YACHT + + I. DOWN AND OUT + + II. UP AND IN + + III. THUNDERBOLT SIX + + IV. THE BLACK THING IN THE SEA + + V. WHAT I FOUND IN MY CABIN + + VI. THE WOMAN OF THE PAST + + VII. THE SECRET BEHIND THE SILENCE + + VIII. THE GREAT SURPRISE + + IX. THE GAME OF BLUFF + + +BOOK II. THE HOUSE WITH THE TWISTED CHIMNEY + + I. THE SHELL-SHOCK MAN + + II. THE ADVERTISEMENT + + III. THE LETTER WITH THE PURPLE SEAL + + IV. THE TANGLED WEB + + V. THE KNITTING WOMAN OF DUN MOAT + + VI. THE LIGHTNING STROKE + + VII. THE RED BAIZE DOOR + + VIII. "WHEN IN DOUBT, PLAY A TRUMP" + + IX. THE RAT TRAP + + +BOOK III. THE DARK VEIL + + I. THE GIRL WITH THE LETTER + + II. THE HERMIT + + III. THE CHAIR AT THE SAVOY + + IV. THE SPIRIT OF JUNE + + V. THE BARGAIN + + VI. THE LAST SEANCE + + +BOOK IV. THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BRANDRETH + + I. THE MAN IN THE CUSHIONED CHAIR + + II. MRS. BRANDRETH + + III. THE CONDITION SHE MADE + + IV. THE OLD LOVE STORY + + V. THE MAN WITH THE BRILLIANT EYES + + VI. THE PICTURES + + VII. SIR BEVERLEY'S IMPRESSIONS + + VIII. WHILE WE WAITED + + IX. THE GOOD NEWS + + X. THE CLIMAX + + XI. WHAT GABY TOLD + + XII. THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE + + XIII. MRS. BRANDRETH'S STORY + + + + +THE BRIGHTENER + + + + +BOOK I + +THE YACHT + + + + +CHAPTER I + +DOWN AND OUT + + +"I wonder who will tell her," I heard somebody say, just outside the +arbour. + +The somebody was a woman; and the somebody else who answered was a man. +"Glad it won't be me!" he replied, ungrammatically. + +I didn't know who these somebodies were, and I didn't much care. For the +first instant the one thing I did care about was, that they should +remain outside my arbour, instead of finding their way in. Then, the +next words waked my interest. They sounded mysterious, and I loved +mysteries--_then_. + +"It's an awful thing to happen--a double blow, in the same moment!" +exclaimed the woman. + +They had come to a standstill, close to the arbour; but there was hope +that they mightn't discover it, because it wasn't an ordinary arbour. It +was really a deep, sweet-scented hollow scooped out of an immense _arbor +vitae_ tree, camouflaged to look like its sister trees in a group beside +the path. The hollow contained an old marble seat, on which I was +sitting, but the low entrance could only be reached by one who knew of +its existence, passing between those other trees. + +I felt suddenly rather curious about the person struck by a "double +blow," for a "fellow feeling makes one wondrous kind"; and at that +moment I was a sort of modern, female Damocles myself. In fact, I had +got the Marchese d'Ardini to bring me away from the ball-room to hide in +this secret arbour of his old Roman garden, because my mood was out of +tune for dancing. I hadn't wished to come to the ball, but Grandmother +had insisted. Now I had made an excuse of wanting an ice, to get rid of +my dear old friend the Marchese for a few minutes. + +"She couldn't have cared about the poor chap," said the man in a hard +voice, with a slight American accent, "or she wouldn't be here +to-night." + +My heart missed a beat. + +"They say," explained the woman, "that her grandmother practically +forced her to marry the prince, and arranged it at a time when he'd have +to go back to the Front an hour after the wedding, so they shouldn't be +_really_ married, if anything happened to him. I don't know whether +that's true or not!" + +But I knew! I knew that it was true, because they were talking about me. +In an instant--before I'd decided whether to rush out or sit still--I +knew something more. + +"_You_ ought to be well informed, though," the woman's voice continued. +"You're a distant cousin, aren't you?" + +"'Distant' is the word! About forty-fourth cousin, four times removed," +the man laughed with frank bitterness. (No wonder, as he'd +unsuccessfully claimed the right to our family estate, to hitch on to +his silly old, dug-up title!) Not only did I know, now, of whom they +were talking, but I knew one of those who talked: a red-headed giant of +a man I'd seen to-night for the first time, though he had annoyed +Grandmother and me from a distance, for years. In fact, we'd left home +and taken up the Red Cross industry in Rome, because of him. Indirectly +it was his fault that I was married, since, if it hadn't been for him, I +shouldn't have come to Italy or met Prince di Miramare. I did not stop, +however, to think of all this. It just flashed through my subconscious +mind, while I asked myself, "What has happened to Paolo? Has he been +killed, or only wounded? And what do the brutes mean by a 'double +blow'?" + +I had no longer the impulse to rush out. I waited, with hushed breath. I +didn't care whether it were nice or not to eavesdrop. All I thought of +was my intense desire to hear what those two would say next. + +"Like grandmother, like grand-daughter, I suppose," went on the +ex-cowboy baronet, James Courtenaye. "A hard-hearted lot my only +surviving female relatives seem to be! Her husband at the Front, liable +to die at any minute; her grandmother dying at home, and our fair young +Princess dances gaily to celebrate a small Italian victory!" + +"You forget what's happened to-night, Sir Jim, when you speak of your +'_surviving_' female relatives," said the woman. + +"By George, yes! I've got but one left now. And I expect, from what I +hear, I shall be called upon to support her!" + +Then Grandmother was dead!--wonderful, indomitable Grandmother, who, +only three hours ago, had said, "You _must_ go to this dance, Elizabeth. +I wish it!" Grandmother, whose last words had been, "You are worthy to +be what I've made you: a Princess. You are exactly what I was at your +age." + +Poor, magnificent Grandmother! She had often told me that she was the +greatest beauty of her day. She had sent me away from her to-night, so +that she might die alone. Or--had the news of the _other_ blow come +while I was gone, and killed her? + +Dazedly I stumbled to my feet, and in a second I should have pushed past +the pair; but, just at this moment, footsteps came hurrying along the +path. Those two moved out of the way with some murmured words I didn't +catch: and then, the Marchese was with me again. I saw his plump figure +silhouetted on the silvered blue dusk of moonlight. He had brought no +ice! He flung out empty hands in a despairing gesture which told that he +also _knew_. + +"My dear child--my poor little Princess----" he began in Italian; but I +cut him short. + +"I've heard some people talking. Grandmother is dead. And--Paolo?" + +"His plane crashed. It was instant death--not painful. Alas, the +telegram came to your hotel, and the Signora, your grandmother, opened +it. Her maid found it in her hand. The brave spirit had fled! Mr. +Carstairs, her solicitor, and his kind American wife came here at once. +How fortunate was the business which brought him to Rome just now, +looking after your interests! A search-party was seeking me, while I +sought a mere ice! And now the Carstairs wait to take you to your hotel. +I cannot leave our guests, or I would go with you, too." + +He got me back to the old palazzo by a side door, and guided me to a +quiet room where the Carstairs sat. They were not alone. An American +friend of the ex-cowboy was with them--(another self-made millionaire, +but a _much_ better made one, of the name of Roger Fane)--and with him a +school friend of mine he was in love with, Lady Shelagh Leigh. Shelagh +ran to me with her arms out, but I pushed her aside. A darling girl, and +I wouldn't have done it for the world, if I had been myself! + +She shrank away, hurt; and vaguely I was conscious that the dark man +with the tragic eyes--Roger Fane--was coaxing her out of the room. Then +I forgot them both as I turned to the Carstairs for news. I little +guessed how soon and strangely my life and Shelagh's and Roger Fane's +would twine together in a Gordian knot of trouble! + +I don't remember much of what followed, except that a taxi rushed +us--the Carstairs and me--to the Grand Hotel, as fast as it could go +through streets filled with crowds shouting over one of those October +victories. Mrs. Carstairs--a mouse of a woman in person, a benevolent +Machiavelli in brain--held my hand gently, and said nothing, while her +clever old husband tried to cheer me with words. Afterward I learned +that she spent those minutes in mapping out my whole future! + +You see, _she_ knew what I didn't know at the time: that I hadn't enough +money in the world to pay for Grandmother's funeral, not to mention our +hotel bills! + + * * * * * + +A clock, when you come to think of it, is a fortunate animal. + +When it runs down, it can just comfortably stop. No one expects it to do +anything else. No one accuses it of weakness or lack of backbone because +it doesn't struggle nobly to go on ticking and striking. It is not +sternly commanded to wind itself. Unless somebody takes that trouble off +its hands, it stays stopped. Whereas, if a girl or a young, able-bodied +woman runs down (that is, comes suddenly to the end of everything, +including resources), she mayn't give up ticking for a single second. +_She_ must wind herself, and this is really quite as difficult for her +to do as for a clock, unless she is abnormally instructed and +accomplished. + +I am neither. The principal things I know how to do are, to look pretty, +and be nice to people, so that when they are with me they feel purry and +pleasant. With this stock-in-trade I had a perfectly gorgeous time in +life, until--Fate stuck a finger into my mechanism and upset the working +of my pendulum. + +I ought to have realized that the gorgeousness would some time come to a +bad and sudden end. But I was trained to put off what wasn't delightful +to do or think of to-day, until to-morrow; because to-morrow could take +care of itself and droves of shorn lambs as well. + +Grandmother and I had been pals since I was five, when my father (her +son) and my mother quietly died of diphtheria, and left me--her +namesake--to her. We lived at adorable Courtenaye Abbey on the +Devonshire Coast, where furniture, portraits, silver, and china fit for +a museum were common, every-day objects to my childish eyes. None of +these things could be sold--or the Abbey--for they were all heirlooms +(of _our_ branch of the Courtenayes, not the Americanized ex-cowboy's +insignificant branch, be it understood!). But the place could be let, +with everything in it; and when Mr. Carstairs was first engaged to +unravel Grandmother's financial tangles, he implored her permission to +find a tenant. That was before the war, when I was seventeen; and +Grandmother refused. + +"What," she cried (I was in the room, all ears), "would you have me +advertise the fact that we're reduced to beggary, just as the time has +come to present Elizabeth? I'll do nothing of the kind. You must stave +off the smash. That's your business. Then Elizabeth will marry a title +with money, or an American millionaire or someone, and prevent it from +_ever_ coming." + +This thrilled me, and I felt like a Joan of Arc out to save her family, +not by capturing a foe, but a husband. + +Mr. Carstairs did stave off the smash, Heaven or its opposite alone +knows how, and Grandmother spent about half a future millionaire +husband's possible income in taking a town house, with a train of +servants; renting a Rolls-Royce, and buying for us both the most divine +clothes imaginable. I was long and leggy, and thin as a young colt; but +my face was all right, because it was a replica of Grandmother's at +seventeen. My eyes and dimples were said to be Something to Dream About, +even then (I often dreamed of them myself, after much flattery at +balls!), and already my yellow-brown braids measured off at a yard and a +half. Besides, I had Grandmother's Early Manner (as one says of an +artist: and really she _was_ one), so, naturally, I received proposals: +_lots_ of proposals. But--they were the wrong lots! + +All the good-looking young men who wanted to marry me had never a penny +to do it on. All the rich ones were so old and appalling that even +Grandmother hadn't the heart to order me to the altar. So there it +_was_! Then Jim Courtenaye came over from America, where, after an +adventurous life (or worse), he'd made pots of money by hook or by +crook, probably the latter. He stirred up, from the mud of the past, a +trumpery baronetcy bestowed by stodgy King George the Third upon an +ancestor in that younger, less important branch of the Courtenayes. Also +did he strive expensively to prove a right to Courtenaye Abbey as well, +though not one of _his_ Courtenayes had ever put a nose inside it and I +was the next heir, after Grandmother. He didn't fight (he kindly +explained to Mr. Carstairs) to snatch the property out of our mouths. If +he got it, we might go on living there till the end of our days. All he +wanted was to _own_ the place, and have the right to keep it up +decently, as we'd never been able to do. + +Well, he had to be satisfied with his title and without the Abbey; which +was luck for us. But there our luck ended. Not only did the war break +out before I had a single proposal worth accepting, but an awful thing +happened at the Abbey. + +Grandmother had to keep on the rented town house, for patriotic motives, +no matter _what_ the expense, because she had turned it into an +_ouvroir_ for the making of hospital supplies. She directed the work +herself, and I and Shelagh Leigh (Shelagh was just out of the schoolroom +then) and lots of other girls slaved seven hours a day. Suddenly, just +when we'd had a big "hurry order" for pneumonia jackets, there was a +shortage of material. But Grandmother wasn't a woman to be conquered by +shortages! She remembered a hundred yards of bargain stuff she'd bought +to be used for new dust-sheets at the Abbey; and as all the servants but +two were discharged when we left for town, the sheets had never been +made up. + +_She_ could not be spared for a day, but I could. By this time I was +nineteen, and felt fifty in wisdom, as all girls do, since the war. +Grandmother was old-fashioned in some ways, but new-fashioned in others, +so she ordered me off to Courtenaye Abbey by myself to unlock the room +where the bundle had been put. Train service was not good, and I would +have to stay the night; but she wired to old Barlow and his wife--once +lodge-keepers, now trusted guardians of the house. She told Mrs. Barlow +(a pretty old Devonshire Thing, like peaches and cream, called by me +"Barley") to get my old room ready; and Barlow was to meet me at the +train. At the last moment, however, Shelagh Leigh decided to go with me; +and if we had guessed it, this was to turn out one of the most important +decisions of her life. Barlow met us, of course; and how he had changed +since last I'd seen his comfortable face! I expected him to be charmed +with the sight of me, if not of Shelagh, for I was always a favourite +with Barl and Barley; but the poor man was absent-minded and queer. When +a stuffy station-cab from Courtenaye Coombe had rattled us to the +shut-up Abbey, I went at once to the housekeeper's room and had a +heart-to-heart talk with the Barlows. It seemed that the police had been +to the house and "run all through it," because of reports that lights +had flashed from the upper windows out to sea at night--"_signals to +submarines_!" + +Nothing suspicious was found, however, and the police made it clear that +they considered the Barlows themselves above reproach. Good people, they +were, with twin nephews from Australia fighting in the war! Indeed, an +inspector had actually apologized for the visit, saying that the police +had pooh-poohed the reports at first. They had paid no attention until +"the story was all over the village"; and there are not enough miles +between Courtenaye Abbey and Plymouth Dockyard for even the rankest +rumours to be disregarded long. + +Barley was convinced that one of our ghosts had been waked up by the +war--the ghost of a young girl burned to death, who now and then rushes +like a column of fire through the front rooms of the second floor in the +west wing; but the old pet hoped I wouldn't let this idea of hers keep +me awake. The ghost of a nice English young lady was preferable in her +opinion to a German spy in the flesh! I agreed, but I was not keen on +seeing either. My nerves had been jumpy since the last air-raid over +London, consequently I lay awake hour after hour, though Shelagh was in +Grandmother's room adjoining mine, with the door ajar between. + +When I did sleep, I must have slept heavily. I dreamed that I was a +prisoner on a German submarine, and that signals from Courtenaye Abbey +flashed straight into my face. They flashed so brightly that they set me +on fire; and with the knowledge that, if I couldn't escape at once, I +should become a Family Ghost, I wrenched myself awake with a start. + +Yes, I _was_ awake; though what I saw was so astonishing that I thought +it must be another nightmare. There really was a strong light pouring +into my eyes. What it came from I don't know to this day, but probably +an electric torch. Anyhow, the ray was so powerful that, though directed +upon my face, it faintly lit another face close to mine, as I suddenly +sat up in bed. + +Instantly that face drew back, and then--as if on a second thought, +after a surprise--out went the light. By contrast, the darkness was +black as a bath of ink, though I'd pulled back the curtains before going +to bed, and the sky was sequined with stars. But on my retina was +photographed a pale, illumined circle with a face looking out of +it--looking straight at me. You know how quickly these light-pictures +begin to fade, but, before this dimmed I had time to verify my first +waking impression. + +The face was a woman's face--beautiful and hideous at the same time, +like Medusa. It was young, yet old. It had deep-set, long eyes that +slanted slightly up to the corners. It was thin and hollow-cheeked, with +a pointed chin cleft in the middle; and was framed with bright auburn +hair of a curiously _unreal_ colour. + +When the blackness closed in, and I heard in the dark scrambling sounds +like a rat running amok in the wainscot, I gave a cry. In my horror and +bewilderment I wasn't sure yet whether I were awake or asleep; but +someone answered. Dazed as I was, I recognized Shelagh's sweet young +voice, and at the same instant her electric bed-lamp was switched on in +the next room. "Coming!--coming!" she cried, and appeared in the +doorway, her hair gold against the light. + +By this time I had the sense to switch on my own lamp, and, comforted by +it and my pal's presence, I told Shelagh in a few words what had +happened. "Why, how weird! I dreamed the same dream!" she broke in. "At +least, I dreamed about a light, and a face." + +Hastily we compared notes, and realized that Shelagh had not dreamed: +that the woman of mystery had visited us both; only, she had gone to +Shelagh first, and had not been scared away as by me, because Shelagh +hadn't thoroughly waked up. + +We decided that our vision was no ghost, but that, for once, rumour was +right. In some amazing way a spy had concealed herself in the rambling +old Abbey (the house has several secret rooms of which we know; and +there might be others, long forgotten), and probably she had been +signalling until warned of danger by that visit from the police. We +resolved to rise at daybreak, and walk to Courtenay Coombe to let the +police know what had happened to us; but, as it turned out, a great deal +more was to happen before dawn. + +We felt pretty sure that the spy would cease her activities for the +night, after the shock of finding our rooms occupied. Still it would be +cowardly--we thought--to lie in bed. We slipped on dressing-gowns, +therefore, and with candles (only our wing was furnished with electric +light, for which dear Grandmother had never paid) we descended +fearsomely to the Barlows' quarters. Having roused the old couple and +got them to put on some clothes, a search-party of four perambulated the +house. So far as we could see, however, the place was innocent of spies; +and at length we crept into bed again. + +We didn't mean or expect to sleep, of course, but we must all have +"dropped off," otherwise we should have smelt the smoke long before we +did smell it. As it was, the great hall slowly burned until Barlow's +usual getting-up hour. Shelagh and I knew nothing until Barl came +pounding at my door. Then the stinging of our nostrils and eyelids was a +fire alarm! + +It's wonderful how quickly you can do things when you have to! Ten +minutes later I was running as fast as I could go to the village, and +might have earned a prize for a two-mile sprint if I hadn't raced alone. +By the time the fire-engines reached the Abbey it was too late to save a +whole side of the glorious old "linen fold" panelling of the hall. The +celebrated staircase was injured, too, and several suits of historic +armour, as well as a number of antique weapons. + +Fortunately the portraits were all in the picture gallery, and the fire +was stopped before it had swept beyond the hall. Where it had started +was soon learned, but "_how_" remained a mystery, for shavings and +oil-tins had apparently been stuffed behind the panelling. The theory of +the police was, that the spy (no one doubted the spy's existence now!) +had seen that the "game was up," since the place would be strictly +watched from that night on. Out of sheer spite, the female Hun had +attempted to burn down the famous old house before she lost her chance; +or had perhaps already made preparations to destroy it when her other +work should be ended. + +There was a hue and cry over the county in pursuit of the fugitive, +which echoed as far as London; but the woman had escaped, and not even a +trace of her was found. + +Grandmother openly claimed that HER inspiration in sending for some +dust-sheets had not only saved the Abbey, but England. It was most +agreeable to bask in self-respect and the praise of friends. When, +however, we were bombarded by newspaper men, who took revenge for +Grandmother's snubs by publishing interviews with Sir "Jim" (by this +time Major Courtenaye, D. S. O., M. C., unluckily at home with a +"Blighty" wound), the haughty lady lost her temper. + +It was bad enough, she complained, to have the Abbey turned prematurely +into a ruin, but for That Fellow to proclaim that it wouldn't have +happened had _he_ been the owner was _too_ much! The democratic and +socialist papers ("rags," according to Grandmother) stood up for the +self-made cowboy baronet, and blamed the great lady who had "thrown away +in selfish extravagance" what should have paid the upkeep of an historic +monument. This, to a woman who directed the most patriotic _ouvroir_ in +London! And to pile Ossa on Pelion, our Grosvenor Square landlord was +cad enough to tell his friends (who told theirs, etc., etc.) that he had +never received his rent! Which statement, by the way, was all the more +of a libel because it was true. + +Now you understand how Sir James Courtenaye was responsible for driving +us to Italy, and indirectly bringing about my marriage; for Grandmother +wiped the dust of Grosvenor Square from our feet with Italian passports, +and swept me off to new activities in Rome. + +Here was Mr. Carstairs' moment to say, "I told you so! If only you had +left the Abbey when I advised you that it was best, all would have been +well. Now, with the central hall in ruins, nobody would be found dead in +the place, not even a munition millionaire." But being a particularly +kind man he said nothing of the sort. He merely implored Grandmother to +live economically in Rome: and of course (being Grandmother!) she did +nothing of the sort. + +We lived at the most expensive hotel, and whenever we had any money, +gave it to the Croce Rossa, running up bills for ourselves. But we mixed +much joy with a little charity, and my descriptive letters to Shelagh +were so attractive that she persuaded Mr. and Mrs. Pollen, her guardians +(uncle and aunt; sickening snobs!), to bring her to Rome; pretext, Red +Cross work, which covered so much frivolling in the war! Then, not long +after, the cowboy's friend, Roger Fane, appeared on the scene, in the +American Expeditionary Force; a thrilling, handsome, and mysteriously +tragic person. James Courtenaye also turned up, having been ordered to +the Italian Front; but Grandmother and I contrived never to meet him. +And when our financial affairs began to rumble like an earthquake, Mr. +Carstairs decided to see Grandmother in person. + +It was when she received his telegram, "Coming at once," that she +decided I must accept Prince di Miramare. She had wanted an Englishman +for me; but a Prince is a Prince, and though Paolo was far from rich at +the moment, he had the prospect of an immediate million--liras, alas! +not pounds. An enormously rich Greek offered him that sum for the +fourteenth-century Castello di Miramare on a mountain all its own, some +miles from Rome. In consideration of a large sum paid to Paolo's younger +brother Carlo, the two Miramare princes would break the entail; and this +quick solution of our difficulties was to be a surprise for Mr. +Carstairs. + +Paolo and I were married as hastily as such matters can be arranged +abroad, between persons of different nations; and it was true (as those +cynics outside the arbour said) that my soldier prince went back to the +Front an hour after the wedding. It was just after we were safely +spliced that Grandmother ceased to fight a temperature of a hundred and +three, and gave up to an attack of 'flu. She gave up quite quietly, for +she thought that, whatever happened, I would be rich, because she had +browbeaten lazy, unbusinesslike Paolo into making a will in my favour. +The one flaw in this calculation was, his concealing from her the fact +that the entail was not yet legally broken. No contract between him and +the Greek could be signed while the entail existed; therefore Paolo's +will gave me only his personal possessions. These were not much; for I +doubt if even the poor boy's uniforms were paid for. But I am thankful +that Grandmother died without realizing her failure; and I hope that her +spirit was far away before the ex-cowboy began making overtures. + +If it had not been for Mrs. Carstairs' inspiration, I don't know what +would have become of me! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +UP AND IN + + +You may remember what Jim Courtenaye said in the garden: that he would +probably have to support me. + +Well, he dared to offer, through Mr. Carstairs, to do that very thing, +"for the family's sake." At least, he proposed to pay off all our debts +and allow me an income of four hundred a year, if it turned out that my +inheritance from Paolo was nil. + +When Mr. Carstairs passed on the offer to me, as he was bound to do, I +said what I felt dear Grandmother would have wished me to say: "I'll see +him d--d first!" And I added, "I hope you'll repeat that to the +_Person_." + +I think from later developments that Mr. Carstairs cannot have repeated +my reply verbatim. But I have not yet quite come to the part about those +developments. After the funeral, when I knew the worst about the entail, +and that Paolo's brother Carlo was breaking it wholly for his _own_ +benefit, and not at all for mine, Mrs. Carstairs asked sympathetically +if I had thought what I should like to do. + +"Like to do?" I echoed, bitterly. "I should like to go home to the dear +old Abbey, and restore the place as it ought to be restored, and have +plenty of money, without lifting a finger to get it. What I _must_ do is +a different question." + +"Well, then, my dear, supposing we put it in that brutal way. Have you +thought--er----" + +"I've done nothing except think. But I've been brought up with about as +much earning capacity as a mechanical doll. The only thing I have the +slightest talent for being, is--a detective!" + +"Good gracious!" was Mrs. Carstairs' comment on that. + +"I've felt ever since spy night at the Abbey that I had it in me to make +a good detective," I modestly explained. + +"'Princess di Miramare, Private Detective,' would be a distinctly +original sign-board over an office door," the old lady reflected. "But I +believe _I've_ evolved something more practical, considering your +name--and your age--(twenty-one, isn't it?)--and your _looks_. Not that +detective talent mayn't come in handy even in the profession I'm going +to suggest. Very likely it will--among other things. It's a profession +that'll call for all the talents you can get hold of." + +"Do you by chance mean marriage?" I inquired, coldly. "I've never been a +wife. But I suppose I _am_ a sort of widow." + +"If you weren't a sort of widow you couldn't cope with the profession +I've--er--invented. You wouldn't be independent enough." + +"Invented? Then you _don't_ mean marriage! And not even the stage. I +warn you that I solemnly promised Grandmother never to go on the stage." + +"I know, my child. She mentioned that to Henry--my husband--when they +were discussing your future, before you both left London. My idea is +_much_ more original than marriage, or even the stage. It popped into my +mind the night Mrs. Courtenaye died, while we were in a taxi between the +Palazzo Ardini and this hotel. I said to myself, 'Dear Elizabeth shall +be a Brightener!'" + +"A Brightener?" I repeated, with a vague vision of polishing windows or +brasses. "I don't----" + +"You wouldn't! I told you I'd invented the profession expressly for you. +Now I'm going to tell you what it is. I felt that you'd not care to be a +tame companion, even to the most gilded millionairess, or a social +secretary to a----" + +"Horror!--no, I couldn't be a tame anything." + +"That's why brightening is your line. A Brightener couldn't _be_ a +Brightener and tame. She must be brilliant--winged--soaring above the +plane of those she brightens; expensive, to make herself appreciated; +capable of taking the lead in social direction. Why, my dear, people +will fight to get you--pay any price to secure you! _Now_ do you +understand?" + +I didn't. So she explained. After that dazzling preface, the explanation +seemed rather an anti-climax. Still, I saw that there might be something +in the plan--if it could be worked. And Mrs. Carstairs guaranteed to +work it. + +My widowhood (save the mark!) qualified me to become a chaperon. And my +Princesshood would make me a gilded one. Chaperonage, at its best, might +be amusing. But chaperonage was far from the whole destiny of a +Brightener. A Brightener need not confine herself to female society, as +a mere Companion must. A young woman, even though a widow and a +Princess, could not "companion" a person of the opposite sex, even if he +were a _hundred_. But she might, from a discreet distance, be his +Brightener. That is, she might brighten a lonely man's life without +tarnishing her own reputation. + +"After all," Mrs. Carstairs went on, "in spite of what's said against +him, Man _is_ a Fellow Being. If a cat may look at a King, Man may look +at a Princess. And unless he's in her set, he can be made to pay for the +privilege. Think of a lonely button or boot-maker! What would he give +for the honour of invitations to tea, with introductions and social +advice, from the popular Princess di Miramare? He might have a wife or +daughters, or both, who needed a leg up. _They_ would come extra! He +might be a widower--in fact, I've caught the first widower for you +already. But unluckily you can't use him yet." + +"Ugh!" I shuddered. "Sounds as if he were a fish--wriggling on a hook +till I'm ready to tear it out of his gills!" + +"He is a fish--a big fish. In fact, I may as well break it to you that +he is Roger Fane." + +"Good heavens!" I cried. "It would take more electricity than I'm fitted +with to brighten his tragic and mysterious gloom!" + +"Not at all. In fact, you are the only one who can brighten it." + +"What are you driving at? He's dead in love with Shelagh Leigh." + +"That's just _it_. As things are, he has no hope of marrying Shelagh. +She likes him, as you probably know better than I do, for you're her +best pal, although she's a year or so younger than you----" + +"Two years." + +"Well, as I was going to say, in many ways she's a child compared to +you. She's as beautiful as one of those cut-off cherubs in the +prayer-books, and as old-fashioned as an early Victorian sampler. These +blonde Dreams with naturally waving golden hair and rosebud mouths, and +eyes big as half-crowns, _have_ that drawback, as I've discovered since +I came to live in England. In _my_ country we don't grow early Victorian +buds. You know perfectly well that those detestable snobs, the Pollens, +don't think Fane good enough for Shelagh in spite of his money. Money's +the _one_ nice thing they've got themselves, which they can pass on to +Shelagh. Probably they forced the wretched Miss Pollen, who was the male +snob's sister, to marry the old Marquis of Leigh just as they wish to +_compel_ Shelagh to marry some other wreck of his sort--and die young, +as her mother did. The girl's a dear--a perfect _lamb_!--but lambs can't +stand up against lions. They generally lie down inside them. But with +_you_ at the helm, the Pollen lions could be forced----" + +"Not if they knew it!" I cut in. + +"They wouldn't know it. Did _you_ know that you were being forced to +marry that poor young prince of yours?" + +"I wasn't forced. I was persuaded." + +"We won't argue the point! Anyhow, the subject doesn't press. The scheme +I have in my head for you to launch Fane on the social sea (the _sea_ in +every sense of the word, as you'll learn by and by) can't come off till +you're out of your deepest mourning. I'll find you a quieter line of +goods to begin on than the Fane-Leigh business if you agree to take up +Brightening. The question is, _do_ you agree?" + +"I do," I said more earnestly than I had said "I will" as I stood at +Paolo's side in church. For life hadn't been very earnest then. Now it +was. + +"Good!" exclaimed Mrs. Carstairs. "Then that's _that_! The next thing is +to furnish you a charming flat in the same house with us. You must have +a background of your own." + +"You forget--I haven't a farthing!" I fiercely reminded her. "But Mr. +Carstairs won't forget! I've made him too much trouble. The best +Brightening won't run to _half_ a Background in Berkeley Square." + +"Wait," Mrs. Carstairs calmed me. "I haven't finished the whole +proposition yet. In America, when we run up a sky-scraper, we don't +begin at the bottom, in any old, commonplace way. We stick a few steel +girders into the earth; then we start at the top and work down. That's +what I've been doing with my plan. It's perfect. Only you've got to +support it with something." + +"What is it you're trying to break to me?" I demanded. + +The dear old lady swallowed heavily. (It must be something pretty awful +if it daunted _her_!) + +"You like Roger Fane," she began. + +"Yes, I admire him. He's handsome and interesting, though a little too +mysterious and tragic to live with for my taste." + +"He's not mysterious at all!" she defended Fane. "His tragedy--for there +_was_ a tragedy!--is no secret in America. I often met him before the +war, when I ran over to pay visits in New York, though he was far from +being in the Four Hundred. But at the moment I've no more to say about +Roger Fane. I've been using him for a handle to brandish a friend of his +in front of your eyes." + +My blood grew hot. "_Not_ the ex-cowboy?" + +"That's no way to speak of Sir James Courtenaye." + +"Then _he's_ what you want to break to me?" + +"I want--I mean, I'm _requested_!--to inform you of a way he proposes +out of the woods for you--at least, the darkest part of the woods." + +"I told Mr. Carstairs I'd see James Courtenaye d--d rather than----" + +"_This_ is a different affair entirely. You must listen, my dear, unless +I'm to wash my hands of you! What I have to describe is the foundation +for the Brightening." + +I swallowed some more of Grandmother's expressions which occurred to me, +and listened. + +Sir James Courtenaye's second proposition was not an offer of charity. +He suggested that I let Courtenaye Abbey to him for a term of years, for +the sum of one thousand five hundred pounds per annum, the first three +years to be paid in advance. (This clause, Mrs. Carstairs hinted, would +enable me to dole out crumbs here and there for the quieting of +Grandmother's creditors.) Sir James's intention was, not to use the +Abbey as a residence, but to make of it a show place for the public +during the term of his lease. In order to do this, the hall must be +restored and the once-famous gardens beautified. This expense he would +undertake, carrying the work quickly to completion, and would reimburse +himself by means of the fees--a shilling a head--charged for viewing the +house and its historic treasures. + +When I had heard all this, I hesitated what to answer, thinking of +Grandmother, and wondering what she would have said had she been in my +shoes. But as this thought flitted into my mind, it was followed by +another. One of Grandmother's few old-fashioned fads was her style of +shoe: pattern 1875. The shoes I stood in, at this moment, were pattern +1918. In _my_ shoes Grandmother would simply scream! And I wouldn't be +at my best in hers. This was the parable which commonsense put to me, +and Mrs. Carstairs cleverly offering no word of advice, I paused no +longer than five minutes before I snapped out, "Yes! The horrid brute +can have the darling place till I get rich." + +"How sweet of you to consent so _graciously_, darling!" purred Mrs. +Carstairs. Then we both laughed. After which I fell into her arms, and +cried. + +For fear I might change my mind, Mr. Carstairs got me to sign some +dull-looking documents that very day, and the oddness of their being all +ready to hand didn't strike me till the ink was dry. + +"Henry had them prepared because he knew how _sensible_ you are at +heart--I mean _at head_," his wife explained. "Indeed, it is a +compliment to your intelligence." + +Anyhow, it gave me a wherewithal to throw sops to a whole Zooful of +Cerberuses, and still keep enough to take that flat in the Carstairs' +house in Berkeley Square. Of course to do all this meant leaving Italy +for good and going back to England. But there was little to hold me in +Rome. My inheritance from my husband-of-an-hour could be packed in a +suitcase! Shelagh and her snobs travelled with us. And as soon as they +were demobilized, Roger Fane and James Courtenaye followed, if not us, +at least in our direction. + +I don't think that Aladdin's Lamp builders "had anything on" Sir Jim's +(as he himself said), judging by the way the restorations simply flew. +From what I heard of the sums he spent, it would take the shillings of +all England and America as sightseers to put him in pocket. But as Mr. +Carstairs pointed out, that was _his_ business. + +Mine was to gird my loins at Lucille's and Redfern's, in order to become +a Brightener. For my pendulum was ticking regularly now. I was no longer +down and out. I was up and in. Elizabeth, Princess di Miramare, was +spoiling for her first job. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THUNDERBOLT SIX + + +Looking back through my twenty-one-and-three-quarter years, I divide my +life, up to date, into thunderbolts. + + Thunderbolt One: Death of my Father and Mother. + + Thunderbolt Two: Spy Night at the Abbey. + + Thunderbolt Three: My Marriage to Paolo di Miramare. + + Thunderbolt Four: The "Double Blow." + + Thunderbolt Five: Beggary! + +Which brings me along the road to Thunderbolt Six. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Percy-Hogge was, and is, exactly what you would think from her +name; which is why I don't care to dwell at length on the few months I +spent brightening her at Bath. It was bad enough _living_ them! + +Now, if I were a Hogge instead of a Courtenaye, plus Miramare, I would +_be_ one, plain, unadulterated, and unadorned. _She_ adulterated her +Hogg with an "e," and adorned it with a "Percy," her late husband's +Christian name. He being in heaven or somewhere, the hyphen couldn't +hurt him; and with it, and his money, _and_ Me, she began at Bath the +attempt to live down the past of a mere margarine-making Hogg. Whole +bunches of Grandmother's friends were in the Bath zone just then, which +is why I chose it, and they were so touched by my widow's weeds that +they were charming to Mrs. P.-H. in order to please me. As most of +them--though stuffy--were titled, and there were two Marchionesses and +one Duchess, the result for Mrs. Percy-Hogge was brilliant. She, who had +never before known any one above a knight-ess, was in Paradise. She had +taken a fine old Georgian house, furnished from basement to attic by +Mallet, and had launched invitations for a dinner-party "to meet the +Dowager-Duchess of Stoke," when--bang fell Thunderbolt Six! + +Naturally it fell on me, not her, as thunderbolts have no affinity for +Hoggs. It fell in the shape of a telegram from Mrs. Carstairs. + +She wired: + + Come London immediately, for consultation. Terrible theft at Abbey. + Barlows drugged and bound by burglars. Both prostrated. Affair + serious. Let me know train. Will meet. Love. + + CAROLINE CARSTAIRS. + +I wired in return that I would catch the first train, and caught it. The +old lady kept her word also, and met me. Before her car had whirled us +to Berkeley Square I had got the whole story out of her; which was well, +as an ordeal awaited me, and I needed time to camouflage my feelings. + +I had been sent for in haste because the news of the burglary was not to +leak into the papers until, as Mrs. Carstairs expressed it, "those most +concerned had come to some sort of understanding." "You see," she added, +"this isn't an ordinary theft. There are wheels within wheels, and the +insurance people will kick up a row rather than pay. That's why we must +talk everything over; you, and Sir James, and Henry--and Henry is never +_quite_ complete without me, so I intend to be in the offing." + +I knew she wouldn't stay there; but that was a detail! + +The robbery had taken place the night before, and Sir James himself had +been the one to discover it. Complication number one (as you'll see in a +minute). + +He, being now "demobbed" and a man of leisure, instead of reopening his +flat in town, had taken up quarters at Courtenaye Coombe to superintend +the repairs at the Abbey. His ex-cowboy habits being energetic, he +usually walked the two miles from the village, and appeared on the scene +ahead of the workmen. + +This morning he arrived before seven o'clock, and went, according to +custom, to beg a cup of coffee from Mrs. Barlow. She and her husband +occupied the bedroom and sitting room which had been the housekeeper's; +but at that hour the two were invariably in the kitchen. Sir Jim let +himself in with his key, and marched straight to that part of the house. +He was surprised to find the kitchen shutters closed and the range +fireless. Suspecting something wrong, he went to the bedroom door and +knocked. He got no answer; but a second, harder rap produced a muffled +moan. The door was not locked. He opened it, and was horrified at what +he saw: Mrs. Barlow, on the bed, gagged and bound; her husband in the +same condition, but lying on the floor; and the atmosphere of the closed +room heavy with the fumes of chloroform. + +It was Mrs. Barlow who managed to answer the knock with a moan. Barlow +was deeper under the spell of the drug than she, and--it appeared +afterward--in a more serious condition of collapse. + +The old couple had no story to tell, for they recalled nothing of what +had happened. They had made the rounds of the house as usual at night, +and had then gone to bed. Barlow did not wake from his stupor until the +village doctor came to revive him with stimulants, and Mrs. Barlow's +first gleam of consciousness was when she dimly heard Sir James +knocking. She strove to call out, felt aware of illness, realized with +terror that her mouth was distended with a gag, and struggled to utter +the faint groan which reached his ears. + +As soon as Sir Jim had attended to the sufferers, he hurried out, and, +finding that the workmen had arrived, rushed one of them back to +Courtenaye Coombe for the doctor and the village nurse. The moment he +(Sir Jim) was free to do so, he started on a voyage of discovery round +the house, and soon learned that a big haul had been brought off. The +things taken were small in size but in value immense, and circumstantial +evidence suggested that the thief or thieves knew precisely what they +wanted as well as where to get it. + +In the picture gallery a portrait of King Charles I (given by himself to +a General Courtenaye of the day) had been cleverly cut out of its frame, +also a sketch of the Long Water at Hampton Court, painted and signed by +King Charles. The green drawing room was deprived of its chief treasure, +a quaint sampler embroidered by the hand of Mary Queen of Scots for her +"faithful John Courtenaye." From the Chinese boudoir a Buddha of the +Ming period was gone, and a jewel box of marvellous red lacquer +presented by Li Hung Chang to my grandmother. The silver cabinet in the +oak dining room had been broken open, and a teapot, sugar bowl, and +cream-jug, given by Queen Anne to an ancestress, were absent. The China +cabinet in the same room was bared of a set of green-and-gold coffee +cups presented by Napoleon I to a French great-great-grandmother of +mine; and from the big dining hall adjoining, a Gobelin panel, woven for +the Empress Josephine, after the wedding picture by David, had vanished. + +A few _bibelots_ were missing also, here and there; snuff boxes of Beau +Nash and Beau Brummel; miniatures, old paste brooches and buckles +reminiscent of Courtenaye beauties; and a fat watch that had belonged to +George IV. + +"All my pet things!" I mourned. + +"Don't say that to any one except me," advised Mrs. Carstairs. "My dear, +_bits of a letter torn into tiny pieces--a letter from you--were found +in the Chinese Room_, and the Insurance people will be hatefully +inquisitive!" + +"You don't mean to insinuate that they'll suspect me?" I blazed at her. + +"Not of stealing the things with your own hands; and if they did, you +could easily prove an alibi, I suppose. Still, they're bound to follow +up every clue, and bits of paper with your writing on them, apparently +dropped by the thieves, _do_ form a tempting clue. You can't help +admitting it." + +I did not admit it in the least, for at first glance I couldn't see +where the "temptation" lay to steal one's own belongings. But Mrs. +Carstairs soon made me see. Though the things were mine in a way, in +another way they were not mine. Being heirlooms, I could not profit by +them financially, in the open. Yet if I could cause them to disappear, +without being detected, I should receive the insurance money with one +hand, and rake in with the other a large bribe from some supposititious +purchaser. + +"On the contrary, why shouldn't our brave Bart be suspected of precisely +the same fraud, and more of it?" I inquired. "If I could steal the +things, so could he. If they're my pets, they may be his. And he was on +the spot, with a lot of workmen in his pay! Surely such circumstantial +evidence against him weighs more heavily in the scales than a mere scrap +of paper against me? I've written Sir Jim once or twice, by the way, on +business about the Abbey since I've been in Bath. All he'd have to do +would be to tear a letter up small enough, so it couldn't be pieced +together and make sense----" + +"Nobody's weighing anything in scales against either of you--yet," +soothed Mrs. Carstairs, "unless you're doing it against each other! But +we don't know what may happen. That's why it seemed best for you and Sir +James to come together and exchange blows--I mean, _views_!--at once. He +called my husband up by long-distance telephone early this morning, told +him what had happened, and had a pow-wow on ways and means. They decided +not to inform the police, but to save publicity and engage a private +detective. In fact, Sir J---- asked Henry to send a good man to the +Abbey by the quickest train. He went--the man, I mean, not Henry; and +the head of his firm ought to arrive at our flat in a few minutes now, +to meet you and Sir James." + +"Sir James! Even a galloping cowboy can't be in London and Devonshire at +the same moment." + +"Oh, I forgot to mention, he must have travelled up by _your_ train. I +suppose you didn't see him?" + +"I did not!" + +"He was probably in a smoking carriage. Well, anyhow, he'll soon be with +us." + +"Stop the taxi!" I broke in; and stopped it myself by tapping on the +window behind the chauffeur. + +"Good heavens! what's the matter?" gasped my companion. + +"Nothing. I want to inquire the name of that firm of private detectives +Sir James Courtenaye got Mr. Carstairs to engage." + +"Pemberton. You must have seen it advertised. But why stop the taxi to +ask that?" + +"I stopped the taxi to get out, and let you run home alone while I find +another cab to take me to another detective. You see, I didn't want to +go to the same firm." + +"Isn't one firm of detectives enough at one time, on one job?" + +"It isn't one job. You're the shrewdest woman I know. You _must_ see +that James Courtenaye has engaged _his_ detective to spy upon me--to dog +my footsteps--to discover if I suddenly blossom out into untold +magnificence on ill-got gains. I intend to turn the tables on him, and +when I come back to your flat, it will be in the company of my very own +little pet detective." + +Mrs. Carstairs broke into adjurations and arguments. According to her, I +misjudged my cousin's motives; and if I brought a detective, it would be +an insult. But I checked her by explaining that my man would not give +himself away--he would pose as a friend of mine. I would select a +suitable person for the part. With that I jumped out of the taxi, and +the dear old lady was too wise to argue. She drove sadly home, and I +went into the nearest shop which looked likely to own a directory. In +that volume I found another firm of detectives with an equally +celebrated name. I taxied to their office, explained something of my +business, and picked out a person who might pass for a pal of a +(socialist) princess. He and I then repaired to Berkeley Square, and Sir +James and the Pemberton person (also Mr. Carstairs) had not been waiting +_much_ more than half an hour when we arrived. + +I don't know what my "forty-fourth cousin four times removed" thought +about my dashing in with a strange Mr. Smith who apparently had nothing +to do with the case. And I didn't care. No, not even if he imagined the +square-jawed bull-dog creature to be a choice specimen of my circle at +Bath. In any case, my Mr. Smith was a dream compared with his Pemberton. +As to himself, however--Sir Jim--I had to acknowledge that he was far +from insignificant in personality. If there were to be any battle of +wits or manners between us, I couldn't afford to despise him. + +When I had met him before, I was too utterly overwhelmed to study, or +even to notice him much, except to see that he was a big, red-headed +fellow, who loomed unnaturally large when viewed against the light. Now +I classified him as resembling a more-than-life-size statue--done in +pale bronze--of a Red Indian, or a soldier of Ancient Rome. The only +flaws in the statue were the red hair and the fiery blackness of the +eyes. + +My Mr. Smith, as I have explained, wasn't posing as a detective, but he +was engaged to stop, look, listen, for all he was worth, and tell me his +impressions afterward--just as, no doubt, Mr. Pemberton was to tell Sir +James _his_. + +We talked over the robbery in conclave; we amateurs suggesting theories, +the professionals committing themselves to nothing so premature. Why, it +was too early to form judgments, since the detective on the spot had not +yet been able to report upon fingerprints or other clues! The sole +decision arrived at, and agreed to by all, was to keep the affair among +ourselves for the present. This could be managed if none but private +detectives were employed and the police not brought into the case. When +the meeting broke up and I was able to question Mr. Smith, I was +disappointed in him. I had hoped and expected (having led up to it by +hints) that he would say: "Sir James Courtenaye is in this." On the +contrary, he tactlessly advised me to "put that idea out of my head. +There was nothing in it." (I hope he meant the idea, not the head!) + +"I should say, speaking in the air," he remarked, "that the caretakers +are the guilty parties, or at least have had some hand in the business. +Though of course I might change my mind if I were on the spot." + +I assured him fiercely that any one possessed of a mind at all would +change it at sight of dear old Barl and Barley. Nothing on earth would +make me believe anything against them. Why, if they didn't have +Almost-Haloes and Wings, Sir James and the insurance people would have +objected to them as guardians. The very fact that they had been kept on +without a word of protest from any one, when Courtenaye Abbey was let to +Sir James was, I argued, the best of testimonials to the Barlows' +character. Nevertheless, my orders were that Mr. Smith should go to +Devonshire and take a room at the Courtenaye Arms, dressed and painted +to represent a landscape artist. "The Abbey is to be opened to the +public in a few days, in spite of the best small show-things being +lost," I reminded him, from what we had heard Sir Jim say. "You can see +the Barlows, and judge of them. But what is _much_ more important, +you'll also see Sir James Courtenaye, who lodges in the inn, and can +judge of _him_. In my opinion he has revenged himself for losing his +suit to grab the Abbey and everything in it, by taking what he could lay +his hands on without being suspected." + +"But you do suspect him?" said Mr. Smith. + +"For that matter, so does he suspect me," I retorted. + +"You _think_ so," the detective amended. + +"Don't you?" + +"No, Princess, I do not." + +"What _do_ you think, then? Or don't you think _anything_?" + +"I do think something." He tried to justify his earning capacity. + +"What, if I may ask?" + +He--a Smith, a mere Smith!--dared to grin. + +"Of course you may ask, Princess," he replied. "But it's too early yet +for me to answer your question in fairness to myself. About the theft I +have not formed a firm theory, but I have about Sir James Courtenaye. I +would not have ventured even to mention it, however, if you had not +drawn me out, for it is indirectly concerned with the case." + +"Directly or indirectly, I wish to know it," I insisted. "And as you're +in my employ, I think I have the right." + +"Very well, madam, you shall know it--later," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE BLACK THING IN THE SEA + + +I went back to Bath, and Mrs. Percy-Hogge; but I no longer felt that I +was enjoying a rest cure. Right or wrong, I had the impression of being +_watched_. I was sure that Sir James Courtenaye had put detectives "on +my track," in the hope that I might be caught communicating with my +hired bravos or the wicked receiver of my stolen goods. In other days +when a man stared or turned to gaze after me, I had attributed the +attention to my looks; now I jumped to the conviction that he was a +detective. And in fact, I began to jump at anything--or nothing. + +It was vain for Mrs. Carstairs (who ran down to Bath, after I'd written +her a wild letter) to guarantee that even an enemy--(which she vowed Sir +James _wasn't_!)--could rake up no shred of evidence against me, with +the exception of the torn letter. She couldn't deny that, materially +speaking, it _would_ be a "good haul" for me to sell the heirlooms, and +obtain also the insurance money. But then, I hadn't done it, and nobody +could accuse me of doing it, because no one knew the things were gone. +Oh, well, _yes_! Some detectives knew; and the poor old Barlows had +bitter cause to know. A few others, too, including Sir James Courtenaye. +None of them _counted_, however, because none of them would talk. + +Mrs. Carstairs said it was absurd of me to imagine that Sir James was +having me watched. But imagination and not advice had the upper hand of +my nerves; and, seeing this, she prescribed a change of air. + +"I meant Mrs. Percy-Hogge only for a stop-gap," she explained. "You've +squeezed her into Society now; and for yourself, you've come to the time +when you can lighten your mourning. I've waited for that, to start you +on your new job. You'll go what my cook calls 'balmy on the crumpet' if +you keep fancying every queer human being you meet in Milsom Street a +detective on your track. The best thing for you is, not to _have_ a +track! And the way to manage that, is to be at _sea_." + +I was at sea--figuratively--till Mrs. Carstairs explained more. She +recalled to my mind what she had said in our first chat about +Brightening: how she had suggested my "taking the helm," to steer Roger +Fane into the Social Sea. + +"I think I mentioned then that I referred to the sea, in the literal +sense of the word," she went on. "I promised to tell you what I meant, +when the right moment came, and now it has come. I haven't been idle +meanwhile, I assure you, for I like Roger Fane as much as _you_ like +Shelagh Leigh. And between us two, we'll marry them over the Pollens' +snobby heads." + +In short, Mr. Carstairs had a client who had a yacht at Plymouth. The +client's name was Lord Verrington. The yacht's name was _Naiad_, and +Lord Verrington wished to let her for an absurdly large sum. Roger Fane +didn't mind paying this sum. It was the right time of year for a +yachting trip. If I would lend eclat to such a trip by Brightening it, +the Pollens would permit their precious Shelagh to go. Mr. Pollen (whom +Grandmother had refused to know) would even join the party himself. +Indeed, no one would refuse if asked by me, and the Pollens would be so +dazzled by Roger Fane's sudden social success that their consent to the +engagement was a foregone conclusion. + +I snapped at the chance of escape. To be sure, it was a temporary +escape, as the guests were invited for a week only; still, lots of +things may happen in a week. Why look beyond seven perfectly good days? +Besides, I was to be given a huge "bonus" for my services, enough to pay +the rent of my expensive flat for a year. But I wasn't entirely selfish +in accepting. I've never half described to you the odd, reserved charm +of that mysterious millionaire, Roger Fane, whose one fault was his +close friendship with Sir James Courtenaye. And for his sake, as well as +dear little Shelagh's, I would gladly have done all I could to bring the +two together. + +Knowing that titles impressed the Pollens, I secured several: one earl +with countess attached (legally, at all events), a pretty sister of the +latter; a bachelor marquis, and ditto viscount. These, with Shelagh, +myself, Roger Fane, and Mr. Pollen, would constitute the party, should +all accept. + +They all did, partly for me, perhaps, and partly for each other, but +largely from curiosity, as the _Naiad_ had the reputation of being the +most luxuriously appointed small steam yacht in British waters, (She had +been "interned" in Spain during the war!) Also, Roger had secured as +_chef_ a famous Frenchman, just demobilized. Altogether, the prospect +offered attractions. The start was to be made from Plymouth on a summer +afternoon. We were to cruise along the coast, and eventually make for +Jersey and Guernsey, where none of the party had ever been. My things +were packed, and I was ready to take a morning train for Plymouth--a +train by which all those of us in town would travel--when a letter +arrived for me. It was from Mrs. Barlow, announcing the sudden death of +her husband, from heart failure. He had never recovered the shock of the +robbery, or the heavy dose of chloroform which the thieves had +administered. And this, Barley added, as if in reproach, was not all +Barlow had been forced to endure. It had been a cruel blow to find +himself supplanted as guardian at the Abbey. The excuse for thus +superseding him and his wife was, of course, the state of their health +after the ordeal through which they had passed. Nevertheless, Barlow +felt (said his wife) that they were no longer trusted. They had loved +the lodge, which was home to them in old days; but they had been +promoted from lodge-keeping to caretaking, and it was humiliating to be +sent back while strangers usurped their place at the Abbey. This +grievance (in Barley's opinion) had killed her husband. As for her, she +would follow him into the grave, were it not for the loving care of +Barlow's nephews from Australia, the brave twin soldier boys she had +often mentioned to me. They were with her now, and would take her to the +old family home close to Dudworth Cove, which the boys had bought back +from the late owner. Barlow's body would go with them, and be buried in +the graveyard where generations of Barlows slept. + +It was a blow to hear of the old man's death, and to learn that I was +blamed for heartlessness by Barley. Of course I had nothing to do with +the affair. The Barlows were not really suspected, and had in truth been +removed for their own health's sake to the lodge where their possessions +were. The new caretakers had been engaged by Sir James, in consultation, +I believed, with the insurance people: and my secret conviction was, +that they had been supplied by Pemberton's Agency of Private Detectives. +My impulse was to rush to the Abbey and comfort Mrs. Barlow, even at the +risk of meeting my tenant engaged in the same task. But to do this would +have meant delaying the trip, and disappointing everyone, most of all +Shelagh and Roger Fane; so, advised by Mrs. Carstairs, I sent a telegram +instead, picked up Shelagh and her uncle, and took the Plymouth train. +This was the easier to do, because the wonderful old lady offered to go +herself to the Abbey on a mission of consolation. She promised to send a +telegram to our first port, saying how Barley was, and everything else I +wished to know. + +Shelagh was so happy, so excited, that I was glad I'd listened to reason +and kept the tryst. Never had I seen her as pretty as she looked on that +journey to Devon: her eyes blue stars, her cheeks pink roses. But when +the skies began to darken her eyes darkened, too. Had she been a +barometer she could not have responded more sensitively to the storm; +for a storm we had, cats and dogs pelting down on the roof of the train. + +"I was sure something horrid would happen!" she whispered. "It was too +good to be true that Roger and I should have a whole, heavenly week +together on board a yacht. Now we shall have to wait till the weather +clears. Or else be sea-sick. I don't know which is worse!" + +Roger met us, in torrents of rain and gusts of wind, at Plymouth. But +things were not so black as they looked. He had engaged rooms for +everyone, and a private salon for us all, at the best hotel. We would +stay the night and have a dance, with a band of our own. By the next day +the sea would have calmed down enough to please the worst of sailors, +and we would start. Perhaps we could even get off in the morning. + +This prophecy was rather too optimistic, for we didn't get off till +afternoon; but by that time the water was flat as a floor, and one was +tempted to forget there had ever been a storm. We were not to forget it +for long, alas! Brief as it had been, that storm was to leave its +lasting influence upon our fate: Roger Fane's, Shelagh Leigh's, and +mine. + +By four-thirty, the day after the downpour, we had all come on board the +lovely _Naiad_, had "settled" into our cabins, and were on deck--the +girls in white serge or linen, the men in flannels--ready for tea. + +If it had arrived, and we had been looking into our tea cups instead of +at the seascape, the whole of Roger Fane's and Shelagh's life might have +been different--mine, too, perhaps! But as it was, Shelagh and Roger +were leaning on the rail together, and her gaze was fixed upon the blue +water, because somehow she couldn't meet Roger's just then. What he had +said to her I don't know; but more to avoid giving an answer than +because she was wildly interested, the girl exclaimed: "What can that +dark thing be, drifting--and bobbing up and down in the waves? I suppose +it couldn't be a dead _shark_?" + +"Hardly in these waters," said Roger Fane. "Besides, a dead shark floats +wrong side up, and his wrong side is white. This thing looks black." + +In ordinary circumstances I wouldn't have broken in on a _tete-a-tete_, +but others were extricating themselves from their deck chairs, so I +thought there was no harm in my being the first. + +"More like a coffin than a shark," I said, with my elbows beside +Shelagh's on the rail. + +At that the whole party hurled itself in our direction, and the nearer +the _Naiad_ brought us to the floating object, the more like a coffin it +became to our eyes. At last it was so much like, that Roger decided to +stop the yacht and examine the thing, which might even be an odd-shaped +small boat, overturned. He went off, therefore, to speak with the +captain, leaving us in quite a state of excitement. + +Almost before we'd thought the order given, the _Naiad_ slowed down, and +came to rest like a great Lohengrin swan in the clear azure wavelets. A +boat was quickly lowered, and we saw that Roger himself accompanied the +two rowers. + +A few moments before he had looked so happy, so at peace with the world, +that the tragic shadow in his eyes had actually vanished. His whole +expression and bearing had been different, and he had seemed years +younger--almost boyish, in his dark, shy, reserved way. But as he went +down in the boat, he was again the Roger Fane I had known and wondered +about. + +"If he's superstitious, this will seem a bad omen," I thought. "That is, +if the thing _does_ turn out to be a coffin." + +None of us remembered the tea we'd been pining for, though a white-clad +steward was hovering with trays of cakes, cream, and strawberries. We +could do nothing but hang over the rail and watch the _Naiad's_ boat. We +saw it reach the Thing, in whose neighbourhood it paused with lifted +oars, while a discussion went on between Roger and the rowers. +Apparently they argued, with due respect, against the carrying out of +some order or suggestion. He was not a man to be disobeyed, however. +After a moment or two, the work of taking the black thing in tow was +begun. + +We were very near now, and could plainly see all that went on. Coffin or +not, the mysterious object was a long, narrow box of some sort (the +men's reluctance to pick it up pretty well proved _what_ sort, to my +mind), and curiously enough a rope was tied round it. There appeared to +be a lump of knots on top, and a loose end trailing like seaweed, which +made the task of taking the derelict in tow an easy one. To this broken +rope Roger deftly attached the rope carried in the boat, and it was not +long before the rescue party started to return. + +"Is it a coffin or a treasure chest?" girls and men eagerly called down +to Roger. Everyone screamed some question--except Shelagh and me. We +were silent, and Shelagh's colour had faded. She edged closer to me, +until our shoulders touched. Hers felt cold to my warm flesh. + +"Why, you're shivering, dear!" I said. "You're not _afraid_ of that +wretched thing--whatever it is?" + +"We both _know_ what it is, without telling, don't we?" she replied, in +a half whisper. "I'm not _afraid_ of it, of course. But--it's awful that +we should come across a coffin floating in the sea, on our first day +out. I feel as if it meant bad luck for Roger and me. How can they all +squeal and chatter so? I suppose Roger is bound to bring the dreadful +thing on board. It wouldn't be decent not to. But I wish he needn't." + +I rather wished the same, partly because I knew how superstitious +sailors were about such matters, and how they would hate to have a +coffin--presumably containing a dead body--on board the _Naiad_. It +really wasn't a gay yachting companion! However, I tried to cheer +Shelagh. It would take more than this to bring her bad luck _now_, I +said, when things had gone so far; and she might have more trust in me, +whom she had lately named her _mascotte_. + +All the men frankly desired to see the _trouvaille_ at close quarters, +and most of the women wanted a peep, though they weren't brutally open +about it. If there had been any doubt, it would have vanished as the +Thing was being hauled on board by grave-faced, suddenly sullen sailors. +It was a "sure enough" coffin, and--it seemed--an unusually large one! + +It had to be placed on deck, for the moment, but Roger had the dark +shape instantly covered with tarpaulins; and an appeal from his clouded +eyes made me suggest adjourning indoors for tea. We could have it in the +saloon, which was decorated like a boudoir, and full of lilies and +roses--Shelagh's favourite flowers. + +"Let's not talk any more about the business!" Roger exclaimed, when +Shelagh's uncle seemed inclined to mix the subject with food. "I wish it +hadn't happened, as the men are foolishly upset. But it can't be helped, +and we must do our best. The--er--it sha'n't stop on deck. That would be +to keep Jonah under our eyes. I've thought of a place where we can +ignore it till to-morrow, when we'll land it as early as we can at St. +Heliers. I'm afraid the local authorities will want to tie us up in a +lot of red tape. But the worst will be to catechize us as if we were +witnesses in court. Meanwhile, let's forget the whole affair." + +"Righto!" promptly exclaimed all three of the younger guests; but Mr. +Pollen was not thus to be deprived of his morbid morsel. + +"Certainly," he agreed. "But before the subject is shelved, _where_ is +the 'place' you speak of? I mean, where is the coffin to rest throughout +the night?" + +Roger gave a grim laugh, and looked obstinate. "I'll tell you this +much," he said. "None of you'll have it for a near neighbour, so none of +you need worry." + +After that, even Mr. Pollen could not persist. We disposed of an +enormous tea, after the excitement, and then some of us played bridge. +When we separated, however, to pace the deck--two by two, for a +"constitutional" before dinner--one could see by the absorbed expression +on faces, and guess by the low-toned voices, what each pair discussed. + +My companion, Lord Glencathra, thought that Somebody must have died on +Some Ship, and been thrown overboard. But I argued that this could +hardly be, because--surely--bodies buried at sea were not put into +coffins, were they? I had heard that the custom was to sew them up in +sailcloth or something, and weight them well. Besides, there was the +broken rope tied round the coffin, which seemed to show that it had been +tethered, and got loose--in the storm, perhaps. How did Lord Glencathra +account for that fact? He couldn't account for it. Nor could any one +else. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +WHAT I FOUND IN MY CABIN + + +I did all I could to make dinner a lively meal, and with iced Pommery of +a particularly good year as my aide-de-camp, superficially at least I +succeeded. But whenever there was an instant's lull in the conversation, +I felt that everyone was asking him or herself, "_Where_ is the coffin?" + +The plan had been to have a little moonlight fox-trotting and jazzing on +deck; but with that Black Thing hidden somewhere on board, we confined +ourselves to more bridge and star-gazing, according to taste. I, as +professional Brightener, nobly kept Mr. Pollen out of everybody's way by +annexing him for a stroll. This deserved the name of a double +brightening act, for I brightened the lives of his fellow guests by +saving them from him; and I brightened his by encouraging him to talk of +Well-Connected People. + +"Who _was_ she before she married Lord Thingum-bob?" ... or, "Yes, she +was Miss So-and-So, a cousin of the Duke of Dinkum," might have been +heard issuing sapiently from our lips, had any one been mentally +destitute enough to eavesdrop. But I had my reward. Dear little Shelagh +Leigh and Roger Fane seemed to have cheered each other. I left them +standing together, elbows on the rail, as they had stood before the +affair of the afternoon. The moonlight was shining full upon Shelagh's +bright hair and pearl-white face, as she looked up, eager-eyed, at +Roger; and _he_ looked--at least, his _back_ looked!--as if there were +nobody on land or sea except one Girl. + +Having lured Mr. Pollen to make a fourth at a bridge table where the +players were too polite to kill him, I ventured to vanish. There being +no one on board with whom I wished to flirt, my one desire after two +hard hours of Brightening was to curl up in my cabin with a nice book. I +quite looked forward to the moment for shutting myself cosily in, for +the cabin was a delicious pink-and-white nest--the biggest room on +board, as a tribute to my princesshood. + +Hardly had I opened the door, however, when my dream-bubble broke. A +very odd and repellent odour greeted me, and seemed almost to push me +back across the threshold. I held my ground, however, and sniffed with +curiosity and disgust. + +Somebody had been at my perfume--my expensive pet perfume, made +especially for me in Rome (one drop exquisite; two, oppressive), and +must have spilt the lot. But worse than this, the heavy fragrance was +mingled with a reek of stale brandy. + +Anger flashed in me, like a match set to gun-cotton. Some impertinent +person had sneaked into my stateroom and played a stupid practical joke. +Or, if not that, one of the pleasantly prim, immaculate women (a cross +between the stewardess and ladies'-maid type) engaged to hook up our +frocks and make up our cabins, was secretly a confirmed--_ROTTER_! + +I switched on the light, shut the door smartly without locking it, and +flung a furious glance around. The creature had actually dared to place +a brandy bottle conspicuously upon my dressing table, among gold-handled +brushes and silver gilt boxes, and, as a crowning impertinence, had left +a tumbler beside the bottle, a quarter full of strong-smelling brown +stuff. Close by lay my lovely crystal flask of "Campagna Violets," +empty. I could get no more anywhere, and it had cost five pounds! I +could hardly breathe in the room. Oh, evidently a stewardess must have +gone stark mad, or else some practical joker had waited to play the +_coup_ until the stewardesses were in bed! + +As I thought this, my eyes as well as my nostrils warned me of something +strange. The rose-coloured silk curtains which, when I went to dinner, +had been gracefully looped back at head and foot of my pretty bed (a +real bed, not a mere berth!) were now closely drawn with a secretive +air. This made me imagine that it was a practical joke I had to deal +with, and my fancy flew to all sorts of weird surprises, any one of +which I might find hidden behind the draperies. + +I trust that I have a sense of humour, and I can laugh at a jest against +myself as well as any woman, perhaps better than most. But to-night I +was in no mood to laugh at jests, and I wondered how anybody had the +heart (not to mention the _cheek_!) to perpetrate one after the shock we +had experienced. Besides, I couldn't think of a person likely to play a +trick on me. Certainly my host wouldn't do so. Shelagh, my best and most +intimate pal, was far too gentle and sensitive-minded. As for the other +guests, none were of the noisy, bounding type who take liberties even +with distant acquaintances, for fun. + +All this ran through my mind, as a cinema "cut-in" flashes across the +screen; and it wasn't until I'd passed in review the characters of my +fellow guests that I summoned courage to pull back the bed-curtains. +When I did so, I gave a jerk that slipped them along the rod as far as +they would go. And then--I saw the last thing in the world I could have +pictured. + +A woman, fully dressed, was stretched on the pink silk coverlet fast +asleep, her head deep sunk in the embroidered pillow. + +It was all I could do to keep back a cry--for this was no woman I had +seen on board, not even a drunken or sleep-walking stewardess. Yet her +face was not strange to me. That was the most horrible, the most +mysterious part! There was no mistake, for the face was impossible to +forget. As I stared, almost believing that I dreamed, another scene rose +between my eyes and the dainty little cabin of the _Naiad_. + +It also was a scene in a dream. I knew it was a dream, but it was +torturingly vivid. I was a prisoner on a German submarine, in war-time, +and signals from my own old home--Courtenaye Abbey--flashed into my +eyes. They flashed so brightly that they set me on fire. I wakened from +the nightmare with a start. A strong light dazzled me, and, striking my +face, lit up another face as well. Just for an instant I saw it; then +the revealing ray died into darkness. But on my retina was photographed +those features, in a pale, illumined circle. + +A second sufficed to bring back to my brain this old dream and the +waking reality which followed, that night at the Abbey, long ago--the +night which Shelagh and I called "Spy Night." For here, in my cabin on +the yacht _Naiad_, on the crushed pillow of my bed, was that face. + +As I realized this, without benefit of any doubt, a faint sickness swept +over me. It was partly horror of the past; partly physical disgust of +the brandy-reek--stronger than ever now--hanging like an unseen canopy +over the bed; and partly cold fear of a terrifying Presence. + +There she lay, sunk in drugged and drunken sleep, the Woman of Mystery, +in whose existence no one but Shelagh and I had ever quite believed: the +woman who had visited us in our sleep, and who--almost certainly--had +fired the Abbey, hoping that we and the Barlows might suffocate in our +beds. + +The face was just the same as it had been then: "beautiful and hideous +at the same time, like Medusa," I had described it; only now it was +older, and though still beautiful, somehow _ravaged_. The hair still +glowed with the vivid auburn colour which I had thought "unreal +looking"; but now it was tumbled and unkempt. Loose locks strayed over +the dainty pillow, and at the bottom of the bed, pushed tightly against +the footboard by a pair of untidy, high-heeled shoes, was a dusty black +toque half covered with a very thick motor-veil of gray tissue. There +was a gray cloak, too, in a tumbled mass on the pink coverlet, and a +pair of soiled gloves. Everything about the sleeper was sordid and +repulsive, a shuddering contrast to the exquisite freshness of the bed +and room--everything, that is, except the face. Its half-wrecked beauty +was still supreme, and even in the ruin drink or drugs had wrought, it +forced admiration. + +"_A German spy_--here in my cabin--on board Roger Fane's yacht!" I said +the words slowly in my mind, not with my tongue. Not a sound, not the +faintest whisper, passed my lips. Yet suddenly the long, dark lashes on +bruise-blue lids began to quiver. It was as if my _thought_ had shaken +the woman by the shoulder, and roused what was left of her soul. + +I should have liked to dash out of the room and with a shriek bring +everyone on board to my cabin. But I stood motionless, concentrating my +gaze on those trembling eyelids. Something inside me seemed to say: +"Don't be a coward, Elizabeth Courtenaye!" It was exactly like +Grandmother's voice. I had a conviction that _she_ wanted me to see this +thing through as a Courtenaye should, shirking no responsibility, and +solving the mystery of past and present without bleating for help. + +The fringed lids parted, shut, quivered again, and flashed wide open. A +pair of pale eyes stared into mine--wicked eyes, cruel eyes, green as a +cat's. Like a cat, too, the creature gathered herself together as if for +a spring. Her muscles rippled and jerked. She sat up, and in chilled +surprise I thought I saw recognition in her stare. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE WOMAN OF THE PAST + + +"Oh, you've come at last!" she rasped, in a harsh, throaty voice +roughened by drink. "I know you. I----" + +"And I know you!" I cut her short, to show that I was not cowed. + +Sitting up in bed, hugging her knees, she started at my words so that +the springs shook. Whatever it was she had meant to say, she forgot it +for the moment, and challenged me: "That's a lie!" she snapped. "You +_don't_ know me yet--but you soon will." + +"I've known you since you came into my room at Courtenaye Abbey the +night you tried to burn down the house," I said. "You were spying for +the Germans in the war. Heaven knows all the harm you may have done. I +can't imagine for whom you're spying now. Anyhow, you can't frighten me +again. The war's over, but I'll have you arrested for what you did when +it was on." + +The woman scowled and laughed, more Medusa-like than ever. I really felt +as if she might turn me to stone. But she shouldn't guess her power. + +"Pooh!" she said, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "You won't want to +arrest me when you hear who I am, Lady Shelagh Leigh!" + +"Lady Shelagh Leigh!" It was on my lips to cry, "I'm not Shelagh Leigh!" +But I stopped in time. The less I let her find out about me, and the +more I could find out about her before rousing the yacht, the better. I +spoke not a word, but waited for her to go on--which she did in a few +seconds. + +"That makes you sit up, doesn't it?" she sneered. "That hits you where +you _live_! Why did you think I chose your cabin? I didn't select it by +chance. I confess I was taken back at your remembering. I thought I +hadn't given you time for much study of my features that other night. +But it doesn't matter. You can't do anything to me. I'll soon prove +_that_! But I had a good look at _you_, there in your friend's old +Devonshire rat-trap. I knew who you both were. It was easy to find out! +And the other day, when I heard that Lady Shelagh Leigh was likely to +marry Roger Fane, I said to myself, 'Gosh! One of the girls I saw at the +darned old Abbey!'" + +"Oh, you said _that_ to yourself!" I echoed. And, though my knees +failed, I kept to my feet. To stand towering above the squatting figure +on the bed seemed to give me moral as well as physical advantage. "How +did you know, pray, which girl I was?" + +"I knew, 'pray,'" she mocked, "because you've got the best room on this +yacht. Roger'd be sure to give that to his best girl. Which is how I'm +sure you're not Elizabeth Courtenaye." + +"How clever you are!" I said. + +"Yes--I'm clever--when I'm not a fool. Don't think, anyhow, that you can +beat me in a battle of brains. I've come on board this boat to succeed, +and I _will_ succeed in one of two ways, I don't care a hang which. But +nothing on God's earth can hold me back from one or the other--least of +all, can _you_. Why, you can ask any question you please, and I'll +answer. I'll tell the truth, too--for the more I say, and the more +you're shocked, the more helpless you are--do you see?" + +"No, I don't see," I drew her on. + +"Don't you guess yet who I am?" + +"I've guessed what you _were_--a German spy." + +"That's ancient history. One must live--and one must have money--plenty +of money. I must! And I've had it. But it's gone from me--like most good +things. Now I must have more--a lot more. Or else I must die. I don't +care which. But _others_ will care. I'll make them." + +Looking at her, I doubted if she had the power; though she must have had +it in lost days of gorgeous youth. Yet again I remained silent. I saw +that she was leading up to something in particular, and I let her go on. + +"You're not much of a guesser," she said, "so I'll introduce myself. +Lady-who-thinks-she's-going-to-marry Roger Fane, let me make known to +you the lady who _has_ married him--Mrs. Fane, _nee_ Linda Lehmann. I've +changed my name since, more than once. At present I'm Katherine Nelson. +But Linda Lehmann is the name that matters to Roger. You're nothing in +looks, by the by, to what _I_ was at your age. _Nothing!_" + +If my knees had been weak before, they now felt as if struck with a +mallet! She might be lying, but something within me was horribly sure +that she spoke the truth. I'd never heard full details of Roger Fane's +"tragedy," but Mrs. Carstairs had dropped a few hints which, without +asking questions, I'd patched together. I had gleaned that he'd married +(when almost a boy) an actress much older than himself; and that, till +her sudden and violent death after many years--nine or ten at least--his +life had been a martyrdom. How the woman contrived to be alive I +couldn't see. But such things happened--to people one didn't know! The +worst of it was that _I did_ know Roger Fane, and liked him. Besides, I +loved Shelagh, whose happiness was bound up with Roger's. It seemed as +if I couldn't bear to have those two torn apart by this cruel +creature--this drunkard--this _spy_! Yet--what could I do? + +At the moment I could think of nothing useful, because, if she was +Roger's wife, her boast was justified: for his sake and Shelagh's she +mustn't be handed over to the police, to answer for any political crime +I might prove against her--or even for trying to burn down the Abbey. +Oh, this business was beyond what I bargained for when I engaged to +"brighten" the trip on board the _Naiad_! Still, all the spirit in me +rallied to work for Roger Fane--even to work out his salvation if that +could be. And I was glad I'd let the woman believe I was Shelagh Leigh. + +"Roger's wife died five years ago, just before the war began," I said. +"She was killed in a railway accident--an awful one, where she and a +company of actors she was travelling with were burned to death." + +The creature laughed. "Have you never been to a movie show, and seen how +easy it is to die in a railway accident?--to _stay_ dead to those you're +tired of, and to be alive in some other part of this old world, where +you think there's more fun going on? It's been done on the screen a +hundred times--and off it, too. I was sick to death of Roger. I'd never +have married a stick like him--always preaching!--if I hadn't been down +and out. When I met him, it was in a beastly one-horse town where I was +stranded. The show had chucked me--gone off and left me without a cent. +I was sick--too big a dose of dope, if you want to know. But _Roger_ +didn't know--you can bet. Not then! I took jolly good care to toe the +mark, till he'd married me all right. He _was_ a sucker! I suppose he +was twenty-two and over, but Peter Pan wasn't in it with him in some +ways. He kept me off the stage--and tried to keep me off everything else +worth doing for five years. Then I left him, for my health and looks had +come back, and I got a fair part in a play on tour. There I met a +countryman of mine--oh! don't be encouraged to hope! I never gave Roger +any cause to divorce me; and if I had, I'd have done it so he couldn't +prove a thing!" + +"When you say the man was your countryman, I suppose you mean a German," +I said. + +"Well, yes," she replied, with the flaunting frankness she affected in +these revelations. "German-American he was. I'm German by birth, and +grew up in America. I've been back often and long since then. But this +man had a scheme. He wanted me to go into it with him. I didn't see my +way at first though there was big money, so he left the show before the +accident. When I found myself alive and kicking among the dead that day, +however, I saw my chance. I left a ring and a few things to identify me +with a woman who was killed, and I lit out. It was in the dead of night, +so luck was on my side for once. I wrote my friend, and it wasn't long +before I was at work with him for the German Government. The Abbey +affair was after he'd got out of England and into Germany through +Switzerland. He was a sailor, and had been given command of a big new +submarine. If it hadn't been for the row you and your pal kicked up, +we--he on the water and I on land--might have brought off one of the big +stunts of the war. You tore it--after I'd been mewed up in the old +rat-warren for a week, and everything was working just right! I wish to +goodness the whole house had burned, and I did wish _you'd_ burned with +it. But I don't know if to-night isn't going to pay me--and you--just as +well. There's a lot owing from you to me. I haven't told you all yet. My +friend's submarine was caught, and he went down with her. I blame that +to you. If I hadn't failed him with the signals, he might be alive now." + +"I was more patriotic than I knew!" I flung back. "As you're so +confidential, tell me how you got into the Abbey, and where you hid." + +She shook her dyed and tousled head. "That's where I draw the line," she +said. "I've told you what I have told to please myself, not you. You +can't profit by a word of it. That's where my fun comes in! If I split +about the Abbey, you might profit somehow--or your friend the Courtenaye +girl would. I want to punish her, too." + +I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps in that case you won't care to explain +how you came on board the _Naiad_?" + +"I don't mind that," the ex-spy made concession. "I went out of England +after the Abbey affair--friends helped me away--and I worked in New York +till things grew too hot. Then I came over as a Red Cross nurse, got +into France, and stopped till the other day. I'd be there still if I +hadn't picked up a weekly London gossip-rag, and seen a paragraph about +a certain rumoured engagement! You can guess _whose_! It called +Roger--_my_ Roger, mind you!--a 'millionaire.' He never was poor, even +in my day; he'd made a lucky strike before we met, with an invention. I +said to myself: 'Linda, my girl, 'twould be tempting Providence to lie +low and let another woman spend his money.' I started as soon as I +could, but missed him in London, and hurried on to Plymouth. If it +hadn't been for that bally storm I shouldn't have caught him up! The +yacht would have sailed. As it was, before you came on board this +afternoon I presented myself, thickly veiled. I had a card from a London +newspaper, and an old card of Roger's which was among a few things of +his I'd kept for emergencies. I can copy his handwriting well enough not +be suspected, except by an intimate friend of his, so I scribbled on the +card an order to view the yacht. I got on all right, and wandered about +with a notebook and a stylo. I soon found the right place to hide--in +the storeroom, behind some barrels. But I had to make everyone who'd +seen me think I'd gone on shore. That was easy! I told a sailor fellow +by the gang plank I was going, and said I'd mislaid an envelope in which +I'd slipped a tip for him and another man. I thought I'd left it on a +table in the dining saloon, and he'd better look for it, or it might be +picked up by somebody. He went before I could say 'knife!' and the +envelope really _was_ there, so he didn't have to hurry back. Two +minutes later I was in the storeroom, and no one the wiser. Lord! but I +got the jumps waiting for the stewardesses to be safe in bed before I +could creep out to pay your cabin a call!" + +"So, to cure the 'jumps' you annexed a whole bottle of brandy," I said. + +"I did--for that and another reason you may find out by and by. But I'm +hanged if you're not a cool hand, for a young girl who has just heard +her lover's a married man. I thought by this time you'd be in +hysterics." + +"Girls of _my_ generation don't have hysterics," I taunted her. By the +dyed hair and vestiges of rouge and powder which streaked the battered +face I guessed that a sneer at her age would sting like a wasp. I wanted +to rouse the woman's temper. If she lost her head, she might show her +hand! + +"You'll have worse than hysterics, you fool, before I finish," she +snapped. "I'm going to make Roger Fane acknowledge me as his wife and +give me everything I want--money, and motor cars, and pearls--and, best +of all, a _position in society_. I'm tired of being a free lance." + +"He won't do it!" I cried. + +"He'll have to--when he hears what will happen if he doesn't. If I can't +live a life worth living, I'll die. Roger Fane will go off this yacht +under arrest as my murderer." + +"You deserve that he should kill you, but he will not," I said. + +"He'll _hang_ for killing me, anyhow. You see, the more _motive_ he has +to destroy me, the more impossible for him--or you--to prove his +innocence. Do you think I'd have told you all this, if any one was +likely to believe such a cock-and-bull story as the truth would sound to +a jury? But I'm through now! I've said what I came to say. I'm ready to +act. Do you want a row, or will you go quietly to the door of Roger's +cabin (he must be there by this time) and tell him that his wife, Linda +Lehmann, is waiting for him in your stateroom? _That_'ll fetch him!" + +I had no doubt it would. My only doubt was what to do! But if I refused, +the woman was sure to keep her word, and rouse the yacht by screams. +That would be the worst thing possible for Shelagh and Roger. I decided +to go, and break to him the news with merciful swiftness. + +If I could, I would have turned a key upon the creature, but the doors +of the _Naiad's_ cabins were furnished only with bolts. My one hope, +that she'd keep to my room, owed itself to the fact that she was too +drunk to move comfortably, and that, despite her bluff, the best trump +she had was quiet diplomacy with Roger. + +Softly I closed the door, and tiptoed to his, three staterooms distant +from mine. My tap was so light that, if he had gone to sleep, I should +have had to knock again. But he opened the door at once. He was fully +dressed, and had a book in his hand. + +"Something has happened," I whispered in answer to his amazed look. "Let +me come in and explain. I can't talk out here." + +He stood aside in silence, and I stepped in. Then I motioned him to shut +the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE SECRET BEHIND THE SILENCE + + +This was the first time I'd seen Roger's cabin, and I had no eyes now +for its charm of decoration; but I saw that it was large, and divided by +a curtained arch into a bedroom and a tiny yet complete study fitted +with bookshelves and a desk. + +"You're pale as death!" He lowered his voice cautiously. "Sit down in +this chair." As he spoke he led me through the bedroom part of the cabin +to the study, and there I sank gratefully into the depths of a big +chair, where, no doubt, he had sat reading under the light of a shaded +lamp. + +"Now what is it?" he asked, bending over me. As I stammered out my +story, for a few seconds I forgot the fear of being followed. Our backs +were turned to the door. But I had not got far in the tale when I felt +that _she_ had come into the room. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw +her--a shabby, sinister figure--hanging on to the curtain that draped +the archway. + +Roger's start and stifled exclamation proved that, whatever else she +might be, the woman was no imposter. + +"You devil!" he gasped. + +"Your wife!" she retorted. + +"Hush," I whispered. "For every sake let's keep this quiet!" + +"_I'll_ be quiet for my own sake, if he accepts my terms," said the +woman. "If not, the whole yacht----" + +"Be silent!" Roger commanded. "Princess, I've got to see this through. +You'd better go now, and leave me alone with her." + +He was right. My presence would hinder rather than help. I saw the +greenish eyes dart from his face to mine when he called me "Princess"; +but she must have fancied it a pet name, for no question flashed from +her lips as I tiptoed across the room. + +When I got back to my own quarters, I noticed at once that the brandy +bottle and the tumbler which had accompanied it were gone from my +dressing table. Nor were they to be found in the cabin. The woman must +have taken them to Roger's room, and placed them somewhere before I saw +her. "Disgusting!" I murmured, for my thought was that the debased +wretch had clung lovingly to the drink. Even though I'd sharpened my +wits to search all her motives, I failed over that simple-seeming act. + +"Oh, poor Roger!" I said to myself. "And poor Shelagh!" + +I sat miserably on the window seat (for the rumpled bed was now +abhorrent), and wondered what would happen next. But I had not long to +wait. A few moments passed--how many I don't know--and the crystalline +silence of the gliding _Naiad_ was splintered by a scream. + +'Scream' is the word one must use for a cry of pain or fear. Yet it +isn't the right word for the sound that snatched me to my feet. It was +not shrill, it was not loud. What might have ended in a shriek subsided +to a choked breath, a gurgle. My heart's pounding seemed louder as I +listened. My ears expected a following cry, but it did not come. Two or +three doors gently opened, that was all. Again dead silence fell; and I +felt in it that others listened, fearing to speak lest the sound had +been no more than a moan in a dream. Presently the doors closed again, +each listener afraid of disturbing a neighbour. And even I, who knew the +secret behind the silence, prayed that the choked scream might have come +when it did as a mere coincidence. Someone might really have had +nightmare! + +As time passed, I almost persuaded myself that it was so, and that, at +worst, there would be no crime to mark this night with crimson on the +calendar. But the next quarter hour was the _deadest_ time I'd ever +known. I felt like one entombed alive, praying to be liberated from a +vault. Then, at last--when those who'd waked slept again--came a faint +knock at my door. + +I flew to slip back the bolt, and pulled Roger Fane into the room. One +would not have believed a face so brown could bleach so white! + +For an instant we stared into each other's eyes. When I could speak, I +stammered a question--I don't know what, and I don't think he +understood. But the spell broke. + +"You _heard_?" he faltered. + +"The cry? Yes. It was----" + +"She's dead." + +"_Dead!_ You killed her?" + +"My God, no! But if you think that, what will--_others_ think?" + +"If you had killed her, you couldn't be blamed," I tried to encourage +him. "Only----" + +"Didn't she make some threat to you? I hoped she had. She told me----" + +"Yes, there was something--I hardly remember what. It was like +drunkenness. She said--I think--that if you wouldn't take her back, +you'd be arrested--as her murderer." + +"That was it--her ultimatum. She must have been mad. I offered a big +allowance, if she'd go away and not make a scandal. I'd have to give up +Shelagh, of course, but I wanted to save my poor little love from +gossip. That devil would have no compromise. It should be all or +nothing. I must swear to acknowledge her as my wife on board this +yacht--to-morrow morning--before Shelagh--before you all. If I wouldn't +promise that, she'd kill herself at once, in a way to throw the guilt on +me. She'd do it so that I couldn't clear myself or be cleared. I +wouldn't promise, of course. I hoped, anyhow, that she was bluffing. But +I didn't know her! When nothing would change me, she showed a tiny phial +she had in her hand, and said she'd drink the stuff in it before I could +touch her. It was prussic acid, she told me--and already she'd poured +enough to kill ten men into a tumbler she'd stolen from my cabin on +purpose. She'd mixed the poison with brandy from the storeroom. Even if +I threw the tumbler through the porthole, mine would be missing. There's +one to match each room, you see. A small detail, but important. + +"'Now will you promise?' she repeated. I couldn't--for I should not have +kept my word. She looked at me a second. I saw in her eyes that she was +going to do the thing, and I jumped at her--but I was too late. She +nearly drained the phial. And she'd hardly flung it away before she was +dead--with an awful, twisted face--and that cry. If I hadn't caught her, +she'd have fallen with a crash. This is the end of things for me." + +"Oh, no--don't say that!" I begged. + +"What else is there to say? There she lies, dead in my cabin. There's +prussic acid on the floor--and the phial broken. The room reeks of +bitter almonds. No one but you will believe I didn't kill her--perhaps +not even Shelagh. Just because the woman made my past life horrible--and +I had a chance of happiness--the temptation would be irresistible." + +"Let me think. Do let me think!" I persisted. "Surely there's a way out +of the trap." + +"I don't _see_ one," said Roger. "Throwing a body overboard is the +obvious thing. But it would be worse than----" + +"Wait!" I cut him short. "I've thought of another thing--_not_ obvious. +But it's hard to do--and hateful. The only help I could lend you is--a +hint. The rest would depend on yourself. If you were strong +enough--brave enough--it might give you Shelagh." + +"I'm strong enough for anything with the remotest hope of Shelagh, +and--I trust--brave enough, too. Tell me your plan." + +I had to draw a long breath before I could answer. I needed air! "You're +right." I said. "To give the body to the sea would make things worse. +You couldn't be sure it would not be found, and the woman traced by the +police. If they discovered who she was--that she'd been your wife--you +would be suspected even if nothing were proved through those who saw a +veiled woman come on board." + +"That's what I meant. Yet you must see that even with your testimony, my +innocence can't be proved if the story of this night has to be told." + +"I do see. You might not be proved guilty, but you'd be under a cloud. +Shelagh would still want to marry you. But she's very young, and easy to +break as a butterfly. The Pollens----" + +"I wouldn't accept such a sacrifice even if they'd let her make it. Yet +you speak of hope!----" + +"I do--a desperate hope. Can you open that coffin you brought on board +to-day, take out--whatever is in it--and--and----" + +"My God!" + +"I warned you the plan was terrible. I hardly thought you would----" + +"I would--for Shelagh. But you don't understand. That coffin will be +opened by the police at St. Heliers to-morrow, and----" + +"I do understand. It's you who do not. Everyone on board knows that the +coffin was floating in the sea--that we came on it by accident. You +could have had nothing to do with its being where it was. If you had, +you wouldn't have taken it on board! The body found in that coffin +to-morrow won't be associated with you. _She_--must have altered +horribly since old days. And she has changed her name many times. The +initials on her linen won't be L.L. There'll be a nine-days' wonder over +the mystery. But _you_ won't be concerned in it. As for what's in the +coffin now, _that_ can safely be given to the sea. Whatever it may be, +and whenever or wherever it's found, it won't be connected with the name +of Roger Fane. If there's the name of the maker on the coffin, it must +come off. Oh, don't think I do not realize the full horror of the thing. +I do! But between two evils one must choose the less, if it hurts no +one. It seems to me it is so with this. Why should Shelagh's life and +yours be spoiled by a cruel woman--a criminal--whose last act was to try +to ruin the man she'd injured, sinned against for years? As for--_the +other_--the unknown one--if the spirit can see, surely it would be glad +to help in such a cause? What you would have to do, you'd do reverently. +There must be tarpaulin on board, or canvas coverings that wouldn't be +looked for, or missed. There must be a screw-driver--and things like +that. The great danger is, if the coffin's in plain sight anywhere, and +a man on watch----" + +"There's no danger of that kind. The coffin is in the bathroom adjoining +my cabin." + +"Then--doesn't it seem that Fate bade you put it there?" + +For a moment Roger covered his face with his hands. I saw him shudder. +But he flung back his head and looked me in the eyes. "I'll go on +obeying Fate's orders," he said. + +Without another word between us, he left me. The door shut, and I sat +staring at it, as if I could see beyond. + +I had spoken only the truth. There was no sin against living or dead in +what I had urged Roger to do. Yet the bare thought of it was so grim +that I felt like an up-to-date Lady Macbeth. + +I had forgotten to beg that he would come back and tell of his success +or--failure. But I was sure he would come, sooner or later, whatever +happened, and I sat quite still--waiting. I kept my eyes on the door, to +see the handle turn, or gazed at my little travelling clock to watch the +dragging moments. I longed for news. Yet I was glad when time went on +without a sign. The quick coming back of Roger would have meant that he +had failed--that all hope was ended. + +Twenty minutes; thirty; forty; fifty, passed, seeming endless. But when +with the sixtieth minute came the faint tap I awaited, down sank my +heart. Roger could not have finished his double task in an hour! + +I dashed to the door, and the light from my cabin showed the man's face, +ashy pale. Yet I did not read despair on it. + +Without a word I dragged him into the room once more; and only when the +door was closed did I dare to whisper "_Well?_" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE GREAT SURPRISE + + +"_There was no body in the coffin_," Roger said. + +"Empty?" I gasped. + +"Not empty. No. There was something there. Will you come to my cabin and +see what it was? Don't look frightened. There's nothing to alarm you. +And--Princess, the rest of the plan you gave me has been--_carried out_. +Thanks to your woman's wit, I believe that my future and Shelagh's is +clear. And, before Heaven, my conscience is clear, too." + +"Oh, Roger, it's thanks to your own courage more than to me. Is--is all +_safe_?" + +"The coffin--isn't empty now. It is fastened up, just as it was. The +broken rope is round it again. It's covered with the tarpaulin as +before. No one outside the secret would guess it had been disturbed. +There's no maker's mark to trace it by. I owe more than my life--I owe +my very _soul_--to you. For I haven't much fear of what may come at St. +Heliers to-morrow or after." + +"Nor I. Oh, I am _thankful_, for Shelagh's sake even more than yours, if +possible. Her heart would have broken. Now she need never know." + +"She must know--and choose. I shall tell her--everything I did. Only I +need not bring you into it." + +"If you tell her about yourself, you must tell her about me," I said. +"I'd like to be with you when you speak to her--if you think you must +speak." + +"I'm sure I must. If all goes well to-morrow, she can marry me without +fear of scandal--if she's willing to marry me, after what I've done +to-night." + +"She will be. And she shall hear from me that this woman who killed +herself and our spy of the Abbey were one. As for to-morrow--all _must_ +go well! But--the thing you found--in the coffin. You'll have to dispose +of it somehow." + +"It's for _you_ to decide about that--I think." + +"For me? What can it have to do with me?" + +"You'll see--in my cabin. If you'll trust me and come." + +I went with him, my heart pounding as I entered the room. It seemed as +if some visible trace of tragedy must remain. But there was nothing. All +was in order. The brandy bottle had disappeared--into the sea, no doubt. +The tumbler so cleverly taken from this cabin was clean, and in its +place. There were no bits of broken glass from the phial to be seen. And +the odour of bitter almonds with which the place had reeked was no +longer very strong. The salt breeze blowing through two wide-open +portholes would kill it before dawn. + +"But where is the _thing_?" I asked. + +"In the study," Roger answered. He motioned me to pass through the +curtained archway, as I had passed before; and there I had to cover my +lips with my hand to press back a cry. The desk, the big chair I had sat +in, and a sofa were covered with objects familiar to me as my own face +in a looking-glass. There was Queen Anne's silver tea-service and +Napoleon's green-and-gold coffee cups. There were Li Hung Chang's box of +red lacquer and the wondrous Buddha; there were the snuff-boxes, the +miniatures, the buckles and brooches; the fat watch of George the +Fourth; half unrolled lay Charles the First's portrait and sketch, and +the Gobelin panel which had been the Empress Josephine's. In fact, all +the treasures stolen from Courtenaye Abbey! Here they were in Roger +Fane's cabin on board the _Naiad_, and they had come out of a coffin +found floating in the sea! + + * * * * * + +When I could think at all, I tried to think the puzzle out, and I tried +to do it alone, for Roger was in no state to bend his mind to trifles. +But, in his almost pathetic gratitude, he wished to help me; and when we +had locked up the things in three drawers of his desk, we sat together +discussing theories. Something must be planned, something settled, +before day! + +It was Roger who unfolded the whole affair before my eyes, unfolded it +so clearly that I could not doubt he was right. My trust--everyone's +trust--in the Barlows had been misplaced. They were the guilty ones! If +they had not organized the plot, they had helped to carry it through as +nobody else could have carried it through. + +I told Roger of the two demobilized nephews about whom--if he had +heard--he had forgotten. I explained that they were twin sons of a +brother of old Barlow's, who had taken them to Australia years ago when +they were children. Vaguely I recalled that, when I was very young, +Barlow had worried over news from Australia: his nephews had been in +trouble of some sort. I fancied they had got in with a bad set. But that +was ancient history! The twins had evidently "made good." They had +fought in the war, and had done well. They must have saved money, or +they could not have bought the old house on the Dorset coast which had +belonged to the Barlows for generations. It was at this point, however, +that Roger stopped me. _Had_ the boys "saved" money, or--had they got it +in a way less meritorious? Had they needed, for pressing reasons of +their own, to possess that place on the coast? The very question called +up a picture--no, a series of pictures--before my eyes. I saw, or Roger +made me see, almost against my will, how the scheme might have been +worked--_must_ have been worked!--from beginning to end; and how at last +it had most strangely failed. Again, the Fate that had sailed on the +Storm! For an hour we talked, and made our plan almost as intricately as +the thieves or their backers had made theirs. Then, as dawn paled the +sky framed by the open portholes, I slipped off to my own cabin. I did +not go to bed (I could not, where _she_ had lain!) and I didn't sleep. +But I curled up on the long window seat, with cushions under my head, +and thought. I thought of a thousand things: of Roger's plan and mine, +of how I could return the heirlooms yet keep the secret; of what Sir Jim +would say when he learned of their reappearance; and, above all, I +thought of what our discovery in the coffin would mean for Roger Fane. + +Yes, that was far more important to him even than to me! For the fact +that the coffin had been the property of thieves meant that no claim +would ever be made to it. The mystery of its present occupant would +therefore remain a mystery till the end of time, and--Roger was safe! + +The next day we reached St. Heliers, after a quick voyage through blue, +untroubled waters; and there we came in for all the red tape that Roger +had foreseen, if not more. But how inoffensive, even pleasing, is red +tape to a man saved from handcuffs and a prison cell! + +The body of an unknown woman in a coffin picked up at sea gave the +chance for a dramatic "story" to flash over the wires from Jersey to +London; and the evident fact that death had been caused by poison added +an extra thrill. Every soul on board the _Naiad_ was questioned, down to +the _chef's_ assistant; but the same tale was told by all. The coffin +had first been sighted at a good distance, and mistaken for a dead shark +or a small, overturned boat. The whole party were agreed that it must be +brought on board, though no one had wanted it for a travelling +companion, and the sailors especially had objected. (Now, by the way, +they were revelling in reflected glory. They would not have missed this +experience for the world!) I quaked inwardly, fearing that someone might +mention the veiled female journalist who had arrived before the start, +with an order to view the _Naiad_. But so completely was her departure +from the yacht taken for granted, that none who had seen her recalled +the incident. + +There was no suspicion of Roger Fane, nor of any one else on board, for +there was no reason to suppose that any of us had been acquainted with +the dead. + +The description wired to London was of "a woman unknown; probable age +between forty and fifty; hair dyed auburn; features distorted by effect +of poison; hands well shaped, badly kept; figure medium; black serge +dress; underclothing plain and much torn, without initials or +laundry-marks; no shoes." + +It was unlikely that landlords or chance acquaintances should identify +the woman newly arrived from France with the woman picked up in a coffin +at sea. And the gray-veiled motor toque, the gray cloak worn by the +"journalist," and even the battered boots, with high, broken heels, were +safely hidden with the heirlooms from the Abbey. + +All through the week of our trip the three drawers in Roger's desk +remained locked, the little Yale key hanging on Roger's key ring. And +all that week (there was no excuse to make for home before the appointed +time) our Plan had to lie in abeyance. I was impatient. Roger was not. +With Shelagh by his side--and very often in his arms--the incentive for +haste was all mine. But I was happy in their happiness, wondering only +whether Roger would not be tempting Providence if he told the truth to +Shelagh. + +Nothing, however, would move the man from his resolution. The one point +he would yield was to postpone the confession (if "confession" is a fair +word) until the last day, in order not to disturb Shelagh's pleasure in +the trip. She was to hear the story the night before we landed; and I +begged once more that I might be present to help plead his cause. But +Roger wanted no help. And he wanted Shelagh to decide for herself. He +would state the case plainly, for and against. Hearing him, the girl +would know what was for her own happiness. + +"At worst I shall have these wonderful days with her to remember," he +said to me. "Nothing can rob me of them. And they are a thousand times +the best of my life so far." + +I believed that, equally, nothing could rob him of Shelagh! But--I +wasn't quite sure. And the difference between just "believing" and being +"quite sure" is the difference between mental peace and mental storm. I +had gone through so much with Roger, and for him, that by this time I +loved the man as I might love a brother--a dear and somewhat trying +brother. As for Shelagh, I would have given one of my favourite fingers +or toes to buy her happiness. Consequently, the hour of revelation was a +bad hour for me. + +I knew that, till it was over, I should be incapable of Brightening. +Lest I should be called upon in any such capacity, therefore, I went to +bed after dinner with an official headache. + +"Now he must be telling her," I groaned to my pillow. + +"Now he must have told!" + +"Now she must be making up her mind!" + +"Now it must be _made_ up. She'll be giving her answer. And if it's +'no,' he won't by a word or look plead his own cause. _Hang_ the fool! +And bless him!" + +Then followed a blank interval when I couldn't at all guess what might +be happening. I no longer speculated on the chances. My brain became a +blank. And my pillow was a furnace. + +I was striving in vain to read a book whose pages I scarcely saw, and +whose name I've forgotten, when a tap came at the door. Shelagh Leigh +burst in before I could answer. + +"Oh, _Elizabeth_!" she gasped, and fell into my arms. + +I held the girl tight for an instant, her beating heart against mine. +Then I inquired: "What does 'Oh, Elizabeth!' mean precisely?" + +"It means, of course, that I'm going to marry poor, darling Roger as +soon as I possibly can, to comfort him all the rest of his life. And +that you'll be my 'Matron of Honour,' American fashion," she explained. +"Roger is a hero, and you are a heroine." + +"No, a Brightener," I corrected. But Shelagh didn't understand. And it +didn't matter that she did not. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE GAME OF BLUFF + + +When the trip finished where it had begun, instead of travelling up to +London with most of my friends, I stopped behind in Plymouth. If any one +fancied I was going to Courtenaye Abbey to wail at the shrine of lost +treasures, why, I had never said (in words) that such was my intention. +In fact, it was not. + +What I did, as soon as backs were turned, was to make straight for +Dudworth Cove, on the rocky Dorset Coast. I went by motor car with Roger +Fane as chauffeur; and by aid of a road map and a few questions we drove +to the old farmhouse which the Barlow boys had lately bought. + +Of course it was possible that Mrs. Barlow and the two Australian +nephews had departed in haste, after their loss. They might or might not +have read in the papers about the coffin containing the body of a woman +picked up at sea by a yacht. Probably they had read of it, since the +word "coffin" at the head of a column would be apt to catch their guilty +eyes. But even so, they would hardly expect that this coffin, containing +a corpse, and a certain other coffin, with very different contents, were +one and the same. In any case, they need not greatly fear suspicion +falling upon them, and Roger and I thought they would remain at the farm +engaged in eager, secret search. As for Barlow, for whom the coffin had +doubtless been made, he, too, might be there; or he might have left the +Abbey at night, about the time of his "death," to wait in some +agreed-upon hiding place. + +The house was visible from the road; rather a nice old house, built of +stone, with a lichened roof and friendly windows. It had a lived-in air, +and a thin wreath of smoke floated above the kitchen chimney. There were +two gates, and both were padlocked, so the car had to stop in the road. +I refused Roger's companionship, however. The fact that he was close by +and knew where I was seemed sufficient safeguard. I climbed over the +fence with no more ado than in pre-flapper days, and walked across the +weedy grass to the house. No one answered a knock at the front door, so +I went to the back, and caught "Barley" feeding a group of chickens. + +The treacherous old thing was in deep mourning, with a widow's cap, and +her dress of black bombazine (or some equally awful stuff) was pinned up +under a big apron. At sight of me she jumped, and almost dropped a pan +of meal; but even the most innocent person is entitled to jump! She +recovered herself quickly, and called up the ghost of a welcoming +smile--such a smile as may decently decorate the face of a newly made +widow. + +"Why, Miss--Princess!" she exclaimed. "This is a surprise. If anything +could make me happy in my sad affliction it would be a visit from you. +My nephews are out fishing--they're very fond of fishing, poor +boys!--but come in and let me give you a cup of tea." + +"I will come in," I said, "because I must have a talk with you, but I +don't want tea. And, really, Mrs. Barlow, I wonder you have the _cheek_ +to speak of your 'sad affliction.'" + +By this time I was already over the threshold, and in the kitchen, for +she had stood aside for me to pass. Just inside the door I turned on +her, and saw the old face--once so freshly apple-cheeked--flush darkly, +then fade to yellow. Her eyes stared into mine, wavered, and dropped; +but no tears came. + +"'Cheek?'" she repeated, as if reproving slang. "Miss--Princess--I don't +know what you mean." + +"I think you know very well," I said, "because you have _no_ 'sad +affliction.' Your husband is as much alive as I am. The only loss you've +suffered is the loss of the coffin in which he _wasn't_ buried!" + +The woman dropped, like a jelly out of its mould, into a kitchen chair. +"My Heavens! Miss Elizabeth, you don't know what you're saying!" she +gasped, dry-lipped. + +"I know quite well," I caught her up. "And to show that I know, I'm +going to reconstruct the whole plot." (This was bluff. But it was part +of the Plan). "Barlow's nephews were expert thieves. They'd served a +term for stealing at home, in Australia. They spent a short leave at +Courtenaye Coombe, and you showed them over the Abbey. Then and there +they got an idea. They bribed you and Barlow to help them carry it out +and give them a letter of mine to tear into bits and turn suspicion on +me. Probably they worked with rubber gloves and shoes--as you know the +detectives have found no fingermarks or footprints. Every man is said to +have his price. You two had yours! Just how much more than others you +knew about old secret 'hidie-holes' in the Abbey I can't tell, but I'm +sure you did know more than any of us. There was always the lodge, too, +which was the same as your own, and full of your things! I'm practically +certain there's a secret way to it, through the cellars. Ah, I thought +so!" (As her face changed.) "Trusted as you were, a burglary in the +night was easy as falling off a log--and all that binding and gagging +business. The trouble was to get the stolen things out of the +country--let's say to Australia, where Barlow's nephews could count upon +a receiver, or a buyer, maybe some old associate of their pre-prison +days. Among you all, you hit on quite a clever plan. Only a dear, kind +creature like you, respected by everyone, could have hypnotized even old +Doctor Pyne into believing Barlow was dead--no matter _what_ strong drug +you used! You wouldn't let any one come near the body afterward. You +loved your husband so much you would do everything for him yourself--in +death as in life. How pathetic--how estimable! And then you and the two +'boys' brought the coffin here, to have it buried in the old cemetery, +with generations of other respectable Barlows. The night after the +funeral the twins dug it up, as neatly as they dug trenches in France, +and left the case underground as a precaution. Perhaps Barlow's 'ghost' +watched the work. But that's of no importance. What was of importance +was the next step. They took the coffin to a nice convenient cave +(that's what made this house worth buying back, isn't it?) and tethered +the thing there to wait an appointed hour. At that hour a boat would +quietly appear, and bear it away to a smart little sailing ship. +Then--ho! for Australia or some place where heirlooms from this country +can be disposed of without talk or trouble. I would bet that Barlow is +on that ship now, and you meant to join him, instead of waiting for a +better world. But there came the storm, and a record wave or two ran +into the cave. Alas for the schemes of mice and men--and Barlow's!" + +Not once did she interrupt. I doubt if the woman could have uttered a +word had she dared; for the game of Bluff was new to her. She believed +that by sleuth-hound cunning I had tracked her down, following each move +from the first, and biding my time to strike until all proofs (the +coffin and its contents) were within my grasp. By the time I had paused +for lack of breath, the old face was sickly white, like candle-grease, +and the remembrance of affection was so keen that I could not help +pitying the creature. "You realize," I said, "everything is known. Not +only do _I_ know, but others. And we have all the stolen things in our +possession. I've come here to offer you a chance of saving +yourselves--though it's compounding a felony or something, I suppose! We +can put you in the way of replacing the heirlooms in the night, just as +they were taken away--by that secret passage you know. If you try to +play us false, and hope to get the things back, we won't have mercy a +second time. We shall find Barlow before you can warn him. And as for +his nephews----" + +"Yes! _What_ about his nephews?" broke in a rough voice. + +I started (only a statue could have resisted that start!) and turning my +head I saw a tall young man close behind me, in the doorway by which I'd +entered. Whether or not Mrs. Barlow had seen him, I don't know. She did +not venture to speak, but a glance showed me a gleam of malicious relief +in the eyes I had once thought limpid as a brook. If she'd ever felt any +fondness for me, it was gone. She hated and feared me with a deadly +fear. The thought shot through my brain that she would willingly sit +still and see me murdered, if she and her husband could be saved from +open shame by my disappearance. + +The man in the doorway was sunburned to a lobster-red, and had features +like those of some gargoyle. He must have been eavesdropping long enough +to gather a good deal of information, for there was fury in his eyes, +and deadly decision in the set of his big jaw. + +Where was Roger Fane? I wondered. Without Roger I was lost, and my fate +might never be known. Suddenly I was icily afraid--for something might +have happened to Roger. But at that same frozen instant a very strange +thing happened to me. _My thoughts flew to Sir James Courtenaye!_ I had +always disliked him--or fancied so. But he was so strong--such a giant +of a man! What a wonderful champion he would be now! What _hash_ he +would make of the Barlow twins! Quickly I controlled myself. This was +the moment when the game of Bluff (which had served me well so far) +might be my one weapon of defence. + +"As for Barlow's nephews," I echoed, with false calmness, "theirs is the +principal guilt, and theirs ought to be the heaviest punishment." + +The Crimson Gargoyle shut the door, deliberately, with a horrid, +purposeful kind of deliberation, and with a stride or two came close to +me. I stepped back, but he followed, towering above me with the air of a +big bullying boy out to scare the life from a little one. To give him +stare for stare I had to look straight up, my chin raised, and the +threatening eyes, the great red face, seemed to fill the world--as a +cat's face and eyes must seem to a hypnotized mouse. + +I shook myself free from the hypnotic grip. Yet I would not let my gaze +waver. Grandmother wouldn't, and no Courtenaye should! + +"Who is going to punish us?" barked the Gargoyle. + +"The police," I barked back. And almost I could have laughed at the +difference in size and voice. I was so like a slim young Borzoi yapping +at the nose of a bloodhound. + +"Rot!" snorted the big fellow. "Damn rot!" (and I thought I heard a +faint chuckle from the chair). "If the police were on to us, you +wouldn't be here. This is a try-on." + +"You'll soon see whether it's a try-on or not," I defied him. "As a +matter of fact, out of pity for your two poor old dupes, we haven't told +the police yet of what we've found out. I say 'we,' for I'm far from +being alone or unprotected. I came to speak with Mrs. Barlow because she +and her husband once served my family, and were honest till you tempted +them. But if I'm kept here more than the fifteen minutes I specified, +there is a man who----" + +"There isn't," snapped the Gargoyle. "There was, but there isn't now. My +brother Bob and me was out in our boat. I don't mind tellin' you, as you +know so much, that we've spent quite a lot of time beatin' and prowlin' +around these shores since the big storm." (The thought flashed through +my brain: "Then they haven't read about the _Naiad_! Or else they didn't +guess that the coffin was the same. That's _one_ good thing! They can +never blackmail Roger, whatever happens to me!") But I didn't speak. I +let him pause for a second, and go on without interruption. "Comin' home +we seen that car o' yourn outside our gate. Thought it was queer! Bob +says to me, 'Hank, go on up to the house, and make me a sign from behind +the big tree if there's anythin' wrong.' The feller in the car hadn't +seen or heard us. We took care o' that! I slid off my shoes before I got +to the door here, and listened a bit to your words o' wisdom. Then I +slipped out as fur as the tree, and I made the sign. Bob didn't tell me +what he meant to do. But I'm some on mind readin'. I guess that +gentleman friend of yourn has gone to sleep in his automobile, as any +one might in this quiet neighbourhood, where folks don't pass once in +four or five hours. Bob can drive most makes of cars. Shouldn't wonder +if he can manage this one. If you hear the engine tune up, you'll know +it's him takin' the chauffeur down to the sea." + +My bones felt like icicles; but I thought of Grandmother, and wouldn't +give in. Also, with far less reason, I thought of Sir James. Strange, +unaccountable creature that I was, my soul cried aloud for the +championship of his strength! "The sea hasn't brought you much luck +yet," I brazened. "I shouldn't advise you to try it again." + +"I ain't askin' your advice," retorted the man who had indirectly +introduced himself as "Hank Barlow." "All I ask is, where's the stuff?" + +"What stuff?" I played for time, though I knew very well the "stuff" he +meant. + +"The goods from the Abbey. I won't say you wasn't smart to get on to the +cache, and nab the box out o' the cave. Only you wasn't quite smart +enough--savez? The fellers laugh best who laugh last. And we're those +fellers!" + +"You spring to conclusions," I said. But my voice sounded small in my +own ears--small and thin as the voice of a child. (Oh, to know if this +brute spoke truth about his brother and Roger Fane and the car, or if he +were fighting me with my own weapon--Bluff!) + +Henry Barlow laughed aloud--though he mightn't laugh last! "Do you call +yourself a 'conclusion'? I'll give you just two minutes, my handsome +lady, to make up your mind. If you don't tell me then where to lay me +'and on you know _what_, I'll spring at _you_." + +By the wolf-glare in his eyes and the boldness of his tone I feared that +his game wasn't wholly bluff. By irony of Fate, he had turned the tables +on me. Thinking the power was all on my side and Roger's, I'd walked +into a trap. And if, indeed, Roger had been struck down from behind, I +did not see any way of escape for him or me. I had let out that I knew +too much. + +Even if I turned coward, and told Hank Barlow that the late contents of +his uncle's coffin were on board the _Naiad_, he could not safely allow +Roger or me to go free. But I _wouldn't_ turn coward! To save the secret +of the Abbey treasures meant saving the secret of what that coffin now +held. My sick fear turned to hot rage. "Spring!" I cried. "Kill me if +you choose. _My_ coffin will keep a secret, which yours couldn't do!" + +He glared, nonplussed by my violence. + +"Devil take you, you cat!" he grunted. + +"And you, you hound!" I cried. + +His eyes flamed. I think fury would have conquered prudence, and he +would have sprung then, to choke my life out, perhaps. But he hadn't +locked the door. At that instant it swung open, and a whirlwind burst +in. The whirlwind was a man. And the man was James Courtenaye. + + * * * * * + +I did not tell Sir Jim that my spirit had forgotten itself so utterly as +to call him. It was quite unnecessary, as matters turned out, to "give +myself away" to this extent. For, you see, it was not my call that +brought him. It was Roger's. + +As Shelagh Leigh was my best friend, so was, and is, Jim Courtenaye +Roger Fane's. All the first part of Roger's life tragedy was known to my +"forty-fourth cousin four times removed." For years Roger had given him +all his confidence. The ex-cowboy had even advised him in his love +affair with Shelagh, to "go on full steam ahead, and never mind +breakers"--(alias Pollens). This being the case, it had seemed to Roger +unfair not to trust his chum to the uttermost end. He had not intended +to mention me as his accomplice; but evidently cowboys' wits are as +quick as their lassoes. Jim guessed at my part in the business, +thinking, maybe--that only the sly sex could hit upon such a Way Out. +Anyhow, he was far from shocked; in fact, deigned to approve of me for +the first time, and hearing how I had planned to restore the stolen +heirlooms, roared with laughter. + +Roger, conscience-stricken because my secret had leaked out with his, +wished to atone by telling me that his friend had scented the whole +truth. Jim Courtenaye, however, urged him against this course. He +reckoned the Barlow twins more formidable than Roger and I had thought +them, and insisted that he should be a partner in our game of Bluff. +Only, he wished to be a silent partner till the right time came to +speak. Or that was the way he put it. His real reason, as he boldly +confessed afterward, was that, if I knew he was "in it," I'd be sure to +make a "silly fuss"! + +It was arranged between him and Roger that he should motor from +Courtenaye Coombe to Dudworth Cove, put up his car at the small hotel, +and inconspicuously approach the Barlows' farm on foot. In some quiet +spot which he would guarantee to find, he was to "lurk" and await +developments. If help were wanted, he would be there to give it. If not, +he would peacefully remove himself, and I need never know that he had +been near the place. + +All the details of this minor plot were well mapped out, and the only +one that failed (not being mapped out) was a tyre of his Rolls-Royce +which stepped on a nail as long as Jael's. Wishing to do the trick +alone, Jim had taken no chauffeur; and he wasn't as expert at pumping up +tyres as at breaking in bronchos. He was twenty minutes past scheduled +time, in consequence, and arrived at the spot appointed just as Bob +Barlow had bashed Roger Fane smartly on the head from behind. + +Naturally this incident kept his attention engaged for some moments. He +had to overpower the Barlow twin, who was on the alert, and not to be +taken by surprise. The Australian was still in good fighting trim, and +gave Sir James some trouble before he was reduced to powerlessness. Then +a glance had to be given Roger, to make sure he had not got a knock-out +blow. Altogether, Hank Barlow had five minutes' grace indoors with me, +before--the whirlwind. If it had been _six_ minutes----But then, it +wasn't! So why waste thrills upon a horror which had not time to +materialize? And oh, how I _did_ enjoy seeing those twins trussed up +like a pair of monstrous fowls on the kitchen floor! It had been clever +of Sir Jim to place a coil of rope in Roger's car in case of +emergencies. But when I said this, to show my appreciation, he replied +drily that a cattleman's first thought is rope! "That's what you are +accustomed to call me, I believe," he added. "A cattleman." + +"I shall never call you it again," I quite meekly assured him. + +"You won't? What will you call me, then?" + +"Cousin--if you like," I said. + +"That'll do--for the present," he granted. + +"Or 'friend,' if it pleases you better?" I suggested. + +"Both are pretty good to go on with." + +So between us there was a truce--and no more Pembertons or even Smiths: +which is why "Smith" never revealed what _he_ thought about what Sir Jim +thought of me. And I would not try to guess--would you? But it was only +to screen Roger, and not to content me, that Sir James Courtenaye +allowed my original plan to be carried out: the heirlooms to be +mysteriously returned by night to the Abbey, and the Barlow tribe to +vanish into space, otherwise Australia. He admitted this bluntly. And I +retorted that, if he hadn't saved my life, I should say that such +friendship wasn't worth much. But there it was! He _had_ saved it. And +things being as they were, Shelagh told Roger that I couldn't reasonably +object if Jim were asked to be best man at the wedding, though I was to +be "best woman." + +She was right. I couldn't. And it was a lovely wedding. I lightened my +mourning for it to white and lavender--just for the day. Mrs. Carstairs +said I owed this to the bride and bridegroom--also to myself, as +Brightener, to say nothing of Sir Jim. + + + + +BOOK II + +THE HOUSE WITH THE TWISTED CHIMNEY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SHELL-SHOCK MAN + + +"Do you want to be a Life Preserver as well as a Brightener, Elizabeth, +my child?" asked Mrs. Carstairs. + +"Depends on whose life," I replied, making a lovely blue smoke ring +before I spoke and another when I'd finished. + +I hoped to shock Mrs. Carstairs, in order to see what the nicest old +lady on earth would look like when scandalized. But I was disappointed. +She was not scandalized. She asked for a cigarette, and took it; my +last. + +"The latest style in my country is to make your smoke ring loop the +loop, and do it through the nose," she informed me, calmly. "I can't do +it myself--yet. But Terry Burns can." + +"Who's Terry Burns?" I asked. + +"The man whose life ought to be preserved." + +"It certainly ought," said I, "if he can make smoke rings loop the loop +through his nose. Oh, you know what I _mean_!" + +"He hardly takes enough interest in things to do even that, nowadays," +sighed Mrs. Carstairs. + +"Good heavens! what's the matter with the man--senile decay?" I flung at +her. "Terry isn't at all a decayed name." + +"And Terry isn't a decayed man. He's about twenty-six, if you choose to +call that senile. He's almost _too_ good-looking. He's not physically +ill. And he's got plenty of money. All the same, he's likely to die +quite soon, I should say." + +"Can't anything be done?" I inquired, really moved. + +"I don't know. It's a legacy from shell shock. You know what _that_ is. +He's come to stay with us at Haslemere, poor boy, because my husband was +once in love with his mother--at the same time I was worshipping his +father. Terry was with us before--here in London in 1915--on leave soon +after he volunteered. Afterward, when America came in, he transferred. +But even in 1915 he wasn't exactly _radiating_ happiness (disappointment +in love or something), but he was just boyishly cynical then, nothing +worse; and _the_ most splendid specimen of a young man!--his father over +again; Henry says, his _mother_! Either way, I was looking forward to +nursing him at Haslemere and seeing him improve every day. But, my +_dear_, I can do _nothing_! He has got so on my nerves that I _had_ to +make an excuse to run up to town or I should simply have--_slumped_. The +sight of me slumping would have been terribly bad for the poor child's +health. It might have finished him." + +"So you want to exchange my nerves for yours," I said. "You want me to +nurse your protege till _I_ slump. Is that it?" + +"It wouldn't come to that with you," argued the ancient darling. "You +could bring back his interest in life; I know you could. You'd think of +something. Remember what you did for Roger Fane!" + +As a matter of fact, I had done a good deal more for Roger Fane than +dear old Caroline knew or would ever know. But if Roger owed anything to +me, I owed him, and all he had paid me in gratitude and banknotes, to +Mrs. Carstairs. + +"I shall never forget Roger Fane, and I hope he won't me," I said. +"Shelagh won't let him! But _he_ hadn't lost interest in life. He just +wanted life to give him Shelagh Leigh. She happened to be my best pal; +and her people were snobs, so I could help him. But this Terry Burns of +yours--what can I do for him?" + +"Take him on and see," pleaded the old lady. + +"Do you wish him to fall in love with me?" I suggested. + +"He wouldn't if I did. He told me the other day that he'd loved only one +woman in his life, and he should never care for another. Besides, I +mustn't conceal from you, this would be an unsalaried job." + +"Oh, indeed!" said I, slightly piqued. "I don't want his old love! Or +his old money, either! But--well--I might just go and have a look at +him, if you'd care to take me to Haslemere with you. No harm in seeing +what can be done--if anything. I suppose, as you and Mr. Carstairs +between you were in love with all his ancestors, and he resembles them, +he must be worth saving--apart from the loops. Is he English or American +or _what_?" + +"American on one side and What on the other," replied the old lady. +"That is, his father, whom I was in love with, was American. The mother, +whom Henry adored, was French. All that's quite a romance. But it's +ancient history. And it's the present we're interested in. Of course I'd +care to take you to Haslemere. But I have a better plan. I've persuaded +Terry to consult the nerve specialist, Sir Humphrey Hale. He's +comparatively easy to persuade, because he'd rather yield a point than +bother to argue. That's how I got my excuse to run up to town: to +explain the case to Sir Humphrey, and have my flat made ready for +Terence to live in, while he's being treated." + +"Oh, that's it," I said, and thought for a minute. + +My flat is in the same house as the Carstairs', a charming old house in +which I couldn't afford to live if Dame Caroline (title given by me, not +His Gracious Majesty) hadn't taught me the gentle, well-paid Art of +Brightening. + +You might imagine that a Brightener was some sort of patent polisher for +stoves, metal, or even boots. But you would be mistaken. _I_ am the one +and only Brightener! + +But this isn't what I was thinking about when I said, "Oh, that's it?" I +was attempting to track that benevolent female fox, Caroline Carstairs, +to the fastness of her mental lair. When I flattered myself that I'd +succeeded, I spoke again. + +"I see what you'd be at, Madame Machiavelli," I warned her. "You and +your husband are so fed up with the son of your ancient loves, that he's +spoiling your holiday in your country house. You've been wondering how +on earth to shed him, anyhow for a breathing space, without being +unkind. So you thought, if you could lure him to London, and lend him +your flat----" + +"Dearest, you are an ungrateful young Beastess! Besides, you're only +half right. It's true, poor Henry and I are worn out from sympathy. Our +hearts are squeezed sponges, and have completely collapsed. Not that +Terry complains. He doesn't. Only he is so horribly bored with life and +himself and us that it's killing all three. I _had_ to think of +something to save him. So I thought of you." + +"But you thought of Sir Humphrey Hale. Surely, if there's any cure for +Mr.----" + +"Captain----" + +"Burns. Sir Humphrey can----" + +"He can't. But I had to _use_ him with Terry. I couldn't say: 'Go live +in our flat and meet the Princess di Miramare. He would believe the +obvious thing, and be put off. You are to be thrown in as an extra: a +charming neighbour who, as a favour to me, will see that he's all right. +When you've got him interested--not in yourself, but in life--I shall +explain--or confess, whichever you choose to call it. He will then +realize that the fee for his cure ought to be yours, not Sir Humphrey's, +though naturally you couldn't accept one. Sir Humphrey has already told +me that, judging from the symptoms I've described, it seems a case +beyond doctor's skill. You know, Sir H---- has made his pile, and +doesn't have to tout for patients. But he's a good friend of Henry's and +mine." + +"You have very strong faith in _me_!" I laughed. + +"Not too strong," said she. + +The Carstairs' servants had gone with them to the house near Haslemere; +but if Dame Caroline wanted a first-rate cook at a moment's notice, she +would wangle one even if there were only two in existence, and both +engaged. The shell-shock man had his own valet--an ex-soldier--so with +the pair of them, and a char-creature of some sort, he would do very +well for a few weeks. Nevertheless, I hardly thought that, in the end, +he would be braced up to the effort of coming, and I should not have +been surprised to receive a wire: + + Rather than move, Terry has cut his throat in the Japanese garden. + +Which shows that despite all past experiences, I little knew my +Caroline! + +Captain Burns--late of the American Flying Corps--did come; and what is +more, he called at my flat before he had been fifteen minutes in his +own. This he did because Mrs. Carstairs had begged him to bring a small +parcel which he must deliver by hand to me personally. She had +telegraphed, asking me to stop at home--quite a favour in this wonderful +summer, even though it was July, the season proper had passed; but I +couldn't refuse, as I'd tacitly promised to brighten the man. So there I +sat, in my favourite frock, when he was ushered into the drawing room. + +Dame Caroline had told me that "Terry" was good-looking, but her +description had left me cold, and somehow or other I was completely +unprepared for the real Terry Burns. + +Yes, _real_ is the word for him! He was so real that it seemed odd I had +gone on all my life without having known there was this Terence Burns. +Not that I fell in love with him. Just at the moment I was much occupied +in trying to keep alight an old fire of resentment against a man who had +saved my life; a "forty-fourth cousin four times removed" (as he called +himself), Sir James Courtenaye. But when I say "real," I mean he was one +of those few people who would seem important to you if you passed him in +a crowd. You would tell yourself regretfully that there was a friend +you'd missed making: and you would have had to resist a strong impulse +to rush back and speak to him at any price. + +If, at the first instant of meeting, I felt this strong personal +magnetism, or charm, or whatever it was, though the man was down +physically at lowest ebb, what would the sensation have been with him at +his best? + +He was tall and very thin, with a loose-boned look, as if he ought to be +lithe and muscular, but he came into the room listlessly, his shoulders +drooping, as though it were an almost unbearable bore to put one foot +before another. His pallor was of the pathetic kind that gives an odd +transparence to deeply tanned skin, almost like a light shining through. +His hair was a bronzy brown, so immaculately brushed back from his +square forehead as to remind you of a helmet, except that it rippled all +over. And he had the most appealing eyes I ever saw. + +They were not dark, tragic ones like Roger Fane's. I thought that when +he was well and happy, they must have been full of light and joy. They +were slate-gray with thick black lashes, true Celtic eyes: but they were +dull and tired now, not sad, only devoid of interest in anything. + +It wasn't flattering that they should be devoid of interest in me. I am +used to having men's eyes light up with a gleam of surprise when they +see me for the first time. This man's eyes didn't. I seemed to read in +them: "Yes, I suppose you're very pretty. But that's nothing to me, and +I hope you don't want me to flirt with you, because I haven't the energy +or even the wish." + +I'm sure that, vaguely, this was about what was in his mind, and that he +intended getting away from me as soon as would be decently polite after +finishing his errand. Still, I wasn't in the least annoyed. I was sorry +for him--not because he didn't want to be bothered with me, but because +he didn't want to be bothered with anything. Millionaire or pauper, I +didn't care. I was determined to brighten him, in spite of himself. He +was too dear and delightful a fellow not to be happy with somebody, some +day. I couldn't sit still and let him sink down and down into the +depths. But I should have to go carefully, or do him more harm than +good. I could see that. If I attempted to be amusing he would crawl +away, a battered wreck. + +What I did was to show no particular interest in him. I took the tiny +parcel Mrs. Carstairs had ordered him to bring, and asked casually if +he'd care to stop in my flat till his man had finished unpacking. + +"I don't know how _you_ feel," I said, "but I always hate the first hour +in a new place, with a servant fussing about, opening and shutting +drawers and wardrobes. I loathe things that squeak." + +"So do I," he answered, dreamily. "Any sort of noise." + +"I shall be having tea in a few minutes," I mentioned. "If you don't +mind looking at magazines or something while I open Mrs. Carstairs' +parcel, and write to her, stay if you care to. I should be pleased. But +don't feel you'll be rude to say 'no.' Do as you like." + +He stayed, probably because he was in a nice easy chair, and it was +simpler to sit still than get up, so long as he needn't make +conversation. I left him there, while I went to the far end of the room, +where my desk was. The wonderful packet, which must be given into my +hand by his, contained three beautiful new potatoes, the size of +marbles, out of the Carstairs' kitchen garden! I bit back a giggle, hid +the rare jewels in a drawer, and scribbled any nonsense I could think of +to Dame Caroline, till I heard tea coming. Then I went back to my guest. +I gave him tea, and other things. There were late strawberries, and some +Devonshire cream, which had arrived by post that morning, anonymously. +Sir James Courtenaye, that red-haired cowboy to whom I'd let the +ancestral Abbey, was in Devonshire. But there was no reason why he +should send me cream, or anything else. Still, there it was. Captain +Burns, it appeared, had never happened to taste the Devonshire variety. +He liked it. And when he had disposed of a certain amount (during which +time we hardly spoke), I offered him my cigarette case. + +For a few moments we both smoked in silence. Then I said, "I'm +disappointed in you." + +"Why?" he asked. + +"Because you haven't looped any loops through your nose." + +He actually laughed! He looked delightful when he laughed. + +"I was trying something of the sort one day, and failing," I explained. +"Mrs. Carstairs said she had a friend who could do it, and his name was +Terence Burns." + +"I've almost forgotten that old stunt," he smiled indulgently. "Think of +Mrs. Carstairs remembering it! Why, I haven't had time to remember it +myself, much less try it out, since I was young." + +"That _is_ a long time ago!" I ventured, smoking hard. + +"You see," he explained quite gravely, smoking harder, "I went into the +war in 1915. It wasn't _our_ war then, for I'm an American, you know. +But I had a sort of feeling it ought to be everybody's war. And besides, +I'd fallen out of love with life about that time. War doesn't leave a +man feeling very young, whether or not he's gone through what I have." + +"I know," said I. "Even we women don't feel as young as we hope we look. +I'm twenty-one and a half, and feel forty." + +"I'm twenty-seven, and feel ninety-nine," he capped me. + +"Shell shock is--the _devil_!" I sympathized. "But men get over it. I +know lots who have." I took another cigarette and pushed the case toward +him. + +"Perhaps they wanted to get over it. I don't want to, particularly, +because life has rather lost interest for me, since I was about +twenty-two; I'm afraid that was one reason I volunteered. Not very +brave! I don't care now whether I live or die. I didn't care then." + +"At twenty-two! Why, you weren't grown up!" + +"_You_ say that, at twenty-one?" + +"It's different with a girl. I've had such a lot of things to make me +feel grown up." + +"So have I, God knows." (By this time he was smoking like a chimney.) +"Did _you_ lose the one thing you'd wanted in the world? But no--I +mustn't ask that. I don't ask it." + +"You may," I vouchsafed, charmed that--as one says of a baby--he was +"beginning to take notice." "No, frankly, I didn't lose the one thing in +the world I wanted most, because I've never quite known yet what I did +or do want most. But not knowing leaves you at loose ends, if you're +alone in the world as I am." Then, having said this, just to indicate +that my circumstances conduced to tacit sympathy with his, I hopped like +a sparrow to another branch of the same subject. "It's bad not to get +what we want. But it's dull not to want anything." + +"Is it?" Burns asked almost fiercely. "I haven't got to that yet. I wish +I had. When I want a thing, it's in my nature to want it for good and +all. I want the thing I wanted before the war as much now as ever. +That's the principal trouble with me, I think. The hopelessness of +everything. The uselessness of the things you _can_ get." + +"Can't you manage to want something you might possibly get?" I asked. + +He smiled faintly. "That's much the same advice that the doctors have +given--the advice this Sir Humphrey Hale of the Carstairs will give +to-morrow. I'm sure. 'Try to take an interest in things as they are.' +Good heavens! that's just what I _can't_ do." + +"_I_ don't give you that advice," I said. "It's worse than useless to +_try_ and take an interest. It's _stodgy_. What I mean is, _if_ an +interest, alias a chance of adventure, should breeze along, don't shut +the door on it. Let it in, ask it to sit down, and see how you like it. +But then--maybe you wouldn't recognize it as an adventure if you saw it +at the window!" + +"Oh, I think I should do that!" he defended himself. "I'm man enough yet +to know an adventure when I meet it. That's why I came into your war. +But the war's finished, and so am I. Really, I don't see why any one +bothers about me. I wouldn't about myself, if they'd let me alone!" + +"There I'm with you," said I. "I like to be let alone, to go my own way. +Still, people unfortunately feel bound to do their best. Mrs. Carstairs +has done hers. If Sir Humphrey gives you up, she'll thenceforward +consider herself free from responsibility--and you free to 'dree your +own weird'--whatever that means!--to the bitter end. As for me, I've no +responsibility at all. I don't advise you! In your place, I'd do as +you're doing. Only, I've enough fellow feeling to let you know, in a +spirit of comradeship, if I hear the call of an adventure.... There, you +_did_ the 'stunt' all right that time! A _lovely_ loop the loop! I +wouldn't have believed it! Now watch, please, while I try!" + +He did watch, and I fancy that, in spite of himself, he took an +interest! He laughed out, quite a spontaneous "Ha, ha!" when I began +with a loop and ended with a sneeze. + +It seems too absurd that a siren should lure her victim with a sneeze +instead of a song. But it was that sneeze which did the trick. Or else, +my mumness now and then, and not seeming to care a Tinker's Anything +whether he thought I was pretty or a fright. He warmed toward me visibly +during the loop lesson, and I was as proud as if a wild bird had settled +down to eat out of my hand. + +That was the beginning: and a commonplace one, you'll say! It didn't +seem commonplace to me: I was too much interested. But even I did not +dream of the weird developments ahead! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE ADVERTISEMENT + + +It was on the fourth day that I got the idea--I mean, the fourth day of +Terry Burns' stay in town. + +He had dropped in to see me on each of these days, for one reason or +other: to tell me what Sir Humphrey said; to sneer at the treatment; to +beg a cigarette when his store had given out; or something else equally +important; I (true to my bargain with Caroline) having given up all +engagements in order to brighten Captain Burns. + +I was reading the _Times_ when a thought popped into my head. I shut my +eyes, and studied its features. They fascinated me. + +It was morning: and presently my Patient unawares strolled in for the +eleven-o'clock glass of egg-nogg prescribed by Sir Humphrey and offered +by me. + +He drank it. When he had pronounced it good, I asked him casually how he +was. No change. At least, none that he noticed. Except that he always +felt better, more human, in my society. That was because I appeared to +be a bit fed up with life, too, and didn't try to cheer him. + +"On the contrary," I said, "I was just wondering whether I might ask you +to cheer _me_. I've thought of something that might amuse me a little. +Yes, I'm sure it would! Only I'm not equal to working out the details +alone. If I weren't afraid it would bore you...." + +"Of course it wouldn't, if it could amuse you!" His eyes lit. "Tell me +what it is you want to do?" + +"I'm almost ashamed. It's so childish. But it would be _fun_." + +"If I could care to do anything at all, it would be something childish. +Besides, I believe you and I are rather alike in several ways. We have +the same opinions about life. We're both down on our luck." + +I gave myself a mental pat on the head. I ought to succeed on the stage, +if it ever came to that! + +"Well," I hesitated. "I got the idea from an article in the _Times_. +There's something on the subject every day in every paper I see, but it +never occurred to me till now to get any fun out of it: the Housing +Problem, you know. Not the one for the working classes--I wouldn't be so +mean as to 'spoof' them--nor the _Nouveaux Pauvres_, of whom I'm one! +It's for the _Nouveaux Riches_. They're fair game." + +"What do you want to do to them?" asked Terry Burns. + +"Play a practical joke; then dig myself in and watch the result. Perhaps +there'd be none. In that case, the joke would be on me." + +"And on me, if we both went in for the experiment. We'd bear the blow +together." + +"It wouldn't kill us! Listen--I'll explain. It's simply idiotic. But +it's something to _do_: something to make one wake up in the morning +with a little interest to look forward to. The papers all say that +_every_body is searching for a desirable house to be sold, or let +furnished; and that there _aren't_ any houses! On the other hand, if you +glance at the advertisement sheets of _any_ newspaper, you ask yourself +if every second house in England isn't asking to be disposed of! Now, is +it only a 'silly-season' cry, this grievance about no houses, or is it +true? What larks to concoct an absolutely adorable 'ad.', describing a +place with every perfection, and see what applications one would get! +Would there be thousands or just a mere dribble, or none at all? Don't +you think it would be fun to find out--and reading the letters if there +were any? People would be sure to say a lot about themselves. Human +nature's _like_ that. Or, anyhow, we could force their hands by putting +into the 'ad.' that we would let our wonderful house only to the right +sort of tenants. 'No others need apply'." + +"But that would limit the number of answers--and our fun," said Terry. +On his face glimmered a grin. After all, the "kid" in him had been +scotched, not killed. + +"Oh, no," I argued. "They'd be serenely confident that they and they +alone were the right ones. Then, when they didn't hear from the +advertiser by return, they'd suppose that someone more lucky had got +ahead of them. Yes, we're on the right track! We must want to let our +place furnished. If we wished to sell, we'd have no motive in trying to +pick and choose our buyer. Any creature with money would do. So our +letters would be tame as Teddy-bears. What _we_ want is human +documents!" + +"Let's begin to think out our 'ad.'!" exclaimed the patient, sitting up +straighter in his chair. Already two or three haggard years seemed to +have fallen from his face. I might have been skilfully knocking them off +with a hammer! + +Like a competent general, I had all my materials at hand: Captain Burns' +favourite brand of cigarettes, matches warranted to light without damns, +a notebook, several sharp, soft-leaded pencils, and some illustrated +advertisements cut from _Country Life_ to give us hints. + +"What sort of house _have_ we?" Terry wanted to know. "Is it town or +country; genuine Tudor, Jacobean, Queen Anne, or Georgian----" + +"Oh, _country_! It gives us more scope," I cried. "And I think Tudor's +the most attractive. But I may be prejudiced. Courtenaye Abbey--our +place in Devonshire--is mostly Tudor. I'm too poor to live there. +Through Mr. Carstairs it's let to a forty-fourth cousin of mine who did +cowboying in all its branches in America, coined piles of oof in +something or other, and came over here to live when he'd collected +enough to revive a little old family title. But I adore the Abbey." + +"Our house shall be Tudor," Terry assented. "It had better be historic, +hadn't it?" + +"Why not? It's just as easy for us. Let's have the _oldest_ bits earlier +than Tudor--what?" + +"By Jove! Yes! King John. Might look fishy to go behind _him_!" + +So, block after block, by suggestion, we two architects of the aerial +school built up the noble mansion we had to dispose of. With loving and +artistic touch, we added feature after feature of interest, as +inspirations came. We were like benevolent fairy god-parents at a baby's +christening, endowing a beloved ward with all possible perfections. + +Terry noted down our ideas at their birth, lest we should forget under +pressure of others to follow; and at last, after several discarded +efforts, we achieved an advertisement which combined every attribute of +an earthly paradise. + +This is the way it ran: + +"To let furnished, for remainder of summer (possibly longer), historic +moated Grange, one of the most interesting old country places in +England, mentioned in Domesday Book, for absurdly small rent to +desirable tenant; offered practically free. The house, with foundations, +chapel, and other features dating from the time of King John, has +remained unchanged save for such modern improvements as baths (h. & c.), +electric lighting, and central heating, since Elizabethan days. It +possesses a magnificent stone-paved hall, with vaulted chestnut roof +(15th century), on carved stone corbels; an oak-panelled banqueting hall +with stone, fan-vaulted roof and mistrels' gallery. Each of the several +large reception rooms is rich in old oak, and has a splendid Tudor +chimney-piece. There are over twenty exceptionally beautiful bedrooms, +several with wagon plaster ceilings. The largest drawing-room overlooks +the moat, where are ancient carp, and pink and white water-lilies. All +windows are stone mullioned, with old leaded glass; some are exquisite +oriels; and there are two famous stairways, one with dog gates. The +antique furniture is valuable and historic. A fascinating feature of the +house is a twisted chimney (secret of construction lost; the only other +known by the advertiser to exist being at Hampton Court). All is in good +repair; domestic offices perfect, and the great oak-beamed, +stone-flagged kitchen has been copied by more than one artist. There are +glorious old-world gardens, with an ornamental lake, some statues, +fountains, sundials; terraces where white peacocks walk under the shade +of giant Lebanon cedars; also a noble park, and particularly charming +orchard with grass walks. Certain servants and gardeners will remain if +desired; and this wonderful opportunity is offered for an absurdly low +price to a tenant deemed suitable by the advertiser. Only gentlefolk, +with some pretensions to intelligence and good looks, need reply, as the +advertiser considers that this place would be wasted upon others. Young +people preferred. For particulars, write T. B., Box F., the _Times_." + +We were both enraptured with the result of our joint inspirations. We +could simply _see_ the marvellous moated grange, and Terry thought that +life would be bearable after all if he could live there. What a pity it +didn't exist, he sighed, and I consoled him by saying that there were +perhaps two or three such in England. To my mind Courtenaye Abbey was as +good, though moatless. + + * * * * * + +We decided to send our darling not only to the _Times_, but to five +other leading London papers, engaging a box at the office of each for +the answers, the advertisement to appear every day for a week. In order +to keep our identity secret even from the discreet heads of advertising +departments, we would have the replies called for, not posted. Terry's +man, Jones, was selected to be our messenger, and had to be taken more +or less into our confidence. So fearful were we of being too late for +to-morrow's papers, that Jones was rushed off in a taxi with +instructions, before the ink had dried on the last copy. + +Our suspense was painful, until he returned with the news that all the +"ads." had been in time, and that everything was satisfactorily settled. +The tidings braced us mightily. But the tonic effect was brief. Hardly +had Terry said, "Thanks, Jones. You've been very quick," when we +remembered that to-morrow would be a blank day. The newspapers would +publish T. B.'s advertisement to-morrow morning. It would then be read +by the British public in the course of eggs and bacon. Those who +responded at once, if any, would be so few that it seemed childish to +think of calling for letters that same night. + +"I suppose, if you go the rounds in the morning of day after to-morrow, +it will be soon enough," Terry remarked to the ex-soldier, with the +restrained wistfulness of a child on Christmas Eve asking at what hour +Santa Claus is due to start. + +I also hung upon Jones' words; but still more eagerly upon Captain +Burns' expression. + +"Well, sir," said the man, his eyes on the floor--I believe to hide a +joyous twinkle!--"that might be right for letters. But what about the +telegrams?" + +"Telegrams!" we both echoed in the same breath. + +"Yes, sir. When the managers or whatever they were had read the 'ad.,' +they were of opinion there might be telegrams. In answer to my question, +the general advice was to look in and open the boxes any time after +twelve noon to-morrow." + +Terry and I stared at each other. Our hearts beat. I knew what his was +doing by the state of my own. He who would have sold his life for a song +(a really worthwhile song) was eager to preserve it at any price till +his eyes had seen the full results of our advertisement. + +_Telegrams!_ + +Could it be possible that there would be telegrams? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE LETTER WITH THE PURPLE SEAL + + +I invited Terry to breakfast with me at nine precisely next day, and +each of us was solemnly pledged not to look at a newspaper until we +could open them together. + +We went to the theatre the night before (the first time Terry could +endure the thought since his illness), and supped at the Savoy +afterward, simply to mitigate the suffering of suspense. Nevertheless, I +was up at seven-thirty A. M., and at eight-forty-eight was in the +breakfast room gazing at six newspapers neatly folded on the +flower-decked table. + +At eight-fifty-one, my guest arrived, and by common consent we seized +the papers. He opened three. I opened three. Yes, there it _was_! How +perfect, how thrilling! How even better it appeared in print than we had +expected! Anxiously we read the other advertisements of country houses +to let or sell, and agreed that there was nothing whose attractions came +within miles of our, in all senses of the word, priceless offer. + +How we got through the next two and a half hours I don't know! + +I say two and a half advisedly: because, as Jones had six visits to pay, +we thought we might start him off at eleven-thirty. This we did; but his +calmness had damped us. _He_ wasn't excited. Was it probable that any +one else--except ourselves--could be? + +Cold reaction set in. We prepared each other for the news that there +were no telegrams or answers of any sort. Terry said it was no use +concealing that this would be a bitter blow. I had not the energy to +correct his rhetoric, or whatever it was, by explaining that a blow +can't be bitter. + +Twelve-thirty struck, and produced no Jones; twelve-forty-five; one; +Jones still missing. + +"I ought to have told him to come back at once after the sixth place, +even if there wasn't a thing," said Terry. "Like a fool, I didn't: he +may have thought he'd do some other errands on the way home, if he'd +nothing to report. Donkey! Ass! Pig." + +"Captain Burns' man, your highness," announced my maid. "He wants to +know----" + +"Tell him to come in!" I shrieked. + +"Yes, your highness. It was only, should he bring them all in here, or +leave them in Mr. Carstairs' apartment below." + +"_All!_" gasped Terry. + +"Here," I commanded. + +Jones staggered in. + +You won't believe it when I tell you, because you didn't see it. That +is, you won't unless _you_ have inserted _the_ Advertisement of the +Ages--the Unique, the Siren, the Best yet Cheapest--in six leading +London journals at once. + +There were eight bundles wrapped in newspaper. Enormous bundles! Jones +had two under each arm, and was carrying two in each hand, by loops of +string. As he tottered into the drawing room, the biggest bundle +dropped. The string broke. The wrapping yawned. Its contents gushed out. +Not only telegrams, but letters with no stamps or post-marks! They must +have been rushed frantically round to the six offices by messengers. + +It was true, then, what the newspapers said: all London, all England, +yearned, pined, prayed for houses. Yet people must already be living +_somewhere_! + +Literally, there were thousands of answers. To be precise, Captain +Burns, Jones, and I counted two thousand and ten replies which had +reached the six offices by noon on the first day of the advertisement: +one thousand and eight telegrams; the rest, letters dispatched by hand. +Each sender earnestly hoped that his application might be the first! +Heaven knew how many more might be _en route_! What a tribute to the +Largest Circulations! + +Jones explained his delay by saying that "the stuff was coming in thick +as flies"; so he had waited until a lull fell upon each great office in +turn. When the count had been made by us, and envelopes neatly piled in +stacks of twenty-four on a large desk hastily cleared for action, Terry +sent his servant away. And then began the fun! + +Yes, it was fun: "fun for the boys," if "death to the frogs." But we +hadn't gone far when between laughs we felt the pricks of conscience. +Alas for all these people who burned to possess our moated grange +"practically free," at its absurdly low rent! And the moated grange +didn't exist. Not one of the unfortunate wretches would so much as get +an answer to his S. O. S. + +They were not all _Nouveaux Riches_ by any means, these eager senders of +letters and telegrams. Fearing repulse from the fastidious moat-owner, +they described themselves attractively, even by wire, at so much the +word. They were young; they were of good family; they were lately +married or going to be married. Their husbands or fathers were V. C.'s. +There was every reason why they, and they alone, should have the house. +They begged that particulars might be telegraphed. They enclosed stamps +on addressed envelopes. As the moated grange was "rich in old oak," so +did we now become rich in new stamps! Some people were willing to take +the house on its description without waiting to see it. Others assured +the advertiser that money was no object to them; he might ask what rent +he liked; and these were the ones on whom we wasted no pity. If this was +what the first three hours brought forth, how would the tide swell by +the end of the day--the end of the _week_? Tarpeia buried under the +shields and bracelets wasn't _in_ it with us! + +Terry and I divided the budget, planning to exchange when all had been +read. But we couldn't keep silent. Every second minute one or other of +us exploded: "You _must_ hear this!" "Just listen to _one_ more!" + +About halfway through my pile, I picked up a remarkably alluring +envelope. It was a peculiar pale shade of purple, the paper being of +rich satin quality suggesting pre-war. The address of the newspaper +office was in purple ink, and the handwriting was impressive. But what +struck me most was a gold crown on the back of the envelope, above a +purple seal; a crown signifying the same rank as my own. + +I glanced up to see if Terry were noticing. If he had been, I should +have passed the letter to him as a _bonne bouche_, for this really was +_his_ show, and I wanted him to have all the plums. But he was grinning +over somebody's photograph, so I broke the seal without disturbing him. + +I couldn't keep up this reserve for long, however; I hadn't read far +when I burst out with a "By Jove!" + +"What is it?" asked Terry. + +"We've hooked quite a big fish," said I. "Listen to this: 'The Princess +Avalesco presents her compliments to T. B., and hopes that he will----' +but, my goodness _gracious_, Captain Burns! What's the matter?" + +The man had gone pale as skim-milk, and was staring at me as though I'd +turned into a Gorgon. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE TANGLED WEB + + +"Read the name again, please," Terry said, controlling his voice. + +"Avalesco--the Princess Avalesco." I felt suddenly frightened. I'd been +playing with the public as if people were my puppets. Now I had a vague +conviction at the back of my brain that Fate had made a puppet of me. + +"I thought so. But I couldn't believe my own ears," said Terry. "Good +heavens! what a situation!" + +"I--don't understand," I hesitated. "Perhaps you'd rather not have me +understand? If so, don't tell me anything." + +"I must tell you!" he said. + +"Not unless you wish." + +"I do! We are pals now. You've helped me. Maybe you can go on helping. +You'll advise me, if there's any way I can use this--this _amazing_ +chance." + +I said I'd be glad to help, and then waited for him to make the next +move. + +Captain Burns sat as if dazed for a few seconds, but presently he asked +me to go on with the letter. + +I took it up where I'd broken off. "Compliments to T. B., and hopes that +he will be able to let his moated grange to her till the end of +September. The Princess feels sure, from the description, that the place +will suit her. T. B. will probably know her name, but if not, he can +have any references desired. She is at the Savoy and has been ill, or +would be glad to meet T. B. in person. Her companion, Mrs. Dobell, will, +however, hold herself free to keep any appointment which may be made by +telephone. The Princess hopes that the moated grange is still free, and +feels that, if she obtains early possession, her health will soon be +restored in such beautiful surroundings. P. S.--The Princess is +particularly interested in the _twisted chimney_, and trusts there is a +history of the house." + +I read fast, and when I'd finished, looked up at Terry. "If you have a +secret to tell, I'm ready with advice and sympathy," said my eyes. + +"When the Princess Avalesco was Margaret Revell, I was in love with +her," Terry Burns answered them. "I adored her! She was seven or eight +years older than I, but the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Of course +she wouldn't look at me! I was about as important as a slum child to +her. In America, the Revells were like your royalties. She was a +princess, even then--without a title. To get one, she sold herself. To +think that _she_ should answer that fool advertisement of ours! Heavens! +I'm like Tantalus. I see the blessed water I'd give my life to drink, +held to my lips, only to have it snatched away!" + +"Why snatched away?" I questioned. + +"'Why?' Because if there _were_ a moated grange, I could meet her. Her +husband's dead. You know he was killed before Roumania'd been fighting a +week. Things are very different with me, too, these days. I'm a man--not +a boy. And I've come into more money than I ever dreamed I'd have. Not a +huge fortune like hers, but a respectable pile. Who knows what might +have happened? But there's _no_ moated grange, and so----" + +"Why shouldn't there be one?" I broke in. And while he stared blankly, I +hurried on. I reminded Captain Burns of what I had said yesterday: that +there were houses of that description, more or less, in England, _real_ +houses!--my own, for instance. Courtenaye Abbey was out of the question, +because it was let to my cousin Jim, and was being shown to the public +as a sort of museum; but there were other places. I knew of several. As +Captain Burns was so rich, he might hire one, and let it to the Princess +Avalesco. + +For a moment he brightened, but a sudden thought obscured him, like a +cloud. + +"Not places with twisted chimneys!" he groaned. + +This brought me up short. I stubbed my brain against that twisted +chimney! But when I'd recovered from the blow, I raised my head. "Yes, +places with twisted chimneys! At least, _one_ such place." + +"Ah, Hampton Court. You said the only other twisted chimney was there." + +"The _advertisement_ said that." + +"Well----" + +"It's a pity," I admitted, "that I thought of the twisted chimney. It +was an unnecessary extravagance, though I meant well. But it never would +have occurred to me as an extra lure if I hadn't known about a house +where such a chimney exists. The one house of the kind I ever heard of +except Hampton Court." + +Terry sprang to his feet, a changed man, young and vital. + +"Can we get it?" + +"Ah, if I knew! But we can try. If you don't care what you pay?" + +"I don't. Not a--hang." + +I, too, jumped up, and took from my desk a bulky volume--Burke. This I +brought back to my chair, and sat down with it on my lap. On one knee +beside me, Terry Burns watched me turn the pages. At "Sc" I stopped, to +read aloud all about the Scarletts. But before beginning I warned Terry: +"I never knew any of the Scarletts myself," I said, "but I've heard my +grandmother say they were the wickedest family in England, which meant a +lot from _her_. She wasn't exactly a _saint_!" + +We learned from the book what I had almost forgotten, that Lord +Scarlett, the eleventh baron, held the title because his elder brother, +Cecil, had died in Australia unmarried. He, himself, was married, with +one young son, his wife being the daughter of a German wine merchant. + +As I read, I remembered the gossip heard by my childish ears. "Bertie +Scarlett," as Grandmother called him, was not only the wickedest, but +the poorest peer in England according to her--too poor to live at Dun +Moat, his place in Devonshire, my own county. The remedy was +marriage--with an heiress. He tried America. Nothing doing. The girls he +invited to become Lady Scarlett drew the line at anything beneath an +earl. Or perhaps his reputation was against him. There were many people +who knew he was unpopular at Court; unpopular being the mildest word +possible. And he was middle-aged and far from good-looking. So the best +he could manage was a German heiress, of an age not unsuited to his own. +Her father, Herr Goldstein, lived in some little Rhine town, and was +supposed to be rolling in marks (that was six or seven years before the +war); however, the Goldsteins met Lord Scarlett not in Germany but at +Monte Carlo, where Papa G. was a well-known punter. Luck went wrong with +him, and later the war came. Altogether, the marriage had failed to +accomplish for Bertie Scarlett's pocket and his place what he had hoped +from it. And apparently the one appreciable result was a little boy, +half of German blood. There were hopes that, after the war, Herr +Goldstein's business might rise again to something like its old value, +in which case his daughter would reap the benefit. Meanwhile, however, +if Grandmother was right, things were at a low ebb; and I thought that +Lord Scarlett would most likely snap at an offer for Dun Moat. + +Terry was immensely cheered by my story and opinion. But such a +ready-made solution of the difficulty seemed too good to be true. He got +our advertisement, and read it out to me, pausing at each detail of +perfection which we had light-heartedly bestowed upon our moated grange. +"The twisted chimney and the moat aren't everything," he groaned. "Carp +and water-lilies we might supply, if they don't exist; peacocks, too. +Nearly all historic English houses are what the agents call 'rich in old +oak.' But what about those 'exquisite oriels,' those famous fireplaces, +those stairways, those celebrated ceilings, and corbels--whatever they +are? No one house, outside our brains, can have them _all_. If +anything's missing in the list she'll cry off, and call T. B. a fraud." + +"She'll only remember the most exciting things," I said. "I don't see +her walking round the house with the 'ad.' in her hand, do you? She'll +be captured by the _tout ensemble_. But the first thing is to catch our +hare--I mean our house. You 'phone to the companion, Mrs. Dobell, at +once. Say that before you got her letter you'd practically given the +refusal of your place to someone else, but that you met the Princess +Avalesco years ago, and would prefer to have her as your tenant, if she +cares to leave the matter open for a few days. She'll say 'yes' like a +shot. And meanwhile, I'll be inquiring the state of affairs at Dun +Moat." + +"How can you inquire without going there, and wasting a day, when we +might be getting hold of another place, perhaps, and--and _building_ a +twisted chimney to match the 'ad.'?" Terry raged, walking up and down +the room. + +"Quite simply," I said. "I'll get Jim Courtenaye on long-distance 'phone +at the Abbey, where he's had a telephone installed. He doesn't live +there, but at Courtenaye Coombe, a village close by. However, I hear +he's at the Abbey from morn till dewy eve, so I'll ring him up. What he +doesn't know about the Scarletts he'll find out so quickly you'll not +have time to turn." + +"How do you know he'll be so quick?" persisted Terry. "If he's only your +forty-fourth cousin he may be luke-warm----" + +I stopped him with a look. "Whatever else Jim Courtenaye may be, he's +_not_ luke-warm!" I said. "He has red hair and black eyes. And he is +either my fiercest enemy or my warmest friend, I'm not sure which. +Anyhow, he saved my life once, at great trouble and danger to himself; +so I don't think he'll hesitate at getting a little information for me +if I pay him the compliment of calling him up on the 'phone." + +"I _see_!" said Terry. And I believe he did see--perhaps more than I +meant him to see. But at worst, he would in future realize that there +_were_ men on earth not so blind to my attractions as he. + +While Terry 'phoned from the Carstairs' flat to the companion of +Princess Avalesco, I 'phoned from mine to Jim. And I could not help it +if my heart beat fast when I in London heard his voice answering from +Devonshire. He has one of those nice, drawly American voices that _do_ +make a woman's heart beat for a man whether she likes him or hates him! + +I explained what I wanted to find out about the Scarletts, and that it +must be "quite in confidence." Jim promised to make inquiries at once, +and when I politely said: "Sorry to give you so much bother," he +replied, "You needn't let _that_ worry you, my dear!" + +Of course, he had no right to call me his "dear." I never heard of it +being done by the _best_ "forty-fourth cousins." But as I was asking a +favour of him, for Terry Burns' sake I let it pass. + +These Americans, especially ex-cowboy ones, _do_ seem to act with +lightning rapidity. I suppose it comes from having to lasso creatures +while going at cinema speed, or else getting out of their way at the +same rate of progress! I expected to hear next morning at earliest, but +that evening, just before shutting-up time for post offices, my 'phone +bell rang. Jim Courtenaye was at the other end, talking from the Abbey. + +"Lord and Lady Scarlett are living at Dun Moat," he said, "with their +venomous little brute of a boy; and they must be dashed hard up, because +they have only one servant in their enormous house, and a single +gardener on a place that needs a dozen. But it seems that Scarlett has +refused several big offers both to sell and let. Heaven knows why. +Perhaps the man's mad. Anyhow, that's all I can tell you at present. +They say it's no good hoping Scarlett will part. But I might find out +_why_ he won't, if that's any use." + +"It isn't," I answered. "But thanks, all the same. How did you get hold +of this information so soon?" + +"Very simply," said Jim. "I ran over to the nearest town, Dawlish, in +the car, and had a pow-wow with an estate agent, as if I were wanting +the house myself. I'm just back." + +"You really are good!" I exclaimed, rather grudgingly, for Grandmother +and I always suffered in changing our opinions of people, as snakes must +suffer when they change their skins. + +"I'd do a lot more than that for you, you know!" he said. + +I did know. He had already done more--much more. But my only response +was to ring off. That was safest! + +Next morning Terry Burns and I took the first train to Devonshire, and +at Dawlish hired a taxi for Dun Moat, which is about twelve miles from +there. + +We were going to beard the Scarlett lion in his den! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE KNITTING WOMAN OF DUN MOAT + + +"I must and _shall_ have this place!" Terry said, as our humble taxi +drove through the glorious old park, and came in sight of the house. + +There were the old-world gardens; the statues; the fountains (it was a +detail that they didn't fount!); there were the white peacocks +(moulting); there was the moat so crammed with water-lilies that if the +Scarletts had eaten the carp, they would never be missed. There were the +"exquisite oriels," and above all, there was the twisted chimney! + +An air of tragic neglect hung over everything. The grass needed mowing; +the flowers grew as they liked. Glass was even missing from several +windows. Still, it was miraculously the twin of the place we had +described in our embarrassingly perfect "ad." + +As we stood in front of the enormous, nail-studded door, and Terry +pressed again and again an electric bell (the one modern touch about the +place), he had the air of waiting a signal to go "over the top." + +"You look fierce enough to bayonet fifty Boches off your own bat!" I +whispered. + +"Lady Scarlett _is_ a Boche, isn't she?" he mumbled back. And just +then--after we'd rung ten times--an old woman opened the door--a witch +of an old woman; a witch out of a German fairy-book. + +The instant I saw her, I felt that there was _something wrong_ about +this house. From under wrinkled lids the woman peered out, ratlike; and +though her lips were closed--leaving the first word to us--her eyes +said, "What the devil do you want? Whatever it is, you won't get it, so +the sooner you go the better." + +We had planned that I should start the ball rolling, by mention of my +grandmother's name. But Terry was bursting with renewed interest in +life, and the woman was answering his question before I had time to +speak. "Let the place? No, sir! His lordship refuses all offers. It is +useless to make one. He does not see strangers." + +"We are not strangers," I rapped out with all Grandmother's haughtiness. +"Tell Lord Scarlett that the Princess di Miramare, grand-daughter of +Mrs. Raleigh Courtenaye, wishes a few words with him." + +_That_ was the way to manage her! She came of a breed over whom for +centuries Prussian Junkers had power of life and death; and though she +spoke English, it was with the precise wording of one who has learned +the language painfully. In me she recognized the legitimate tyrant, and +yielded. + +We were admitted with reluctance into a magnificent hall which magically +matched our description: stone-paved, with a vaulted roof, and an +immense oriel window the height of two stories. While our gaze travelled +from the carved stone chimney-piece to ancient suits of armour, and such +Tudor and Jacobean furniture as remained unsold, a slight sound +attracted our attention to the "historic staircase," with its +"dog-gates." + +A woman was coming down. She had knitting in her hand, and had dropped +one of her needles. It was that which made the slight noise we'd heard; +and Terry stepped quickly forward to pick it up. + +His back was turned to me as he offered the stiletto-like instrument to +its owner, so I could not see his face. But I could imagine that +charming smile of his, as he looked up at the figure on the stairs. Just +so might Sir Walter Raleigh have looked when he'd neatly spread his +cloak for Queen Bess; and if he had happened to ask a favour then, it +would have been hard for the sovereign to resist! + +The woman coming downstairs did not resemble any portrait of the Virgin +Queen. She was stout and short-necked; and with her hard, dark face, her +implacable eyes, and her knitting, was as much like Madame Defarge in +modern dress as a German could be. But even Madame Defarge was a woman! +And probably she used her influence now and then in favour of some +handsome male head, preferring to see female ones pop into the sawdust! + +Her face softened slightly as she accepted the needle, and stiffened +again as I came forward. + +"My husband is occupied," she said, in much the same stilted English as +that of her old servant. "He sends his compliments to the Princess di +Miramare and her friend, and hopes both will excuse him. If it is an +offer for our place you have come to make, I must refuse in his name. We +do not wish to move." + +Her tone, her expression, gave to her words the solemnity of an oath +sworn by a houseful of Medes and Persians. + +It seemed that there was nothing left for us to do, save bow to Lady +Scarlett's decision, and retire defeated to our taxi. But I felt that my +reputation as a Brightener was at stake, with Terry's hopes. If we +failed, instead of brightening I should have blighted him for ever! That +couldn't, shouldn't be! + +All there was of me yearned for an inspiration, and it came. + +"My friend, Captain Burns, wouldn't ask you to move," I heard myself +saying. "He's so anxious to have Dun Moat that he'd offer you any rent +within reason, and would invite you to select some retired rooms for +yourselves, where you might live undisturbed by the tenant. This house +is so large it occurs to me that such an arrangement wouldn't be +uncomfortable." + +Terry flashed me a look of amazement, which turned to acquiescence; and +the surprise on Lady Scarlett's face was encouraging. Evidently no one +else had made such a suggestion. She seemed not only astonished, but +tempted. + +For a moment she reflected; then admitted that my proposal was a new +one. She would submit it to her husband. They would talk it over if we +cared to wait. We did care to; and the lady vanished like a stout ghost +into the dimness of stony shadows. + +Terry said that he felt his head growing gray, hair by hair, with +suspense; but when Lady Scarlett came back at last no change could be +seen by the naked eye. + +"My husband and I will consider your proposal," she said, "provided the +price is satisfactory, and taking it for granted that we agree on the +rooms for our occupation. We should want those known as the 'garden +court suite.' And we should ask one hundred and fifty pounds a week, for +a possible term of ten weeks, on the proviso that we could terminate the +tenancy with a fortnight's notice at any time after the first month." + +I was dumbfounded. The place, unique and beautiful as it was, had been +allowed to run down so disastrously, and everything outside and inside +seemed to be in such a state of disrepair, that it was worth at most a +rent of thirty guineas a week. Terry might call himself rich, but surely +he'd not consent to being rooked to that extent, in order to be landlord +to his love. I expected him to protest, to bargain, and beat the lady +down. But he brushed the financial question away like a cobweb, and +began to haggle about the rooms. + +"The money part will be all right," he said. "But I want a lady to come +here--a lady who's been ill. She must have the prettiest rooms there +are: something overlooking the moat, with jolly oriel windows and plenty +of old oak." + +Lady Scarlett smiled. "There is no obstacle to that! The suite I specify +is at the far end of the house, in a comparatively modern wing, and most +people would think it the least desirable. We like it because it is +compact and private. We can keep it going with one servant. It is called +the 'garden court suite' because it is built round a small square. There +is a separate outside entrance, as well as one door communicating with +the house. The suite has generally been occupied by a bachelor heir." + +As she talked, Terry reflected. "Look here, Lady Scarlett!" he +exclaimed, just contriving not to break in. "I've half a mind to confide +in you. The truth is, I want to pose as the owner of this place. I +suppose you wouldn't sell it?" + +"We could not if we would," replied the daughter of the German +wine-seller. "It is entailed and the entail cannot be broken till our +son comes of age." + +"That settles _that_! But you said beforehand, nothing would induce you +to turn out----" + +"No money you could offer: not a thousand, not ten thousand a week--at +least, at present. The garden court suite is the one solution." + +"Well, so be it! But--I beg your pardon if I'm rude--could you--er--seem +not to be there? Could I say I'd lent the rooms to someone I didn't like +to turn out? If you'd consent, I'd make it two hundred a week." + +Lady Scarlett's blackberry-and-skim-milk eyes lit. "You want the lady to +believe that you have bought Dun Moat?" + +For answer, he told her of our advertisement, and the result. I thought +this a mistake. You'd only to look at the woman to see that she'd no +sense of humour; and to confide in a person without one is courting +trouble. Besides, I still had that impression of _something wrong_. I +had no definite suspicion; but why had the Scarletts, poor as they were, +determined to stick to the house? However, I could no more have stopped +Terry Burns when he got going than I could have stopped a torrent by +throwing in rose-petals. Which shows how he had changed. The worry a few +days ago would have been to get him going! + +As Lady Scarlett listened she knitted, with strong, predatory hands. +Language, they say, is used to conceal thought. So, it occurred to me, +is knitting. I felt, watching her as a wise mouse should watch a cat, +that she was making up her mind to some action more beneficial to +herself than Terry. But for my life I couldn't guess what. She seemed to +weave a knitted screen between my mind and hers! + +In the end, however, she announced that for two hundred pounds a week +her family could--to all intents and purposes--blot itself temporarily +out of existence, in the suite of the garden court. The American lady +might believe them to be poor relations of Captain Burns, or even +servants, for all she cared! Having arrived at this conclusion, she +proposed fetching her husband, that an agreement of an informal kind +might be drawn up. Again she vanished; and when Lord Scarlett appeared, +it was alone. + +There were a number of ancestral portraits hanging on the walls of the +great hall: fox-faced men, most of them, with a prevailing, sharp-nosed, +slant-eyed type; and "Bertie" Scarlett was no exception to the rule. As +he came deliberately down the stairway which his wife had descended, I +remembered a scandal of his youth that Grandmother had sketched. He'd +been in a crack regiment once, and though desperately poor had tried to +live as a smart man about town. At some country-house party he'd been +accused of cheating at baccarat. The story was hushed up, but he had +left the army; and people--particularly royalties--had looked down their +noses at him ever since. His tweeds were shabby now, and he was growing +middle-aged and bald; all the same he had the air of the leading man in +a _cause celebre_. I hadn't liked his wife, and I liked him as little! + +He made the same point as hers: that the agreement might be terminated +by him (_not_ by the tenant) with a fortnight's notice, given at any +time after the first month. This was a queer proviso, as queer as the +family resolve to remain on the spot. And it seemed to me that one was +part and parcel of the other, though I couldn't see the link which +united the two. + +As for Terry, he puzzled over none of these things. He wanted the place +even on preposterous terms. When Lord Scarlett had drawn up an +agreement, his signature flashed across the paper like a streak of +lightning, so wild was he to rush back to London bearing the news to his +princess. Lord Scarlett--sure of his mad client--offered to have the +agreement polished up in legal form without further bother for Captain +Burns, and we were free to go. + +Terry could talk of nothing on the way home but his marvellous luck. +_Hang_ the money! He'd have paid twice as much, if need be. The next +thing was to smarten the place: buy some more "historic" furniture to +fill the gaps made by sales, send down a decorator to see what beds, +etc., needed renovating, have an expert look at the drains and the +central heating (long unused) which had been put in with German money, +engage a staff of servants for indoors and out; get hold of two or three +young peacocks whose tails hadn't moulted. + +"If I don't care how much I spend, don't you think we can make an +earthly paradise of the place in a week?" he appealed. + +"We?" I echoed. "Why, I thought my part was played!" + +His grieved eyes reproached me. What? After going so far, I was going to +desert him in the midst of the woods? He begged me to stand by him till +all was ready to receive the Princess. If I didn't, something was sure +to go wrong. + +Well, once a Brightener, always a Brightener, I suppose! And acting on +this principle I yielded. I promised to stop for a week at Dawley St. +Ann, a village within a mile of Dun Moat (there's a dear old inn +there!), and superintend preparations for the beloved tenant. When she +was safely installed, I would go home--or elsewhere, and Terry could +take my rooms at the inn. Being her neighbour as well as landlord, he'd +easily find excuses to see the Princess every day, and thus get his +money's worth of Dun Moat. + +All this was settled before we reached London; and the first thing Terry +thought of on entering the flat (mine, not his!) was to ring up the +Savoy. The answer came quickly; and I saw a light of rapture on his +face. The Princess herself was at the telephone! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE LIGHTNING STROKE + + +It was amazing what Terry and I accomplished in the next few days, I at +Dawley St. Ann, close to Dun Moat, he flashing back and forth between +there and London! + +My incentive and reward in one consisted of the all but incredible +change for the better in him. Terry's, was the hope of meeting the +Adored Lady; for he had not met her yet. Her voice thrilled him through +the telephone, saying that of _course_ she "remembered Terry Burns," but +it was her companion, Mrs. Dobell, who received him at the Savoy. She it +was who carried messages from the still-ailing Princess Avalesco to him, +and handed on to the Princess his vague explanations as to how he had +acquired Dun Moat. But Terry had seen, in the two ladies' private +sitting room at the hotel, an ivory miniature of the Princess, and its +beauty had poured oil on the fire of his love. At what period in her +career it had been painted he didn't know, not daring or caring to ask +Mrs. Dobell; but one thing was sure--it showed her lovelier than of old. + +Seeing the boy on the way to such a cure as twenty Sir Humphrey Hales +could never have produced, I was happy while wrestling for his sake with +the servant problem, placing brand-new "antique" furniture in half-empty +rooms, and watching neglected lawns rolled to velvet. But not once +during my daily pilgrimage to Dun Moat did I catch sight of Lord or Lady +Scarlett or their old German servant. True to the bargain, they had +officially ceased to exist; and my one tangible reminder of the family +was a glimpse of a little boy who stared through a closed window of the +end wing--the "suite of the garden court." + +I'd been passing that way to criticize the work of the gardeners, and +looked up to admire the twisted chimney, which rose practically at the +junction of the oldest part of the house with the newest. Just for an +instant, a small hatchet face peered at me, and vanished as if its owner +had been snatched away by a strong hand; but I had time to say to +myself, "Like father like son!" And I smiled in remembering that Jim +Courtenaye had called the Scarlett's heir a "venomous little brute." + +At last came the day when the Princess Avalesco, Mrs. Dobell, and a maid +were to motor down and take possession of Dun Moat. Terry (much thanked +through the telephone for supplying the place with servants, etcetera) +was on the spot before them. He had dashed over to see me at Dawley St. +Ann (where I was packing for my return to town), looking extremely +handsome; and had excitedly offered to run back and tell me "all about +her" before I had to take my train. + +"I shall go with you to the station," he said. "You've been the most +gorgeous brick to me! You've given me happiness and new life. And the +one thing which could make to-day better than it is, would be your +stopping on." + +I merely smiled at this, for I'd pointed out that my continued presence +would be misunderstood by the Princess Avalesco, to his disadvantage; +and he reluctantly agreed. So when he had gone to meet his Wonder-of +the-World I continued to pack. + +Very likely he would forget such a trifle as the time for my train, I +thought, and if he did turn up it would be at the last minute. I was +surprised, therefore, when, after an hour, I saw him whirling up to the +inn door in the one and only village taxi. + +A moment later I was bidding him enter my sitting room. A question +trembled on my lips, but the sight of his face choked it into a gasp. + +Terry came in, and flung himself into a chair. + +"Good heavens, what's happened?" I ventured. + +He did not answer at first. He only stared. Then he found his voice. "I +don't know how to tell you what's happened," he groaned. "You'll despise +me. You'll want to kick me out of your room." + +"I won't!" I spoke sharply, to bring him to himself. "What _is_ it? +Hasn't she come?" + +"She has come. _That's_ it!" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, my dear Pal, I--I don't love her any more." + +If I hadn't been sitting in a chair I should have collapsed on to +one--or the floor. + +"You don't _love_ her?" I faltered. + +"No. And that's not all. It's perhaps not even the worst!" + +"If you don't tell me at once, I shall scream." + +"I hardly know how. I--oh, good lord!--I--I've fallen in love with +someone else." + +I must now make a confession as shameful as his. My mind jumped to the +conclusion that Terry Burns was referring to me. I expected him to +explain that, on seeing his ideal after these many years, he found that +after all it was his faithful Pal he loved! I was conceited enough to +think this quite natural, though regrettable, and my first impulse was +to spare us both the pain of such an avowal. + +"Good gracious!" I warded him off. "So hearts can really be caught in +the rebound? But what I most want to know is, why have you unloved +Princess Avalesco?" + +"It's most horribly disloyal and beastly of me. If you _must_ know, it's +because she's lost her beauty, and has got fat. I wouldn't have believed +that a few years could make such a difference. And she can't be +thirty-five! But she's a mountain. And her hair looks jolly queer. I +think it must have come out with some illness, and she's got on her head +one of those things you call a combination." + +"We don't! We call it a transformation," I corrected him in haste. "Oh, +this is awful! Think of the fortune you've spent to offer Dun Moat to +your lady-love for a few weeks, only to discover that she _isn't_ your +lady-love! What a waste! I suppose now you'll go up to London----" + +"No," said Terry, "I shall stay here. And--I can't feel that the money's +wasted in taking Dun Moat. Just seeing such a face as I've seen is worth +every sovereign." + +"Face?" I echoed. + +"Yes. I told you I'd fallen in love. You must have guessed it was with +someone at Dun Moat, as I've been nowhere else." + +I hadn't guessed that. But I wasn't going to let him know that my +guesses had come home to roost! "It can't be Mrs. Dobell," I said, +"because you've seen her before, and she's old. Has the Princess got a +beautiful Cinderella for a maid, and----" + +"No--no!" Terry protested. "I almost wish it were like that. It would be +humiliating, but simple. The thing that's happened--this lightning +stroke--is far from simple. I may have gone mad. Or, I may have fallen +in love with a ghost." + +Relieved of my first suspicion, I pressed him to tell the story in as +few words as possible. + +It seemed that Terry had arrived at Dun Moat before the Princess; and to +pass the time he began strolling about the gardens. His walk took him +all round the rambling old house, and something made him glance suddenly +up at one of the windows. There was no sound; yet it was as if a voice +had called. And at the window stood a girl. + +She was looking down at him. And though the window was high and overhung +with ivy, Terry's eyes met hers. It was, he repeated, "a lightning +stroke!" + +"She was rather like what Margaret Revell used to be years ago, when I +was a boy and fell in love with her," Terry went on. "I mean, she was +that type. And though she looked even lovelier than Margaret in those +days--_lots_ lovelier, and younger, too--I thought it must be the +Princess. You see, there didn't seem to be any one else it could be. And +at that distance, behind window glass, and after all these years, how +could I be sure? I said to myself, 'So the auto must have come and I've +missed hearing it. She's making her tour of the house without me!' I +couldn't stand that, so I sprinted for the door. And I was just in time +to meet the motor drawing up in front of it. Great Heligoland! The shock +I got when--at that moment of all others, my eyes dazzled with a +dream--I saw the real Princess! Somehow I blundered through the meeting +with her, and didn't utterly disgrace myself. But I made an excuse about +taking a friend to a train, and bolted as soon as I could. I didn't come +straight here. I went back to the window where I'd seen the face--the +vision--the ghost--whatever it was. No one was there. A curtain was +pulled across. And I remembered then that I'd always seen it covered. +Say, Princess, do you think I'm going mad--just when I hoped I was +cured? Was it the spirit of Margaret Revell's lost youth I saw, +or--or----" + +"At which window was the--er--Being?" I cut in sharply. + +"It was close under the twisted chimney." + +"Ah! In the wing where the Scarletts are: the suite of the garden +court!" + +"Yes. I forgot when I thought it must be Margaret, that the window was +in the Scarletts' wing. Of course, Margaret couldn't have gone there. +Princess, you're afraid to tell me, but you _do_ think I'm off my head!" + +"I don't," I assured him. "Just what I think I hardly know myself. But I +shouldn't wonder if you'd stumbled on to the key of the mystery." + +"What mystery?" + +"The mystery of Dun Moat; the mystery of the Scarletts; why they +wouldn't let or sell the place until I happened to think of bribing them +with the suggestion that they should stay on. Captain Burns, it wasn't a +ghost you saw, never fear! It was a real live person--the incarnate +reason why at all costs the Scarletts must stay at Dun Moat." + +Terry blushed with excitement. "Oh, if I could believe you, I should be +almost happy! If that girl--that heavenly girl!--exists at Dun Moat, and +I'm the tenant, I shall meet her. I----" + +He went on rhapsodizing until the look in my eyes pulled him up short! +"What is it?" he asked. "Don't you approve of my wanting to meet her? +Don't you----" + +"I approve with all my heart," I said. "But I'm wondering--_wondering_! +Why are the Scarletts hiding a girl? Has she done something that makes +it wise to keep her out of sight? Or is it _they_ who don't wish her to +be seen, for reasons of their own?" + +"Madam, the porter is asking if your luggage is ready to go down," +announced a maid. + +"Luggage!" Terry and I stared at each other. I had forgotten that I was +going to London. + +"But you can't leave me now!" he implored. + +"I've changed my mind," I explained to the maid. "I shall take another +train!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE RED BAIZE DOOR + + +It ended in my deciding to stop on at the inn, while Terry Burns went +into lodgings. I felt that he was right. I _had_ to stand by! + +It wasn't only the romance of Terry falling out of love with his +Princess, and in love with a face, which held me. There was more in the +affair than that. The impression I had received when the old servant +first opened the door of Dun Moat came back to me sharply--and indeed it +had never gone--an impression that there was something _wrong_ in the +house. + +I didn't for a moment believe that Terry had "seen a ghost," or had an +optical illusion. He'd distinctly beheld a girl at the window--evidently +the same window from which the Scarlett boy had looked at me. Though he +had seen her for a moment only, by questioning I got quite an accurate +description of her appearance: large dark eyes in a delicate oval face; +full red lips, the upper one very short; a cleft chin; a slender little +aquiline nose, and auburn hair parted Madonna fashion on a broad +forehead. She had worn a black dress, Terry thought, cut rather low at +the throat. In order to look out, she had held back the gray curtain; +and recalling the picture she made, it seemed to him that she had a +frightened air. His eyes had met hers, and she had bent forward, as if +she wished to speak. He had paused, but as he did so the girl started, +and drew hastily back. It was then that Terry ran toward the door, +thinking a rejuvenated, rebeautified Margaret Revell was making a tour +of exploration without him. + +Now that he was out of love with the Princess Avalesco, there was no +longer a pressing reason to keep me in the background. For all he cared, +she might misunderstand the situation as much as she confoundedly +pleased! It was decided, therefore, that I should promptly call. I would +be nice to her, and try to get myself invited often to Dun Moat. I would +wander in the garden, where I must be seen by the Scarletts; and as +their presence in the "suite of the garden court" was no secret from me, +it seemed that there would be no indiscretion in my visiting Lady +Scarlett. Once in that wing, it would go hard if I didn't get a peep at +all its occupants! + +I knew that the Scarletts kept up communication with the outer world, so +far as obtaining food was concerned, through the old German woman, whose +name was Hedwig Kramm. She lived in the main part of the house, and was +ostensibly in the service of the tenant, but most of her time was spent +in looking after her master and mistress. I thought that she might be +handy as a messenger. + +I went next day to Dun Moat, Terry having explained me as a friend who'd +helped get the house ready for guests, and thus deserved gratitude from +them. If I had inwardly reproached him for fickleness when he confessed +his _volte face_, I exonerated him at sight of his old love. On +principle, regard for a woman shouldn't change with her looks. But a +man's affection can't spread to the square inch! + +Not that the Princess Avalesco's inches _were_ square. They were, on the +contrary, quite, quite round. But there were so terribly many of them, +mostly in the wrong place! And what was left of her beauty was +concentrated in a small island of features at the centre of a large sea +of face; one of those faces that ought to wear _stays_! Luckily she +needed no pity from me. She didn't know she was a tragic figure--if you +could call her a figure! And she didn't miss Terry's love, because she +loved herself overwhelmingly. + +I succeeded in my object. She took a fancy to me as (so to speak) a +fellow princess. I sauntered through garden paths, hearing about all the +men who wanted to marry her, and was able to get a good look at _the_ +window. There was, however, nothing to see there. An irritating gray +curtain covered it like a shut eyelid. + +"Captain Burns has put some sort of old retainers into that wing it +seems," said Princess Avalesco, seeing me glance up. "He has a right to +do so, of course, as I'm paying a ridiculously low rent for this +wonderful house, and I've more rooms anyhow than I know what to do with. +He tells me the wing is comparatively modern, and not interesting, so I +don't mind." + +I rejoiced that she was resigned! I'm afraid, if _I'd_ been the tenant +of Dun Moat, I should have felt about that "suite of the garden court" +as Fatima felt about Bluebeard's little locked room. In fact, I _did_ +feel so; and though I was able to say "Yes" and "No" and "Oh, really?" +at the right places, I was thinking every moment how to find out what +that dropped curtain hid. + +At first, I had planned to send Lady Scarlett a message by Kramm; but I +reflected that a refusal to receive visitors would raise a barrier +difficult to pass except by force. And force, unless we could be sure of +an affair for the police, was out of the question. + +"_L'audace! Toujours l'audace!_" was the maxim which rang through my +head; and before I had been long with the Princess Avalesco that day I'd +resolved to try its effect. + +My hostess and her companion had arranged to motor to Dawlish directly +after tea. They invited me to go with them, or if I didn't care to do +that, they offered to put off the excursion, rather than my visit should +be cut short. I begged them to go, however, asking permission to remain +in their absence to chat with the housekeeper, and learn whether various +things ordered at Captain Burns' request had arrived. + +With this excuse I got rid of the ladies, and as the new servants had +been engaged by me, I was _persona grata_ in the house. Five minutes +after the big car had spun away, I was hurrying through a long corridor +that led to the end wing. As it had been built for bachelors, there was +only one means of direct communication with the house. This was on the +ground floor, and all I knew of it by sight was a door covered with red +baize. I judged that this door would be locked, and that Kramm would +have a key. If I could make myself heard on the other side, I hoped that +the Scarletts would think Kramm had mislaid her key, and would come to +let her in. + +I was right. The red door was provided with a modern Yale lock. This +looked so new that I fancied it had been lately supplied; and, if so, +the Scarletts--not Terry--had provided it! Now, a surface of baize is +difficult to pound upon with any hope of being heard at a distance. I +resorted to tapping the silver ball handle of my sunshade on the door +frame; and this I did again and again without producing the effect I +wanted. + +The sole result was a horrid noise which I feared might attract the +attention of some servant. With each rap I threw a glance over my +shoulder. Luckily, however, the long passage with its stone floor, its +row of small, deep windows, and its dark figures in armour, was far from +any part of the house where servants came and went. + +At last I heard a sound behind the baize. It was another door opening, +and a child's voice squeaked, "Who's there? Is that you, Krammie?" + +For an instant I was taken aback--but only for an instant. "No," I +confessed in honeyed tones, "it isn't Krammie; but its someone with +something nice for you. Can't you open the door?" + +A latch turned, and a cautious crack revealed one foxy eye and half a +freckled nose. "Oh, it's _you_, is it?" was the greeting. "I saw you in +the garden." + +"And I saw you at the window," said I. "That's why I've brought you a +present. I like boys." + +"_What_ have you brought?" was the canny question. + +Ah, what _had_ I brought? I must make up my mind quickly, for to cement +a friendship with this boy might be important. "A wrist-watch," I said, +deciding on a sacrifice. "A ripping watch, with radium figures you can +see in the dark. It's on a jolly gray suede strap. I'll give it to you +now--that is, if you'd like it.' + +"Ye--es, I'd like it," said little Fox-face. "But my mother and father +don't want any one except Kramm to come in here. I'd get a whopping if I +let you in." + +The door was wider open now. I could easily have pushed past the child; +but I was developing a plan more promising. + +"Are your parents at home?" I primly asked. + +"Yes. They're home, all right. They're never anywhere else, these days! +But they're in the garden court. I was going up to my room when I heard +the row at this door. I thought it must be Krammie." + +"Look here," I said, "would your mother mind if you came out with me? I +know her, so I don't see why she should object. I'd give you the watch, +and a tophole tip, too. I think boys like tips! What do you say?" + +"I'll come for a bit," he decided. "Mother'd be in a wax if she knew, +and so'd Father! But what I was going upstairs for when I heard you was +a punishment. I was sent to my room. Nobody'll look for me till food +time, and then 'twill only be Kramm. _She's_ all right, Krammie is! She +won't give me away. She'll let me in again with her key, and they won't +know I've been out. But we've got to find her." + +"I'll find her," I promised. "Come along!" + +He came, sneaking out like the little fox he was. I caught a glimpse of +two steps leading down to a stone vestibule, and beyond that a heavy +wooden door which the boy had shut behind him before beginning to parley +with me. Gently as I could, I closed the baize door, which locked itself +automatically; and the child being safely barred out from his own +quarters, I broke it to him that we must delay seeing Kramm. She'd be +sure to fuss, and want to bundle him back! We'd better have our fun +first. There was time. + +Fox-face agreed, though with reluctance, which showed his fear of that +"whopping." But he brightened when I proposed foraging in the big hall +for some cakes left from tea. To my joy they were still on the table, +and, seizing a plate of chocolate eclairs, I rejoined the boy on the +terrace. We sat on a cushioned stone seat, and Fox-face (who said that +his name was "the same as his father's, Bertie") began industriously to +stuff. He did not, however, forget the watch or the tip. With his mouth +full he demanded both, and got them. In his delight, he warmed to +something more than fox, and I snatched this auspicious moment. +Delicately, as if walking on eggs (at sixpence each), I questioned him. +How did he like being mewed up in one wing of his own home? What did he +do to amuse himself? Wasn't it dull with no one to play with? + +"Well, of course, there's Cecil," he said, munching. "I liked her at +first. She's pretty, about as pretty as you are, or maybe prettier. And +she brought me presents, just like you have. But she's in bed most of +the time now, so she's no fun any more. I sit with her sometimes, to see +she keeps still, and doesn't go to the window. She did go one day, when +I went out for a minute, because I thought she was asleep. But Mother +came and caught her at it." + +"Oh, yes, Cecil!" I echoed. "That pretty girl with dark eyes, and hair +the colour of chestnuts. What relation is she to you?" + +"I s'pose she's my cousin," said Bertie. "That's what she told me the +day she came--when she brought the presents. But Mother says she's no +_proper_ relation. How do _you_ know about her hair and eyes? You didn't +see her, did you? Mother'll have a fit if you did! She and Father don't +want any one to see Cecil. The minute she told them all about herself +they made her hide." + +I was thinking hard. "Cecil" was the girl's name! That Lord Scarlett who +died in Australia had been Cecil. Grandmother had talked of him, and +said he was the "only decent one of the lot, though a ne'er-do-weel." +Now, the likeness of the name, and the boy's babblings, made me suspect +the plot of an old-fashioned melodrama. + +"Oh, I guessed about her hair and eyes, because you said she was so +pretty; and dark eyes and auburn hair are the prettiest of all," I +assured him gaily. "I'm great at guessing things; I can guess like +magic! Now, I guess the presents she brought you were from Australia." + +"So they were!" laughed Bertie. "That's what she said. And she told me +stories about things out there, before she got so weak." + +"Poor Cecil! What's the matter with her?" I ventured. + +"I don't know," mumbled the boy, interested in an eclair. "She cries a +lot. Mother says she's in a decline." + +"Oughtn't she to see a doctor?" I wondered. + +"Mother thinks a doctor'd be no good. Besides, I don't 'spect she'd let +one see Cecil, anyhow. I told you she won't allow any one in." + +"Why does your mother give Cecil a room whose window looks over the +moat, if it's so important she should hide?" I persisted. + +"All the rooms in that wing where we live are like that," Bertie +explained. "They've windows on the little court inside, and windows +outside, on the moat. But the outside window in Cecil's room is nailed +shut now, so she couldn't open it if she tried. And those little old +panes set in lead are thick as _thick_! I don't believe you could smash +one unless you had a hammer. Father says you couldn't. I mean, he says +_Cecil_ couldn't. And since the day Mother scolded Cecil for looking +out, the curtain's nailed down. It doesn't matter, though. Plenty of +light comes from the garden side." + +"Where was Cecil before you went to live in the wing?" I asked. "Was she +in the house?" + +"Oh, she'd been in that wing for weeks before Father and I moved in," +said the boy. "Mother slept there at night. And Cecil could look out as +much as she liked, because there was no one about except us, and +Krammie. Krammie doesn't count! She's the same as the family, because +she's so old--she nursed Mother when Mother was a baby. Seems funny she +_could_ have been a baby, doesn't it? But Krammie loves her better than +any one, except me. She never splits on me to them if I do anything. But +now I've eaten all the cakes, so we'd better go and find Krammie. If we +don't, she may go into the wing first. There'd be the _devil_ to pay +then!" + +It seemed to me that there was the devil to pay already--a devil in +woman's form--unless my imagination had made a fool of me. I shivered +with disgust at the thought of those two witches--the middle-aged one +and the hag. I hope I didn't take their wickedness for granted because +they were both _Germans_, though we have got into that habit in the last +five years, with all we've gone through, and with the villains who used +to be Russian in novels now being German! + +If I did hand over my prize to the elder witch, the boy was lost to me. +I should never get a second chance to catch my fox with cake! And even +were I sure that he wouldn't blab, or that Kramm wouldn't, the secret of +our meeting was certain to leak out. In that case, the red baize door +would never again open to my knock. So what was I to do? + +"Come along," urged the boy. Having got all he could get out of me, he +began to sulk. "I don't want to stay with you any more." + +"Wait a minute," I pleaded. "I'm thinking of something--something to do +for _you_." + +Though I wasn't a German, the most diabolical plot had just jumped into +my head! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +"WHEN IN DOUBT, PLAY A TRUMP" + + +It was a case of now or never! + +"Look here, Bertie," I said, "what I've been thinking of is this: you'd +better hide, and let me go alone to find Krammie. _Suppose_ your mother +has looked in your room! She'll know from Kramm that the ladies are +motoring, so she may come out to speak with Kramm and ask for you. +Squeeze into this clump of lilac bushes at the end of the terrace! Trust +me to make everything right, and be back soon." + +The picture of his mother on the warpath transformed Bertie to a jelly. +He was in the lilac bushes almost before I'd finished; and I hurried +off, ostensibly to seek Kramm. I did not, however, seek far, or in any +direction where she was likely to be. Presently I came back and in my +turn plunged into the bushes. I broke the news that I hadn't seen Kramm. +It looked as if the worst had happened. But Bertie must buck up. I'd +thought of a splendid plan! "How would you like to stay with me," I +wheedled, "until your mother is ready to crawl to get you back, cry and +sob, and swear not to punish you?" + +The boy looked doubtful. "I've heard my mother _swear_," he said, "but +never cry or sob. Do you think she would?" + +"I'm sure," I urged. "And you'll have the time of your life with me! All +the money you want for toys and chocolates. And you needn't go to bed +till you choose." + +"What kind of toys?" he bargained. "Tanks and motor cars that go?" + +"Rath_er_! And marching soldiers, and a gramophone." + +"Righto, I'll come! And I don't care a darn if I never see Mother or +Father again!" decided the cherub. + +I would have given as much for a taxi as Richard the Third for a horse; +but I'd walked from the village, and must return in the same way. We +started at once, hand in hand, stepping out as Bertie Scarlett the +second had never, perhaps, stepped before. It was only a mile to Dawley +St. Ann, and in twenty minutes I had smuggled my treasure into the inn +by a little-used side door. This led straight to my rooms, and I whisked +the boy in without being seen. So far, so good. But what to do with him +next was the question! + +I saw that, in such an emergency, Terry Burns would hinder more than +help. He was cured of the listlessness, the melancholia, which had been +the aftermath of shell shock; but he was rather like a male Sleeping +Beauty just roused from a hundred years' nap--full of reawakened fire +and vigour, though not yet knowing what use to make of his brand-new +energy. It was my job to advise _him_, not his to counsel me! And if I +flung at his head my version of the "Cecil" story, his one impulse would +be to batter down the sported oak of the garden court suite. + +He and I had agreed, in calm moments, that it would be vain and worse +than vain to appeal to the police. But calm moments were ended, +especially for Terry. _He_ might think that the police would act on the +story we could now patch together. _I_ didn't think so, or I wouldn't +have stolen the heir of all the Scarletts. + +Well, I _had_ stolen him. Here he was in my small sitting room, stuffing +chocolates bestowed on me by Terry. On top of uncounted cakes they would +probably make him _sick_; and I couldn't send for a doctor without +endangering the plot. + +No! the child must be disposed of, and there wasn't a minute to waste. +Terry's lodgings were as unsuited for a hiding-place as my rooms at the +inn. Both of us were likely to be suspected when Bertie was missed. I +didn't much care for myself, but I did care for Terry, because my +business was to keep him out of trouble, not to get him into it, even +for his love's sake. + +Suddenly, as I concentrated on little Fox-face, and how to camouflage +him for my purpose, Jim Courtenaye's description of the child drifted +into my head. + +_Jim!_ The thought of Jim just then was like picking up a pearl on the +way to the poor-house! + +_Dear_ Jim! I hadn't been sure what my feeling for him was, but at this +minute I adored him. I adored him because he was a wild-western devil +capable of lassoing enemies as he would cows. I adored him because the +fire of his nature blazed out in his red hair and his black eyes. Jim +was an anachronism from some barbaric century of Courtenayes. Jim was a +precious heirloom. He had called the Scarlett boy a "venomous little +brute!" I could hear again his voice through the telephone "_I'd do more +than that for you_." + +Idiot that I was, in that I'd _rung him off_! And I hadn't made a sign +of life since, though he was sure to have heard that I was at Dawley St. +Ann, within forty miles of the Abbey and Courtenaye Coombe. + +I could have torn my hair, only it's too pretty to waste. Instead, I ran +into the next room, pulled the bell-rope and demanded the village taxi +immediately, if not sooner. Then I flew back to Bertie and made him up +for a new part. + +This was done--to his mingled amusement and disgust--by means of a +tight-fitting, veiled motor-hood of my own and a scarlet cape, short for +a grown-up girl, but long for a small boy. This produced a fair +imitation of what the police would call "a female child," should they +catch sight of my companion. But as it happened, they did not; nor did +any one else at Dawley St. Ann, so far as I was aware. By my +instructions the taxi drew up at the side door, and while Timmins, the +chauffeur, was starting the engine (he'd stopped it, as I kept him +waiting), I rushed Bertie into the car. Once in, I squashed him down on +the floor, seated tailor fashion, with a perfectly good, perfectly new +box of burnt almonds on his lap. + +"Drive as fast as you dare without being held up," I ordered; and +Timmins, lately demobbed from the Tank Corps, obeyed with violence. The +distance was forty miles; the hour of starting, six; and at seven-thirty +we were spinning up the long avenue at Courtenaye Abbey; good going for +Devonshire hills! + +I took the chance that Jim might be at the Abbey rather than at +Courtenaye Coombe, where he lodged. The way was shorter and--there were +as many hiding-places in the Abbey as at Dun Moat. Luck was with me! It +had been one of the days when Jim opened the Abbey to tourists, and he +was late because he'd gone the rounds with the guardian. His small car, +which he drove himself, stood before the door, and from that door he +flew like a Jack-in-the-box as we dashed up. + +"Elizabeth! I mean Princess!" he exclaimed. + +"Call me _anything_!" I whispered, recklessly, bending out of the car as +we shook hands. "Mum's the word! But look what I've brought; something I +want you to _store_ for me." + +A jerk of my head introduced him to a red-cloaked, gray-veiled child +asleep on the taxi floor. + +Most men would have shown some sign of surprise or other emotion. But +Jim Courtenaye's _sang-froid_ is a tribute to the cinema life he must +have led even before he burst into the war. Whether he thought that the +object in red was my own offspring, concealed from the world till now, I +don't know and probably never shall. All I do know is that, judging from +his expression, it might have been a borrowed shoulder of veal. + +Deftly he scooped Bertie up without rousing him, and had borne the +bundle gently through the open door before it occurred to Timmins to +turn his head. "Hurray!" thought I. "Not a soul has seen the little +wretch between Dun Moat and here!" + +I jumped out of the car and followed Jim into the house, which I'd never +entered since it had been let to him. He had not paused in the great +hall, but was carrying his burden toward a small room which Grandmother +had used for receiving tenants, and such bothersome business. I flashed +in after him, and realized that Jim had fitted it up as a private +sanctum. + +Somehow I didn't like him to go on fancying quaint things about my +character, and by the time he'd deposited Bertie on a huge sofa like a +young bed, I had plunged into my story. + +I told him all from beginning to end; and when I'd reached the latter, +to my surprise Jim jumped up and shook my hands. "Are you congratulating +me?" I asked. + +"No. It's because I'm so pleased I don't need to!" + +"You mean?" + +"Well, let's put it that I'm glad Burns may have to be congratulated +some day on being engaged to the Baroness Scarlett, instead of to--the +Princess Miramare." + +So, he _had_ known of my activities, and had misunderstood my interest +in Terry! Brighteners alas! are always being misunderstood. + +"I'd forgotten," I said, primly, "that the _women_ of the Scarlett +family inherit the title if there's no son. That would account for a +_lot_!... And so you don't think my theory of what's going on at Dun +Moat is too melodramatic?" + +"My experience is," said Jim, "that nothing is ever quite so +melodramatic as real life. I believe this Cecil girl must be a +legitimate daughter of the chap who died in Australia. She must have +proofs, and they're probably where the Scarlett family can't lay hands +on them, otherwise she'd be under the daisies before this. That Defarge +type you talk about doesn't stop at trifles, especially if it's made in +Germany. And we both know Scarlett's reputation. I needn't call him +'Lord Scarlett' any more! But what beats me is this: why did the fly +walk into the spider-web? If the girl had common sense she must have +seen she wouldn't be a welcome visitor, coming to turn her uncle out of +home and title for himself and son. Yet you say she brought presents for +the kid." + +"I wonder," I thought aloud, "if she could have meant to suggest some +friendly compromise? Maybe she'd heard a lot from her father about the +marvellous old place. Grandmother said, I remember, that Cecil Scarlett +was so poor he lived in Australia like a labourer, though his father +died here, while he was there, and he inherited the title. Think what +the description of Dun Moat would be like to a girl brought up in the +bush! And maybe her mother was of the lower classes, as no one knew +about the marriage. What if the daughter came into money from sheep or +mines, or something, and meant to propose living at Dun Moat with her +uncle's family? I can _see_ her, arriving _en surprise_, full of +enthusiasm and loving-kindness, which wouldn't 'cut ice' with Madame +Defarge!" + +"Not much!" agreed Jim, grimly. "_She'd_ calmly begin knitting the +shroud!" + +So we talked on, thrashing out one theory after another, but sure in any +case that there _was_ a prisoner at Dun Moat. Jim made me quite proud by +applauding my plot, and didn't need to be asked before offering to help +carry it out. Indeed, as my "sole living relative" (he put it that way), +he would now take the whole responsibility upon himself. The police were +not to be called in except as a last resort: and that night or next day, +according to the turn of the game, the trump card I'd pulled out of the +pack should be played for all it was worth! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE RAT TRAP + + +Did you ever see a wily gray rat caught in a trap? Or, still more +thrilling, a _pair_ of wily gray rats? + +This is what I saw that same night when I'd motored back from Courtenaye +Abbey to Dawley St. Ann. + +But let me begin with what happened first. + +Jim wished to go with me, to be on hand in case of trouble. But the +reason why I'd hoped to find him at the Abbey was because we have a +secret room there which everyone knows (including tourists at a shilling +a head), and at least one more of which no outsiders have been told. The +latter might come in handy, and I begged Jim to "stand by," pending +developments. + +I'd asked Terry to dine and had forgotten the invitation; consequently +he was at the inn in a worried state when I returned. He feared there +had been an accident, and had not known where to seek for my remains. +But in my private parlour over a hasty meal (I was starving!) I told him +the tale as I had told it to Jim. + +Of course he behaved just as I'd expected--leaped to his feet and +proposed breaking into the wing of the garden court. + +"They may kill her to-night!" he raged. "They'll be capable of anything +when they find the boy gone." + +I'd hardly begun to point out that the girl had never been in less +danger, when someone tapped at the door. We both jumped at the sound, +but it was only a maid of the inn. She announced that a servant from Dun +Moat was asking for me, on business of importance. + +Terry and I threw each other a look as I said, "Give Captain Burns time +to go; then bring the person here." + +Terry went at my command, but not far; he was ordered to the public +parlour--to toy with Books of Beauty. Of course it was old Hedwig Kramm +who had come. + +Her eyes darted hawk glances round the room, seeming to penetrate the +chintz valances on chairs and sofa! She announced that the son of Lord +Scarlett was lost. Search was being made. She had called to learn if I +had seen him. + +"Why do you think of _me_?" I inquired arrogantly. + +The boy had been noticed peeping out of the window when I walked in the +garden. He had said that I was "a pretty lady," and that he wished he +were down there with me. He would get me to take him in my motor, if I +had one. + +I shrugged my shoulders. "I can't tell you where he is," I said, "and +even if I could, why should I? Let Lord and Lady Scarlett call, if they +wish to catechise me." + +"They cannot," objected the old woman. "Her ladyship is prostrated with +grief. His lordship is with her." + +"As they please," I returned. "I have nothing more to say--to you." + +The creature was driven to bay. She loved the "venomous little brute!" +"Would you have something more to say if they did come?" she faltered. +"_Something about the child?_" + +"I might," I drawled, "rack my memory for the time when I saw him last." + +"You _do_ know where he is!" she squealed. + +"I'm afraid," I said, "that I must ask you to leave my room." + +She bounced out as if she'd been shot from an air gun! + +It was ten o'clock, but light enough for me to see her scuttling along +the road as I peered through the window. When she had scuttled far +enough, I called to Terry. + +"The Scarletts are coming!" I sang to the tune of "The Campbells." +"Whether it's maternal instinct or a guilty conscience or _what_, Madame +Defarge has guessed that I've got the child. She'll be doubly sure when +Kramm reports my gay quips and quirks. To get here by the shortest and +quietest way, the Scarletts must pass your lodgings. The instant you see +them, take Jones and race to Dun Moat. When you reach there you'll know +what to do. But in case they hide the girl as a Roland for my Oliver, +I'm going to play the most beautiful game of bluff you ever saw." + +"I wish I _could_ see it!" said Terry. + +"But you'd rather see Cecil! You'd better start now. It's on the cards +that the Scarletts came part way with Kramm to wait for her news." + +Whether they had done this or not, I don't know. But the effect on Terry +of the suggestion was good. And certainly the pair did arrive almost +before it seemed that Kramm's short legs could have carried her to Dun +Moat. + +They gloomed into my sitting room like a pair of funeral mutes. + +"My servant tells me you have seen my son," the woman I had known as +Lady Scarlett began. + +"She has imagination!" I smiled. + +"You mean to say you have _not_ seen him?" blustered Fox-face Pere. + +"I say neither that I have nor that I haven't," I replied. "The little I +know about the child inclines me to believe he wasn't too happy at home, +so why----" + +"Oh, you _admit_ knowing something!" The woman caught me up like a +dropped stitch in her knitting. "I believe you've got the child here. We +can have you arrested for kidnapping. The police----" + +I laughed. "Have the police ever _seen_ the little lamb? If they have, +they might doubt the force of his attraction on a woman of my type. And +you have no _proof_. But I'll let the local police look under my bed and +into my wardrobes, if you'll let them search the suite you occupy at Dun +Moat on proof _I_ can produce." + +"What are you hinting at?" snapped the late Lord Scarlett. "Do you +intimate that we've hidden our own child at home and come to you with +some blackmailing scheme----" + +"No," I stopped him. "I don't think you're in a position to try a +blackmail 'stunt.' My 'hints,' as you call them, concerned the _real_ +Lady Scarlett; the legitimate daughter of your elder brother Cecil, and +his namesake." + +As I flung this bomb I sprang up and stood conspicuously close to the +old-fashioned bell rope. + +The man and woman sprang up also. The former had turned yellowish green, +the latter brick-red. They looked like badly lit stage demons. + +"So _that's_ it!" spluttered the German wine merchant's daughter, when +she could speak. + +"That's it," I echoed. "Now, do you still want to call the police and +charge me with kidnapping? You can search my rooms yourselves if you +like. You'll find nothing. _Can you say the same of your own?_" + +"Yes!" Scarlett jerked the word out. "We can and do say the same. Do you +think we're fools enough to leave the place alone with only Kramm on +guard, if we had someone concealed there?" + +"Ah, the cap fits!" I cried. "I didn't accuse you. As you said, I merely +'hinted.'" + +I scored a point, to judge by their looks. But they had scored against +me also. I realized that my guess had not been wrong. There was a secret +hiding-place to which the garden court suite had access. That was one +reason why the Scarletts had chosen the suite. By this time Terry Burns +was there, with Kramm laughing in her sleeve while pretending to be +outraged at his intrusion. If only _I_ were on the spot instead of +Terry, I might have a sporting chance to ferret out the secret, for +I--so to speak--had been reared in an atmosphere of "hidie-holes" for +priests, cavaliers, and kings, of whom several in times of terror had +found asylum at our old Abbey. But Terry Burns was an American. It +wasn't in his blood to detect secret springs and locks! + +I ceased to depend on what Terry might do, and "fell back upon myself." + +"You talk like a madwoman!" sneered Madame Defarge. But her hands +trembled. She must have missed her knitting! + +"Mine is inspired madness," said I. And then I did feel an inspiration +coming--as one feels a sneeze in church. "Of course," I went on, "if +you've hidden the poor drugged girl in that cubby-hole under the twisted +chimney----" + +The woman would have sprung at me if Scarlett had not grabbed her arm. +My hand was on the tassel of the bell rope; and joy was in my heart, for +at last I'd grabbed their best trump. If Bertie The Second was the Ace, +the twisted chimney had supplied its Jack! + +"Keep your head, Hilda," Scarlett warned his wife. "There's a vile plot +against us. This--er--lady and her American partner have tricked us into +letting Dun Moat, with the object of blackmail. We must be careful----" + +"No," I corrected him, "you must be _frank_. So will I. We knew nothing +of your secret when we came to Dun Moat. We got on the track by +accident. As a matter of fact, Captain Burns saw the real Lady Scarlett +at the window, and she would have called to him for help if she could. +No doubt by that time she'd realized that you were slowly doing her to +death----" + +"What a devilish accusation!" Scarlett boomed. "Since you know so much, +in self-defence I'll tell you the true history of this girl. We _have_ +taken my brother's daughter into the house. We have given her shelter. +She is _not_ legitimate. My brother was married in England before going +to Australia, and his wife--an actress--still lives. Therefore, to make +known Cecil's parentage would be to accuse her father of bigamy and soil +the name. Hearing the truth about him turned her brain. She fell into a +kind of fit and was very ill, raving in delirium for days on end. My +wife was nursing her in the garden court rooms when you came with Burns +and begged us to let the house. My poverty tempted me to consent. For +the honour of my family I wished to hide the girl! And frankly (you ask +for frankness!), had she died despite my wife's care, I should have +tried to give the body--_private burial_. Now, you've heard the whole +unvarnished tale." + +"Doubtless I've heard the tale told to that poor child," I said. "At +last I understand how you persuaded her to hide like a criminal while +you two thoroughly cooked up your plot against her. But the tale _isn't_ +unvarnished! It's all varnished and nothing else. I'm not my +grandmother's grand-daughter for nothing! What _she_ didn't know and +remember about the 'noble families of England'--especially in her own +country--wasn't worth knowing! I inherit some of her stories and all of +her memory. The last Lord Scarlett, your elder brother, went to +Australia because that actress he was madly in love with had a husband +who popped up and made himself disagreeable. Oh, I can prove +_everything_ against you! And I know where the true Lady Scarlett is at +this minute. You can prove _nothing_ against me. You don't know where +your son is, and you won't know till you hand that poor child from +Australia over to Captain Burns and me. If you do that, and she recovers +from your wife's '_nursing_,' I can promise for all concerned that +bygones shall be bygones, and your boy shall be returned to you. I dare +say that's 'compounding a felony' or something. But I'll go as far as +that. What's your answer?" + +The two glared into one another's eyes. I thought each said to the +other, "This was _your_ idea. It's all your fault. I _told_ you how it +would end!" But wise pots don't waste time in calling kettles black. +They saved their soot-throwing for me. + +"You are indeed a true descendant of old Elizabeth Courtenaye," rasped +the man. "You're even more dangerous and unscrupulous than your +grandmother! My wife and I are innocent. But you and your American are +in a position to turn appearances against us. Besides, you have our son +in your power; and rather than the police should be called into this +affair by _either_ side, my brother's daughter--ill as she is--shall be +handed over to you when Bertie is returned to us." + +"That won't do," I objected. "Bertie is at a distance. I can't +communicate with--his guardian--till the post office opens to-morrow. On +condition that Lady Scarlett is released _to-night_, however, and _only_ +on that condition, I will guarantee that the boy shall be with you by +ten-thirty A. M. Meanwhile, you can be packing to clear out of Dun Moat, +as I hardly think you'll care to claim your niece's hospitality longer, +in the circumstances." + +"We have no money!" the woman choked. + +"You've forgotten what you took from Lady Scarlett. And six weeks' +advance of rent paid you by Captain Burns: twelve hundred pounds. He'll +forget, too, if you offer the right inducement. You could have had more +from him, if you hadn't insisted on the clause leaving you free to turn +your tenant out at a fortnight's notice after the first month. I +understand _now_ why you wanted it. If the girl had signed her name to a +document you'd prepared, leaving her money to you--shares in some +Australian mine, perhaps--it would have been convenient to you for her +to die. And then----" + +"Why waste time in accusations?" quailed Scarlett. "_We_ won't waste it +defending ourselves! If you're so anxious to get hold of the girl, come +home with us and we'll turn over all responsibility to you." + +"Very well," I said, and pulled the bell. + +The woman started. "What are you doing that for?" she jerked. + +"I wish to order the taxi to take us to Dun Moat," I explained. "I +confess I'm not so fond of your society that I'd care to walk a mile +with you at night along a lonely road. I'm not a coward, I hope. But +you'd be two against one. And you might hold me up----" + +"As you've held us up!" the man snapped. + +"Exactly," I agreed. + + * * * * * + +Wolves in sheep's clothing have to behave like sheep when they're in +danger of having their nice white wool stripped off. No doubt this is +the reason that, when we arrived at the outside entrance of the +bachelor's wing, my companions were meek as Mary's lamb. + +Inside the suite of the garden court we found Terry Burns and his man +raging, and Kramm sulking, in a room with a broken window. Terry had +smashed the glass in order to get in, but his search had been vain. To +do the old servant justice, she had the instinct of loyalty. I believe +that no bribe would have induced her to betray her mistress. It remained +for the Scarletts to give themselves away, which they did--with the +secret of the room under the twisted chimney. + +The room was built into the huge thickness of the wall which formed a +junction between the old house and the more modern wing. The wonderful +chimney was not a true chimney at all, but gave ventilation and light, +also a means of escape by way of a rope ladder over the roof. But the +rope had fallen to pieces long ago, and the prisoner of these days might +never have found means of escape, had it not been for that trump-card +named Bertie. The room under the twisted chimney would have been a +convenient home substitute for the family vault. + +Fate was for us, however--and for her. Even the Lady with the Shears +might have felt compunction in cutting short the thread of so fair, so +sweet a life as Cecil Scarlett's. Anyhow, that was what Terry said in +favour of Destiny, when some days had passed, and it was clear that with +good care the girl would live. + +We didn't take her to the inn, as I had planned when keeping the taxi, +for Terry--caring less than nothing now for the night's rest of Princess +Avalesco--ruthlessly routed the ladies from their beauty sleep. What +they thought about us, and about the half-conscious invalid, I don't +know; for true to my bargain with the Scarletts, no explanations +detrimental to them were made. I think it passed with the ladies that +the girl had arrived ill, in a late train; and that Terry, emboldened by +love of her, begged his tenant's hospitality. So, you see, they were +partly right. Besides, the Princess Avalesco had lived in Roumania, +where _anything_ can happen. + +When Jim brought back Bertie, he brought also a doctor--by request. The +doctor was his friend; and Jim's friends are generally ready to--well, +to overlook unconventionalities. + +I told you Princess Avalesco loved herself so much that she didn't miss +Terry's love. She missed it so little that after a few weeks' romance +she proposed a bedside wedding at Dun Moat, with herself as hostess; +for, of course, nothing would induce her to shorten her tenancy! + +Cecil had confessed to falling in love with Terry through the window, at +first sight. + +Therefore the wedding did take place, with Jim Courtenaye as best man, +and myself as "Matron of Honour," as Americans say. Cecil looked so +divine as a bride that no woman who saw her could have helped wishing to +be married against a background of pillows! I almost envied her. But Jim +said that he didn't envy Terry. His ideal of a bride was entirely +different, and he was prepared to describe her to me some day when I was +in a good humour! + + + + +BOOK III + +THE DARK VEIL + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE GIRL WITH THE LETTER + + +Brightening continued to be fun. As time went on I brightened charming +people, queer people, people with their hearts in the right place and +their "H's" in the wrong one. I was an expensive luxury, but it paid to +have me, as it pays to get a good doctor or the best quality in boots. + +After several successful operations and some lurid adventures, I was +doing so well on the whole that I felt the need of a secretary. How to +hit on the right person was the problem, for I wanted her young, but not +too young; pretty, but not too pretty; lively, not giddy; sensible, yet +never a bore; a lady, but not a howling swell; accomplished, but not +overwhelming; in fact, perfection. + +This time I didn't hide my light under a bushel of initials, nor in a +box at a newspaper office. I announced that the "Princess di Miramare +requires immediately the services of a gentlewoman (aged from twenty-one +to thirty) for secretarial work four or five hours six days of the week. +Must be intelligent and experienced typist-stenographer. Salary, three +guineas a week. Apply personally, between 9:30 and 11:30 A. M. No +letters considered." + +I gave the address of my own flat and awaited developments with high +hope; for I conceitedly expected an "ad." under my own name to attract a +good class of applicants. + +It appeared in several London dailies and succeeded like a July sale. I +wouldn't have believed that there were such crowds of pretty typists on +earth! Luckily, the lift boy was young, so he enjoyed the rush. + +As for me, I felt like a spider that has got religion and pities its +flies; there were so many flies--I mean girls--and each in one way or +other was more desirable than the rest! I might have been reduced to +tossing up a copper or having the applicants draw lots, if something +very special hadn't happened. + +The twenty-sixth girl brought a letter of introduction from Robert +Lorillard. + +_Robert Lorillard!_ Why, the very name is a thrill! + +Of course I was in love with Robert Lorillard when I was seventeen, just +before the war. Everybody was in love with him that year. It was the +fashionable thing to be. Whenever Grandmother let me come up to town I +went to the theatre to adore dear Robert. Women used to boast that +they'd seen him fifty times in some favourite play. But never did he act +on the stage so stirring a part as that thrust upon him in August, 1914! +I _must_ let the girl with the letter wait while I tell you the story, +in case you've not heard the true version. + +While she hung upon my decision, and I gazed at Lorillard's signature +(worth guineas as an autograph), my mind raced back along the years. + +Oh, that gorgeous spring before the war! + +I wasn't "_out_"; but somehow I contrived to be "_in_." That is, in all +the things that I'd have died rather than miss. + +We were absurdly poor, but Grandmother knew everyone; and that April, +while she was looking for a town house and arranging to present me, we +stayed with the Duchess of Stane. Her daughter, Lady June, was _the_ +girl in Society just then. She had been The Girl for several years. She +was the prettiest, the most original, and the most daring one in her +set. She wasn't twenty-three, but she'd picked up the most extraordinary +reputation! I should think there could hardly have been more interest in +the doings of "professional beauties" in old days than was taken in +hers. No illustrated weekly was complete without her newest portrait +done by the photographer of the minute; no picture Daily existed that +wouldn't pay well for a snapshot of Lady June Dana, even with a foot out +of focus, or a hand as big as her head! And she _loved_ it all! She +lived, lived every minute! It didn't seem as if there could be a world +without June. + +I was only a flapper, but I worshipped at the shrine, and the goddess +didn't mind being worshipped. She used to let me perch on her bed when +she took her morning tea, looking a dream in a rosebud-wreathed bit of +tulle called a boudoir cap, and a nighty like the first outline sketch +for a ballgown. She reeled off yards of stuff for my benefit about the +men who loved her (their name was legion!), and among others was Robert +Lorillard. + +All the clever people who "did" things came to Stane House, provided +they were good to look at and interesting in themselves. Lorillard was +there nearly every Sunday for luncheon, and at other times, too. I +couldn't help staring at him, though I knew it was rude, for he was so +handsome, so--almost divine! + +One laughs at writers who make their heroes "Greek statues," but really +Lorillard _was_ like the Apollo Belvedere, in the Vatican: those perfect +features, that high yet winning air (someone has said) "of the greatest +statue that ever was a gentleman, the greatest gentleman that ever was a +statue." + +I think June met Lorillard away from home often: and once, when +Grandmother and I had gone to live in our own house, and I'd been +presented, June took me behind the scenes after a matinee at his +theatre. He was charming to me, and I loved him more than ever, with +that delicious, hopeless, agonizing love of seventeen. + +People talked about June with Lorillard, but no more than with a dozen +other men. Nobody dreamed of their marrying, and none less than she +herself. As for him, though he was madly in love, he must have known +that as an eligible he'd have as much chance with a royal princess as +with Lady June Dana. + +It was in this way that matters stood when the war broke out. And among +the first volunteers of note went Robert Lorillard. No doubt he would +have gone sooner or later in any case. But being taken up, thrown down, +smiled at, and frowned on by June was getting upon his nerves, as even I +could see, so war--fighting, and dying perhaps--must have been a welcome +counter-irritant. + +The season was over, but Grandmother kept on the house she had taken, as +an _ouvroir_, where she mobilized a regiment of women for war work. It +was in the same square as Stane House, where the Duchess was mobilizing +a rival regiment. June and I worked under our different taskmistresses; +but I saw a good deal of her--and all that went on. The moment she heard +that Lorillard had offered himself, and was furiously training for a +commission, she was a changed girl. She was like a creature burning with +fever; but I thought her more beautiful than she'd ever been, with that +rose-flame in her cheeks and blue fire in her eyes. + +One afternoon she got me off from work, asking me to shop with her. But +instead of going to Bond Street, we made straight for Robert Lorillard's +flat in St. James's Square. How he could have been there that day I +don't know, for he was in some training camp or other I suppose; but +she'd sent an urgent wire, no doubt, begging him to get a few hours' +leave. + +Anyhow, there he _was_--waiting for us. I shall never forget his +face--though he forgot my existence! June forgot it also. I'd been +dragged at her chariot wheels (it was a taxi!) to play propriety; my +first appearance as a chaperon. I might as well have been a fly on the +wall for both of them! + +Robert opened the door of the flat himself when we rang (servants were +superfluous for that interview!) and they looked at each other, those +two. Eyes drank eyes! Lorillard didn't seem to see me. I drifted vaguely +in after June, and effaced myself superficially. The most rarefied sense +of honour couldn't be expected, perhaps, in a flapper whose favourite +stage hero was about to play _the_ part of his life--unrehearsed--with +the said flapper's most admired heroine. + +Instead of shutting myself up in a cupboard or something, or at the +least closing my eyes and stuffing my fingers into my ears, I hovered in +a handy background. I saw June burst out crying and throw herself into +Lorillard's arms. I heard her sob that she realized now she couldn't +live without him; that he was the only person on earth who +mattered--ever had, or ever would matter. I heard him gasp a few +explosive "Darlings!" and "Angels!" And then I heard June coolly--no, +hotly!--propose that they should be married at once--_at once_! + +Even _I_ floated sympathetically on a rose-coloured wave of love, as I +listened and looked; so where must Lorillard have floated--he who had +adored, and never hoped? + +In one of his own plays the noble hero would have put June from him in +super-unselfishness, declaiming "No, beloved. I cannot accept this +sacrifice, made on a mad impulse. I love you too much to take you for my +own." But, thank God, real men aren't built on those stiff lines! As for +this one, he simply _hugged_ his glorious, incredible luck (including +the giver) as hard as he could. + +It took the two about one hour to come to themselves, and remember that +they had heads as well as hearts; while I, for my part, remembered +mostly my right foot, which had gone to sleep during efforts of +self-obliteration. I _had_ to stamp it at last, which drew surprised +attention to me; so I was officially offered the role of confidante, and +agreed with June that the wedding _must_ be secret. The Duchess and four +_terrifically_ powerful uncles would make as much fuss as if June were +Queen Elizabeth bent on marrying a commoner, and it would end in the +lovers being parted. + +Well, they were married by special license three days later, with me and +a man friend of Lorillard's as witnesses. When the knot was safely tied, +June and Robert went together and broke it to the Duchess--not the knot, +but the news. The Duchess of Stane is supposed to know more bad words +than any other peeress in England, and judging from June's account of +the scene, she hurled them all at Lorillard, with a few spontaneous +creations for her daughter. When the lady and her vocabulary were +exhausted, however, common sense refilled the vacuum. The Duchess and +the Family made the best of a bad bargain, hoping, no doubt, that +Lorillard would soon be safely killed; and a delicious dish of romance +was served up to the public. + +_I_ was the only one beyond pardon, it seemed. According to the Duchess +I was a wicked little treacherous cat not to have told her what was +going on, so that it could have been stopped in time. A complaint was +made to Grandmother. But that peppery old darling--after scolding me +well--took my part, and quarrelled with the Duchess. + +June was too busy being _The_ Bride of All War Brides to bother much +with me, and Lorillard was training hard for France. So a kind of magic +glass wall arose between the Affair and me. Months passed (everyone +knows the history of those months!) and then the air raids began: +Zeppelins over London! + +It was _smart_, you know, not to be frightened, but to run out and gape, +or go up on the roof, when one of those great silver shapes was sighted +in the night sky. June went on the roof. Oh poor, beautiful June! A +fragment of shrapnel pierced her heart and killed her instantly, before +she could have felt a pang. + +The news almost "broke Lorillard up," so his pal who witnessed the +marriage with me put the case. Robert hadn't even once been back in +"Blighty" since he first went out. Ninety-six hours' leave was due just +then. He spent it coming to June's funeral, and--returning to the Front. + +Since that tragic time long ago he had seen a great deal of fighting, +had been wounded twice, had received his Captaincy and a D. S. O. Four +years and a half had been eaten by Hun locusts since he'd last appeared +on the stage, and more than three since the death of June. Everyone +thought that Lorillard would take up his old career where he had laid it +down. But he refused several star parts, and announced that he never +intended to act again. The reason was, he said, that he did not wish to +do so; that he could hardly remember how he had felt at the time when +acting made up the great interest of his life. + +He bought a quaint old cottage near the river, not many miles from a +house the Duchess owned--a happy house, where he had spent week-ends +that wonderful summer of 1914. June had loved the place, and her body +lay (buried in a glass coffin to preserve its beauty for ever) in the +cedar-shaded graveyard of the country church near by. Once she had +laughingly told Lorillard she would like to lie there if she died, and +he had persuaded the Duchess to fulfil the wish. Instead of a gravestone +there was a sundial, with the motto "All her days were happy days and +all her hours were hours of sun." + +Robert Lorillard's cottage was within walking distance of the +churchyard, and I imagine he often went there. Anyhow, he went nowhere +else. After some months an anonymous book of poems appeared--poems of +such extreme beauty and pure passion that all the critics talked about +them. Bye and bye others began to talk, and it leaked out through the +publisher that Lorillard was the author. + +I loved those poems so much that I couldn't resist scribbling a few +lines to Robert in my first flush of enthusiasm. He didn't answer. I'd +hardly expected a reply; but now, long after, here was a letter from him +introducing a girl who wanted to be my secretary! + +He wrote: + + DEAR PRINCESS DI MIRAMARE, + + I don't ask if you remember me. I _know_ you do, because of one we + have both greatly loved. I meant to thank you long ago for the kind + things you took the trouble to say about my verses. The thoughts + your name called up were very poignant. I put off acknowledging + your note. But you will forgive me, because you are a real friend; + and for that reason I venture to send you a strong personal + recommendation with Miss Joyce Arnold, who will ask for a position + as your secretary. I saw your advertisement in the _Times_, and + showed it to Miss Arnold, offering to introduce her to you. She + nursed me in France when she was a V. A. D. (she has a decoration, + bye the bye, for her courage in hideous air raids), and she has + been my secretary for some months. All I need say about her I can + put into a few words. _She is absolutely perfect._ It will be a + great wrench for me to lose her valuable help with the work I give + my time to nowadays, but I am going abroad for a while, and shall + not need a secretary. + + You too have lived and suffered since we met! Do take from me + remembrances and thoughts of a friendship which will never fade. + + Yours sincerely always, + + ROBERT LORILLARD. + +I'd been too much excited when she said, "I have an introduction to you +from Captain Lorillard," to do more than glance at the girl, and ask her +to sit down. But as I finished the letter I looked up, to meet the gaze +of a pair of gray eyes. + +Caught staring, Miss Arnold blushed; and what with those eyes and that +colour I thought her one of the most delightful girls I'd ever seen. + +I don't mean that she was one of the prettiest. She was (and is) pretty. +But it wasn't entirely her _looks_ you thought of, in seeing her first. +It was something that shone out from her eyes, and seemed to make a +sweet, happy brightness all around her. Eyes are windows, and something +_must_ be on the other side, but, alas! it seldom shines through. The +windows are dim, or the blinds are down to cover dulness. Joyce Arnold +had a living spirit behind those big, bright soul-windows that were her +eyes! + +As for the rest, she was tall and slim, and delicately long-limbed. She +had milk-white skin with a soft touch of rose on the cheek bones; a few +freckles which were like the dust from tiger-lily petals, and a +charming, sensitive mouth, full and red. + +"Why, of course I want you!" I said. "I'm lucky to secure you, too! How +glad I am that you didn't come after I'd engaged someone else! But even +if you had, I'd have managed to get rid of her one way or other." + +Miss Arnold smiled. She had the most contagious smile!--though it struck +me even then that it wasn't a _merry_ smile. Her face, with its piquant +little nose, was meant to be gay and happy I thought; yet it wasn't +either. It was more plucky and brave; and the eyes had known sadness, I +felt sure. I guessed her age as twenty-three or twenty-four. + +She said that she would love to work for me. The girls who were waiting +to be interviewed were sent politely away in search of other engagements +while I settled things with Miss Arnold. The more I looked at her, the +more I talked with her, the more definite became an impression that I'd +seen her before--a long time ago. At last I asked her the question: "Can +it be that we've met somewhere?" + +Colour streamed over her pale face. "Yes, Princess, we have," she said. +"At least, we didn't exactly _meet_. It couldn't be called that." + +"What was it then, if not a meeting?" I encouraged her. + +"I was in my first job as secretary. I was with Miss Opal Fawcett. When +it was Ben Ali's day out--Ben Ali was her Arab butler, you know--I used +to open the door. I opened it for you and--and Lady June Dana when you +came. I remember quite well, though I never thought _you_ would." + +Why did the girl blush so? I wondered. Could it be that she was ashamed +of having been with Opal Fawcett, or--was it something to do with the +mention of June? Miss Arnold had evidently just left her place with +Robert Lorillard and probably the name of his wife had been "taboo" +between them, for I couldn't fancy Robert talking of June with any +one--unless with some old friend who had known her well. + +"Ah, that's it!" I exclaimed. "Now I do remember. June and I spoke of +you afterward, as we were going away. We said, 'What an interesting +girl!' Nearly five years ago! It seems a hundred." + +Miss Arnold didn't speak, and again my thoughts flew back. + +Opal Fawcett suddenly sprang into fame with the breaking out of the war, +when all the sweethearts and wives of England yearned to give "mascots" +to their loved men who fought, or to get news from beyond the veil, of +those who had "gone west." Opal had, however, been making her weird way +to success for several years before. She had a strange history--as +strange as her own personality. + +A man named Fawcett edited a Spiritualistic paper, called the _Gleam_. +One foggy October night (it was All Hallow E'en) he heard a shrill, +wailing cry outside his old house in Westminster. (Naturally it was a +_haunted_ house, or he wouldn't have cared to live in it!) Someone had +left a tiny baby girl in a basket at his door, and with it a letter in a +woman's handwriting. This said that the child had been born in October, +so its name must be Opal. + +Fawcett was a bachelor; but he imagined that spirit influences had +turned the unknown mother's thoughts to him. For this reason he kept the +baby, obligingly named it Opal, and brought it up in his own religious +beliefs. + +Opal was extremely proud of her romantic debut in life, and when she had +decided upon a career for herself, she wrote her autobiography up to +date. As she was quite young at the time--not more than twenty-five--the +book was short. She had a certain number of copies bound in specially +dyed silk supposed to be of an opal tint, changeable from blue to +pinkish purple, and these she gave to her friends or sold to her +clients. + +I say "clients," because, after being a celebrated "child medium" during +her foster father's life, and then failing on the stage as an actress, +she discovered that palmistry was her forte. At least it was one among +several others. You told her the date when you were born, and she "did" +your horoscope. She advised people also what colours they ought to wear +to "suit their aura," and what jewels were lucky or unlucky. Later, when +the war came, she took to crystal gazing. Perhaps she had begun it +before, but it was then that she suddenly "caught on." One heard all +one's friends talking about her, saying, "Have you ever been to Opal +Fawcett? She's _absolutely wonderful_! You must go!" Accordingly we +went. + +When June and Lorillard were waiting in secret suspense for their +special license, June implored Robert to let Opal look into the crystal +for him, and read his hand. He tried to beg off, because he had met Miss +Fawcett during her disastrous year on the stage. In a play of ancient +Rome in which he was the star, Opal Fawcett had been a sort of +walking-on martyr, and he had a scene with her in the arena, defending +her from a doped, milk-fed lion. Opal had acted, clung, and twined so +much more than necessary that Robert had disliked the scene intensely, +always fearing that the audience might "queer" it by laughing. He would +not complain to the management, because the girl had been given the part +through official friendship, and was already marked down as prey by the +critics. He hadn't wished to do her harm; but neither did he care to +have his future foretold by her. + +June was so keen, however, that he consented to be led like a lamb to +the sacrifice. I heard from her how they went together to the old house +which the spiritualist had left to his adopted daughter; and I heard +what happened at the interview. June was vexed because Opal _would_ see +Robert alone. She had wanted to be in the room, and listen to +everything! Opal was most ungrateful, June said, because she (June) had +sent lots of people to have their "hands read," and get special jewels +prescribed for them, like medicines. Robert had laughed to June about +what Opal claimed to see for him in her crystal, but had pretended to +forget most of the "silly stuff," and be unable to repeat it. June had +worried, fearing lest misfortunes had appeared in the crystal, and that +Robert wished to hide the fact from her. + +"I'll get it all out of Opal myself!" she exclaimed to me, and took me +with her to Miss Fawcett's next day. + +The excuse for this visit was to have my hand "told," and to order a +mascot for Robert, to take with him to the front: his own lucky jewel +set in a design made to fit his horoscope! + +I was delighted to go, for I'd never seen a fortune teller; but June was +too eager to talk about Robert to spare me much time with the seeress. +My hand-telling was rather perfunctory, for Miss Fawcett didn't feel the +same need to see me alone which she had felt with Lorillard, and June +was very much on the spot, sighing, fussing, and looking at her +wrist-watch. + +Opal was as reticent about the interview with Lorillard as Robert had +been, though, unlike him, she didn't laugh. So poor June got little for +her pains, and I learned nothing about my character that Grandmother +hadn't told me when she was cross. Still, it was an experience. I'd +never forgotten the tall, white, angular young woman wearing amethysts +and a purple robe, in a purple room: a creature who looked as if she'd +founded herself on Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and overshot the mark. It +seemed, also, that I'd never forgotten her secretary, though perhaps I'd +not thought of the girl from that day to this. + +"Do tell me how you happened to be with Opal Fawcett," I couldn't help +blurting out from the depths of my curiosity. "You seem +so--so--absolutely _alien_ from her and her 'atmosphere'." + +"Oh, it's quite simple," said Joyce Arnold, not betraying herself if she +considered me intrusive or rude. "An aunt of mine--a dear old maid--was +a great disciple of Mr. Fawcett. She thought Opal the wonder of the +world, at about ten or twelve, as 'the child medium,' and she used to +take me often to the house. I was five or six years younger than Opal, +and Aunt Jenny hoped it would 'spiritualize' me to play with her. We +never quite lost sight of each other after that, Opal and I. When she +went into business--I mean, when she became a hand-reader and so on--I +was beginning what I called my 'profession.' She engaged me as her +secretary, and I stayed on till I left her to 'do my bit' in the war, as +a V. A. D. That's the way I met Captain Lorillard, you know. It was the +most splendid thing that ever happened, when he asked me to work for him +after he was invalided back from the Front. You see, I was dead tired +after four years without a rest. We'd had a lot of air raids at my +hospital, and I suppose it was rather a strain. I was ordered home. And +oh, it's been Paradise at that heavenly place on the river, helping to +put down in black and white the beautiful thoughts of such a man!" + +As she spoke, an expression of rapture, that was like light, illumined +the girl's face for an instant, bright as a flash of sunshine on a white +bird's wing. But it passed, and her eyes darkened with some quick memory +of pain. She looked down, thick black lashes shadowing her cheeks. + +"By Jove!" I thought. "There's a _story_ here!" + +Robert Lorillard wrote that Miss Arnold was "perfect." Yet he had sent +her away. He said he was going away himself. But I felt sure he wasn't. +Or else, he was going on purpose. He had _searched the newspapers to +find a place for her_. If he hadn't done that deliberately, he would +never have seen my advertisement. + +And she? The girl was breaking her heart at the loss of her "Paradise." + +What did it mean? + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE HERMIT + + +Joyce Arnold was ready to begin work at once. + +She had, it seemed, already given up her lodgings in the village near +Robert Lorillard's cottage. Opal Fawcett had offered the hospitality of +her house for a fortnight, and while there Joyce would pay her way by +writing Opal's letters in spare hours, the newest secretary being absent +on holiday. In the meantime, now that it was decided she should come to +me, Miss Arnold would look for rooms somewhere in my neighbourhood. + +I let it go at this for a few days. But when just half a week had passed +I realized that Joyce Arnold wasn't merely a perfect secretary, she was +a perfect companion as well. Not perfect in a horrid, "high-brow" way, +but simply adorable to have in the house. + +It was on a Wednesday that she brought me Lorillard's letter. On the +following Saturday, at luncheon, I suddenly said, "Look here, Miss +Arnold, how would you like to live with me instead of in lodgings?" + +She blushed with surprise. (She blushed easily and beautifully.) + +"Why, I--should love it, of course," she stammered, "if you're really +sure that you----" + +"Of course I'm sure," I cut her short. "What I'm beginning to wonder is, +how I ever got on without you!" + +She laughed. + +"You've known me only three days and a half! And----" + +"Long enough to be sure that you're absolutely IT," said I. "If already +you seem to me indispensable, how _could_ Robert Lorillard have made up +his mind to part with you, after _months_?" + +I didn't mean to be cruel or inquisitorial. The words sprang out--spoke +themselves. But I could have boxed my own ears when I saw their effect +on the girl. She grew red, then white, and tears gushed to her eyes. +They didn't fall, because she was afraid to wink, and stared me steadily +in the face, hoping the salt lake might safely soak back. All the same I +saw that I'd struck a hard blow. + +"Captain Lorillard was very nice, and really sorry in a way to lose me, +I think," she replied, rather primly. "But he told you, didn't he, that +he was going away?" + +"Oh, of course! Stupid of me to forget for a minute," I mumbled, +earnestly peeling a plum, so that she might have time to dispose of +those tears without absorbing them. I was more certain than ever that +here was a "story" in the broken connection between Joyce Arnold and +Robert Lorillard: that if he were really leaving home it was for a +reason which concerned _her_. + +It wasn't all curiosity which made me rack my brain with mental +questions. It was partly old admiration for Robert and new affection for +his late secretary. "Why should he want to get rid of such a girl?" I +asked myself, as at last I ate the plum. + +The fruit was more easily swallowed than the idea that he hadn't +_wanted_ Joyce Arnold to go on working for him. It wouldn't be human for +man or woman--especially man--_not_ to want her. But--well--I tried to +put the thought aside for the moment, in order to wrestle with it when +those eyes of hers could no longer read my mind. + +I turned the subject to Opal Fawcett. + +"Could you leave Miss Fawcett at once, and come to me?" I asked. "Would +she be vexed? Or would you rather stay with her over Sunday?" + +"I could come this afternoon," Joyce said. "I'd be glad to. And I don't +think Opal would mind. She wanted me at first. But--but----Well, I'm +beginning to bore her now; or anyhow, we're getting on each other's +nerves." + +This reply, and the embarrassed look on Joyce's face, set me going upon +a new track. Was Opal Fawcett in the "story" which my imagination had +begun to write around Miss Arnold and Robert Lorillard? If so, what +could be her part in it? + +I found no satisfactory answer. Years ago, when she was on the stage and +acting with Lorillard, Opal had perhaps been in love with him, like +hundreds of other women. But since then he'd married, and fought in the +war, and later had led the life of a hermit, while she pursued her +successful "career" in town. It was unlikely that they had seen much of +each other, even if their old, slight acquaintance had been kept up at +all. Still, Opal might have been curious about Lorillard and the "simple +life." She might have welcomed Joyce for the sake of what she could tell +of him, and Joyce might have rebelled when she saw what Opal wanted from +her. + +I thanked my own wits for giving me this "tip." Without it, I mightn't +have resisted the strong temptation to proceed with a little dextrous +"pumping" on my own--just a word wedged into some chink in the armour +now and then, to find out if poor Joyce had fallen a victim to +Lorillard's undying charm. + +As it was, I determined to shut up like a clam, and do as I would be +done by were I in the girl's place. If she'd slipped into loving her +employer, and he had thought best to banish her, for her own good, the +wound in poor Joyce's self-respect must be as deep as that in her heart. +Every sensitive nerve must throb with anguish, and only a _wretch_ would +deliberately probe the hurt with questions, in mere selfish curiosity. + +"It's not your business," I said to myself. And I vowed to do all I +could to make Joyce Arnold forget--whatever it was that she might want +to forget. + +She did come to me that afternoon. I had one spare room in my flat, and +I made it as pretty and homelike as I could with flowers and books and +little things I stole from my own quarters. The girl was pathetically +grateful! She opened out to me like a flower--that is, in affection. I +felt in her a warm, eager anxiety to serve and help me, not for the +wages I gave, but for love. It was like a perfume in the place. And +Joyce Arnold was intelligent as well as sweet. She had been highly +educated, and there seemed to be few things she hadn't thought about. +Most of the old aunt's money had been spent in making the girl what she +was, so there was little left; but Joyce would always be able to earn +her living. + +If she tired of secretarial work, she could quite well teach music, both +piano and voice production. She had taken singing lessons from a famous +and successful man. Had her voice been strong enough, she might have got +concert engagements, it was so honey-sweet, so exquisitely trained. But +she called it a "twilight voice"; which it really was, and often I gave +up going out for the joy of having her sing to me alone in the dusk. + +It was only at those times that I knew--actually _knew_!--how sad she +was, to the point of heartbreak. By day, when we worked or talked +together, her manner was charmingly bright. She was interested in my +affairs, and her quiet, delicious sense of humour was one of her +greatest attractions for me. But at the piano, before the lights were +on, the girl was at the mercy of her secret, whatever it might be. It +came like a ghost, and stared her in the eyes. It said to her: "You +can't shut me out. It is to _me_ you sing. I _make_ you sing!" + +To hear that "twilight voice" of hers, half crooning, half chanting, +those passion-flower songs of Laurence Hope's, or "Omar," would have +waked a soul in a stone image! + +Good heavens! how could Robert Lorillard have sent her away? How, on the +contrary, could he have helped wanting this noble, brave, sweet creature +to warm his life for ever? + +That's what I asked myself over and over again. And on top of that +question another. What if--he _hadn't_ helped it? + +It was one evening, while she improvised a queer little "song of sleep" +for me that this thought came. It burst like a bombshell in my brain; +and the reason it hadn't burst before was because my mind always +pictured June and Robert together. + +I was lying deep among cushions on a sofa, and involuntarily I started +up. + +Joyce broke off her song in the midst. + +"What's the matter?" she asked. + +"Nothing," I said; "only--it just popped into my head that I'd forgotten +to telephone for--for a car to-morrow." + +"For a car?" Joyce echoed. "How stupid of me, if you mentioned it! I +can't remember----" + +"No, I didn't mention it," I said. (No wonder, when I hadn't even +_thought_ of it until this minute!) "But I--I _meant_ to. I'd made up my +mind to go to 'Pergolas,' the Duchess of Stane's place on the river; you +must have seen it when you were working for Robert Lorillard." + +It was the first time I'd uttered his name since that impulsive break at +the luncheon table, over a fortnight ago now! + +Whether or not her face blushed I couldn't see in the twilight, but her +_voice_ blushed as she said: + +"Oh, yes! I've seen--the gates. Surely the duchess isn't there at this +time of the year?" + +"She generally takes a 'rest cure' of a week or two at Pergolas this +month. It's perfect peace, and you know how dreamlike the river is in +autumn." + +"I--know," Joyce murmured. "The woods all golden, and mists like creamy +veils across the blue distance. I know!" + +There was a passion of suppressed longing and regret in her tone. + +"Wouldn't you like to go with me?" I coaxed. "It's such lovely country +for a spin. And--I've never been there; but I suppose we must pass close +to Robert Lorillard's cottage? We go through Stanerton village. We could +stop and see if he's still at home, or if he's gone----" + +"No--no, thank you, Princess," Joyce said, hastily, "I don't--care very +much for motoring. If you're to be away to-morrow I'll get through some +mending, and some letters of my own." + +I didn't argue. I should have been surprised if she'd accepted. It would +have made the thing commonplace. And it would have upset my plan. I +can't call it a "deep-laid plan," because I'd laid it on no firmer +foundation than the spur of the moment; but I was wildly excited about +it. Fully armoured like Minerva it had leapt into my brain while I said +to myself, "What _if_----?" + +Joyce 'phoned to the garage where I hired cars occasionally, and ordered +something to come at ten o'clock next morning. For me to take this joy +ride meant throwing over a whole day's engagements like so many +ninepins. But I didn't care a rap! + +I could see when I was ready to start that Joyce was even more excited +than I. No doubt she was thinking that, when I came back, I might bring +news of _him_. We spoke, however, only of the duchess. + +To me, a harmless, necessary fib isn't much more vicious than a cat of +the same description; that is, if the fib is for the benefit of a +friend. But I'd rather tell the truth if it can be managed, so I really +intended to call on the Duchess. The village of Stanerton--on the +outskirts of which Lorillard lived--happened to be on my way to +Pergolas. I couldn't help _that_, could I? So I told my chauffeur to ask +for River Orchard Cottage--the address on Robert's note introducing Miss +Arnold. + +Everyone seemed to know the place. It was half a mile out of the +village, and you went to it up a side road: a very old cottage altered +and modernized. The name was old, too: it really was an orchard, and it +was really on the river. That was what half a dozen people informed us +in a breath, and they would have added much information about Lorillard +himself if I'd cared to hear. But all I wanted to learn about him from +them was whether he had gone away. He hadn't. He had been seen out +walking the day before. + +"I _told_ you so!" I said to myself. + +As the car slowed down and stopped before a white gate I seemed to lose +my identity for a moment. It became merged with that of Joyce Arnold. I +felt as if she--the _real_ Joyce--had raced here in some winged vehicle +of thousand-spirit power, travelling far faster than any road-bound +earthly car, and, having waited for me, now slipped into my skin. + +The sight of that gate made my heart beat as it must have made hers beat +every day when she came in the morning to work. Yes! As I laid my hand +on the latch I wasn't my somewhat blasee and sophisticated self: I was +the girl to whom this place was Paradise. + +The white gate was flanked by two tall clipped yews. Inside, a wide path +of irregular paving-stones, with grass and flowers sprouting between, +led to a low thatched cottage--oh, but a glorified cottage: a cottage +that looked as if it had died and gone to heaven! The flagged path had +tubs on either side. In them grew funny little Dutch treelets shaped +like birds and animals of different sorts; and the lawn kept all the +noble, gnarled giants that once had made it an orchard. The cottage was +yellow, like cottages in Devonshire, and the old thatch had the gray +satin sheen of chinchilla. A huge magnolia was trained over the front, +and climbing roses and wisteria, all in the sere and yellow leaf or bare +now; but I could picture the place in spring, when the diamond-paned bow +windows sparkled through a canopy of flowers, when the great apple trees +were like a pink-and-white sunrise of blossom, and underneath spread a +carpet of forget-me-nots and tulips. + +How sweet must have been the air then, how blue the river background, +and how melodious the low song of a distant weir! + +To-day, the air was faintly acrid with the scent of bonfire smoke--the +odour of autumn; and the sounds of wind and water over the weir were sad +as a song of homesickness. + +I tapped an old-fashioned knocker upon a low green door. An elderly maid +appeared. I saw by the bleak glint of a pale eye that she meant to say, +"Not at home," and hastened to forestall her. + +"See if Captain Lorillard is in, and if so tell him that Princess di +Miramare has come from town on purpose for a talk with him," I flung in +the stolid face. + +There was no answer to that except obedience! The woman left me waiting +in a delightful little square hall furnished with a very few, very +beautiful, old things. And in a minute Robert Lorillard almost bounded +out of a room into which the maid had vanished. + +It was the first time we had seen each other since the day he married +June Dana. + +I had sat down on a cushioned chest in the hall. At sight of him I +jumped up, and meaning to hold out a hand, found myself holding out two! +He took both, pressed them, and without speaking we looked long at each +other. For both of us the past had come alive. + +He was the same, yet not the same. Certainly not less handsome, but +changed, as all men who have been through the war are changed--anyhow, +imaginative men. Though he had been back from the Front for over a year +(he was invalided out after his last wound, just before the Armistice) +the tan wasn't off his face yet, perhaps never would be. There were a +few lines round his eyes and a few silver threads in his black hair. He +smiled at me; but it was the smile of a man who has suffered, and known +a hell of loneliness. + +It was Robert who spoke first, saying entirely commonplace things in the +beautiful voice that used to thrill London. He was so glad to see me! +How nice it was of me to come! Then, suddenly, he remembered something. +I could _see_ him remembering. He remembered that he was supposed to be +away. + +"I ought to be in France," he said. "All my arrangements are made to go. +Yet I haven't got off. I'm glad now that I haven't." + +"So am I, very glad," I echoed. "I should have been too disappointed! +But--I _felt_ you wouldn't be gone." + +He looked somewhat startled. + +"I always was a procrastinator," he said. "Come into my study, won't +you?" + +Still holding me by the hand he led me like a child into the room out of +which he had shot--an adorable room, with a beamed ceiling and +diamond-paned windows looking under trees to the river. In front of his +desk--where he could glance up for inspiration as he wrote--was a +life-sized portrait of June, by Sargent; June in the gray dress and hat +she had worn the day she promised--no, _offered_--to marry Robert. + +"You see!" he said, with a slight gesture toward the picture, with its +bunched red-bronze hair and brilliant eyes of blue, "this is where I sit +and work." + +"And where used Joyce Arnold to sit and work?" something in me blurted +out. + +The man winced--just visibly--no more. His eyes flashed to mine a kind +of challenge. There was sudden anger in it, and pleading as well. Then, +of course, I _knew_--all I had come to find out. And he must have known +that I knew! + +But I'd come for a great deal more than finding out. + +I don't think I'm a coward, yet I was dreadfully frightened--in a blue +funk of doing or saying the wrong thing at a moment when it might be +"now or never." My knees felt like badly poached eggs with no toast to +repose upon. I lost my head a little, and what I did I didn't do really, +because it did itself. + +I looked as scared as I felt, and gasped: "Oh, _Robert_!" (I'd never +called him "Robert" to his face before; only behind his back.) + +My face of fright deflected his rage. You can't be furious with a +quivering jelly! But he didn't speak. The challenge in his eyes softened +to reproach. Then he looked at the portrait. + +"Miss Arnold sat where she, too, could see June," he answered quietly. + +"Poor, poor Joyce!" I said. "And poor you!" + +"What do you mean?" he asked. + +"Why, I mean--and I, too, can see June while I say it!--I mean that you +are making a terrible mistake. Oh, Robert Lorillard, don't pretend not +to understand. We're not two strangers fencing! I'm not just a bold +creature rushing in where angels fear to tread. I know!--I _have_ rushed +in, but I'm not bold. I'm frightened to death. Only--I had to come. +Every day I see that glorious girl breaking her heart. She hasn't said a +word, or looked a look, or wept a weep. She's a _soldier_. But she's +like a lost soul turned out of Paradise. The more I got to know of her +the more I felt you _couldn't_ have sent her away and found another +place for her because you were bored. So I came to see you. And you +needn't mind my knowing the real reason you sent her out of your house. +I won't tell her. If any one does that it must be you. And it _ought_ to +be you. You love each other. You belong to each other. You'd be divinely +happy together. You're wretched apart." + +"_You_ say that?" Robert exclaimed, when by sheer force of lungs I'd +made him hear me through. "You--June's friend!" + +"Yes. It's because I was her friend, and knew her so well, that I want +you to listen to your own heart; for if you don't, you'll break Joyce +Arnold's. June wouldn't want you to sacrifice your two lives on the +shrine of her memory. She loved happiness, herself. And she liked other +people to be happy." + +Robert's eyes lit, whether with joy or anger I couldn't tell. + +"You think June would be willing to have me marry another woman?" he +said. + +"Yes, I do, if you loved the woman. And you do love her. It would be +useless to tell me you don't." + +"I'm not going to tell you I don't. I've tried not to. I hoped she +didn't care." + +"She does. Desperately, frightfully. I do believe it's killing her." + +"God! And she saved my life. Elizabeth, I'd give mine for her, a dozen +times over, but----" + +"What she needs is for you to give it _to_ her, not for her: give it +once and for all, to have and to hold while your heart's in your body." + +I fired advice at him like bullets from a Maxim gun, and every bullet +reached its billet. I was so carried away by my wish for joy to rise +from tragedy that I hardly knew what I said, yet I felt that I had +caught Lorillard and carried him with me. The next thing I definitely +knew with my mere brain, I was sitting down with elbows on Robert's +desk, facing him as he leaned toward me. My whole self was a listening +Ear, while he told--as a man hypnotized might tell the hypnotizer--the +tale of his acquaintance with Joyce Arnold. + +I'd already learned from his letter and from words she had let drop that +Joyce had nursed him in a hospital in France, when she was "doing her +bit" as a V. A. D. But she had been silent about the life-saving +episode, which had won for her a decoration and Robert Lorillard's deep +admiration and gratitude. + +It seemed that during an air raid, when German machines were bombing the +hospital, Joyce had in her ward three officers just operated upon, and +too weak to walk. A bomb fell and killed one of these as Joyce and +another nurse were about to move his cot into the next ward. Then, in a +sudden horror of darkness and noise of destroying aeroplanes, she had +carried Robert in her arms to a place of comparative safety. After that +she had returned to her own ward and got the other man who lay in his +cot, though her fellow nurse had been struck down, wounded or dead. + +"How she did it I've never known, or she either," said Lorillard, +dreaming back into the past. "She's tall and strong, of course, and at +that time I was reduced to a living skeleton. Still, even in my bones +I'm a good deal bigger than she is. The weight must have been enough to +crush her, yet she carried me from one ward to another, in the dark, +when the light had been struck out. And the wound in my side never bled +a drop. It was like a miracle." + +"'Spect she loved you lots already, without quite knowing it," I told +him. "There've been miracles going on in the world ever since Christ, +and they always will go on, because love works them, and _only_ love. At +least, that's _my_ idea! And I don't believe God would have let Joyce +work that one, the way she did, if He hadn't meant her love to wake love +in you." + +"If I could think so," said Robert, "it would make all the difference; +for I've been fighting my own heart with the whole strength of my soul, +and it's been a hard struggle. I felt it would be such a hideous +treachery to June--my beautiful June, who gave herself to me as a +goddess might to a mortal!--the meanest ingratitude to let another woman +take her place when her back is turned--even such a splendid woman as +Joyce Arnold." + +"I know just how you feel," I humoured him. "You remember, I was with +June when she threw herself into your arms and offered to marry you. You +were in love with her, and you'd never dreamed till that minute there +was any hope. But that was a different love from this, I'm sure, because +no two girls could be more different, one from another, than June Dana +and Joyce Arnold. Your love for June was just glorious romance. Perhaps, +if she'd lived, and you and she had passed years together as husband and +wife, the wonderful colours of the glory would have faded a little. She +tired so of every-day things. But Joyce is born to be the companion of a +man she loves, and she would never tire or let him tire. You and June +hardly had enough time together to realize that you were married. And +it's over three years and a half since she--since the gods who loved her +let her die young. She can't come to this world again. She basked in joy +herself; and she won't grudge it to you, if she knows. And for you, joy +and Joyce are one, for the rest of both your lives." + +Lorillard sprang up suddenly and seized my hands. + +"Portia come back to life and judgment--I believe you're right!" he +cried. "Take me to town with you. Take me to Joyce!" + +As we stood, thrilled, hand in hand, the door opened. The same servant +who had let me in announced acidly: "_Another_ lady to see you, sir." + +The lady in question had come so near the door that she must have seen +us before we could start apart. + +I knew her at first glance: Opal Fawcett. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CHAIR AT THE SAVOY + + +It was five years since I'd seen Opal Fawcett--for the first and last +time, that day I went to her house with June. + +Then she had gleamed wraithlike in the purple dusk of her purple room, +with its purple-shaded lamps. Now she stood in full daylight, against +the frank background of a country cottage wall. Yet she was still a mere +film of a woman. She seemed to carry her own eerie effect with her +wherever she went, as the heroines of operas are accompanied by their +special spot-light and _leitmotif_. + +Whether the servant was untrained, or spiteful because a long-standing +rule had been broken in my favour, I can't tell. But I'm sure that, if +he'd been given half a chance, Robert would have made some excuse not to +see Opal. There she was, however, on the threshold, and looking like one +of those "Dwellers on the Threshold" you read of in psychic books. + +As he had no invisible cloak, and couldn't crawl under a sofa, poor +Robert was obliged to say pleasantly, "How do you do?" + +Standing back a little, trying to look about two inches tall instead of +five foot ten, I watched the greeting. I wanted to judge from it, if I +could, to what extent the old acquaintance had been kept up. But I might +have saved myself waste of brain tissue. Robert was anxious to leave no +mystery. + +"Princess," he said, hastily, when he had taken his guest's slim hand in +its gray glove, "Princess, I think you must have heard of Miss Opal +Fawcett." + +"Oh, yes. And we have met--once," I replied. + +Opal's narrow gray eyes turned to me--not without reluctance I thought. + +"I remember well," she murmured, in her plaintive voice. "I never forget +a face. You were Miss Courtenaye then. Lately I've been hearing of you +from Miss Arnold, who used to be my secretary, and is now yours." + +I was thankful she didn't bring in _June's_ name! + +"Miss Fawcett and I have known each other a good many years," Robert +hurried on. "She was once in a play with me, before she found her real +_metier_. She kindly comes to see me now and then, when she can take a +day off." + +"I want to bid you good-bye--if you are really going out of England," +Opal said. + +She had ceased to look at me now, but I went on looking hard at her. She +was in what might be a spirit conception of a motor costume: smoke gray +velvet, and yards of long, floating veil shot from gray to mauve. She +wore a close toque with two little jutting Mercury wings, from behind +which those yards of unnecessary chiffon fell. She had a narrow oval +face, which Nature and (I thought) Art combined to make pale as pearl. +Her hair, pushed forward by the toque, was so colourless a brown that it +looked like thick shadow. She had a beautifully cut, delicate nose, but +her lips were thin and the upper one rather long and flat, otherwise she +would have been pretty. Even as it was she had a kind of fascination, +and I thought her the most graceful, willowy creature I'd ever seen. + +"Well," said Robert, "as it happens I've put off going abroad, through a +kind of mental laziness. But in the ordinary course of events you'd have +come to-day only to find me gone--which would have been a pity. When I +answered your letter, I told you----" + +"Yes, but I _felt_ you'd still be here," she cut him short. "Apparently +the Princess had the same premonition." + +"Oh, I just happened to be passing," I fibbed, "and took my chance. +Fortunately, I came in the nick of time to give Captain Lorillard a lift +to town in my car. It will save him a journey by train." + +"Then I am in the nick of time, too!" said Opal. "If I'd been ten +minutes later I might have missed him. I felt _that_, too! I told my +taxi man to drive at least as fast as the legal limit." + +I guessed she was longing to get Robert to herself, and that he was glad +there was no chance of it. Was he _really_ going abroad? she wanted to +know. Or only just to London for a change? + +Robert was restive under her uncanny questionings, but answered that he +wasn't quite sure about the future. Travelling in France and Italy +seemed to be disagreeable at the moment. Passports, too, were a bother. +He'd be more certain of his plans in a few days, and would let her know. + +Opal betrayed no crude emotion. Yet I was sure that, under her +restrained manner--soft as a gentle breeze on a summer night--she would +have enjoyed stamping her foot and having hysterics. Instead, she asked +Robert about a psychic play she wanted him to write (he hadn't written a +line of it!), told him a little news concerning people they both knew, +and bethought herself that she "mustn't keep us." + +Not more than twenty minutes after she had floated in Miss Fawcett +floated forth again. Robert took her to her taxi, and then could hardly +wait to get off in my car. As for me, I'd forgotten all about the +Duchess. We chose the longer of the two roads to London, hoping to miss +Opal; but soon passed her taxi going at a leisurely pace. The Wraith +must have had another of her mystic "feelings," and counted on our +choice of that turning! + +"She says she has 'helpers' from beyond," Robert explained, when we were +flying on, far ahead. "She asks their advice, and they tell her what to +do in daily life. She wanted to provide me with one or two, but I wasn't +'taking any.' Not that I'm a convinced materialist, or that I don't +believe the dark veil can ever be lifted--I'm rather inclined the other +way round--but I prefer to manage my own affairs without 'helpers' I've +never known or seen on earth. Of course, it would be different if----Oh, +you know what I mean. But even then--well, I should be afraid of being +deceived. It's better not to begin anything like that when you can't be +sure." + +"Did Opal Fawcett ever try to persuade you to--to----?" Courage failed +me. But Robert understood only too well what was in my mind. + +"Yes, she did," he admitted. "She wrote me--after--that awful thing +happened. I hadn't heard from her for a long time till then. I'd almost +forgotten her existence. She said in the letter that June's spirit had +come to her with a message for me." + +"_Cheek!_" I exclaimed. + +"Well, I'm afraid that's rather the way I felt about it, though probably +Opal meant well, and a lot of people think she's wonderful. Several +friends begged me in urgent letters to go to Opal Fawcett: assured me +she'd given them indescribable comfort, put them in touch with those +they loved who'd 'passed on.' But somehow I couldn't be persuaded, +Princess. A voice inside me always used to say: 'Why should June want to +talk to you through Opal Fawcett? If she can come back, why shouldn't +she speak with you direct, instead of through a third person?'" + +"That's how I should have argued it out in your place," I agreed. +"And--and June never----?" + +"No. She never came, never made me realize her near presence, never +seemed to influence me in favour of Opal--though Opal didn't give up +till months had passed. When she first came after writing to say she +must see me, it was to beg me to visit her for _June's sake_. Afterward, +when she saw she was making me uncomfortable, she stopped her +persuasions. Since then--fairly often when Joyce Arnold was here--she +has turned up at the cottage: sometimes just for a friendly chat like an +ordinary human being (though I never feel she is one), sometimes to +discuss that 'psychic play'--as she calls it--an idea of hers she wants +me to work out for the stage." + +"Is it a good idea?" I wanted to know. + +"Yes. Mysterious and dramatic at the same time. Yet I've always made +excuses. I don't fancy collaborating with Miss Fawcett, though that may +sound ungrateful." + +It didn't, to my ears, especially as Opal's object seemed transparent as +the depths of her own crystal. Of course she was still in love with +Robert, and had seized first one chance, then another, of getting into +touch with him. I was rather sorry for her, in a vague, impersonal way; +for to love Robert Lorillard and lose him would hurt. I could realize +that, without the trouble and pain of being seriously in love with him +myself. + +"It's a good thing," I thought, "that Joyce Arnold's stopping with me at +this time and not with Opal Fawcett! It would be as much as the girl's +life is worth to be engaged to Robert in _that_ house!" + +Could Opal suspect, I wondered, the truth about the broken love story? +Somehow I thought not. I might be mistaken, but the rather patronizing +way in which she'd spoken of Joyce didn't seem like that of a jealous +woman. If Joyce and she had got upon each other's nerves lately because +of Robert, I imagined that suspicion had been on the other side. Joyce +would have been more than human if she could go on accepting hospitality +from a woman who so plainly showed her love for Robert Lorillard. + +We raced back to London, for I feared that Robert's mood might change +for the worse--that an autumn chill of remorse might shiver through his +veins. + +All was well, however--very well. I made him talk to me of Joyce nearly +the whole way; and at the end of the journey I had him waiting for her +in the drawing room of my flat before he quite knew what had happened to +him. + +My secretary was in her own room, writing her own letters as she'd said +she would do. + +"Back already, Princess?" she exclaimed, jumping up when I'd knocked and +been told to come in. "Why, you've hardly more than had time to get +there and back, it seems, to say nothing of lunch!" + +"I haven't had any lunch," I said. + +"No lunch? Poor darling! Why----" + +"I was too busy," I broke in. "And I wanted to get back." + +"Only this morning you were longing to go!" + +"I know! It does sound chameleon-like. But second thoughts are often +best. Come into the drawing room and you'll see that mine were--much +best." + +She came, in all innocence. I opened the door. I thrust her in. I +exclaimed: "Bless you, my children!" and shut the two in together. + +This was taking it boldly for granted that Joyce was as much in love +with Robert as he with her. But why be early Victorian and ignore the +lovely, naked truth, instead of late Georgian and save beating round the +bush for both of the lovers? + +Those words of mine figuratively flung them into each other's arms, +where--according to my idea--the sooner they were the better! + +I should think if my words missed fire, their eyes didn't miss, judging +from what I'd seen in hers when speaking of him, in his when speaking of +her! And certainly the pair of them couldn't have wasted _much_ time in +foolish preliminaries; for in about half an hour Joyce appeared in the +dining room, where I was eating an _immense_ luncheon. + +"Oh, Princess!" she breathed, hovering just over the threshold; and +instantly Robert loomed behind her. "It's too wonderful. It can't be +true." + +Robert didn't speak. He merely gazed. Years had rolled off him since +morning. He looked an inspired boy, with a dash of silver powder on his +hair. Slipping his arm round Joyce's waist he brought her to me. As I +sat at the table they both knelt down close to my feet, and each +earnestly kissed one of my hands! It would have been a beautiful effect +if I hadn't choked, trying wildly to bolt a mouthful of something, and +had to be slapped on the back. That choke was a disguised blessing, +however, for it made us all laugh when I got my breath; and when you're +on the top pinnacle of a great emotion, it's a safe outlet to laugh! + +My suggestion was, that nobody but our three selves should share the +secret, and that the wedding--to be hurried on--should be sprung as a +surprise upon the public. Robert and Joyce agreed on general principles; +but each made one exception. + +Robert said that he felt it would be "caddish" to make a bid for +happiness without telling the Duchess of Stane what was in his mind. She +couldn't reasonably object to his marrying again, and wouldn't object, +he argued; but if he didn't confide in her she'd have a right to think +him a coward. + +Joyce's one exception--of all people on earth!--was Opal Fawcett! And +when I shrieked "Why?" she'd only say that she "owed a debt of gratitude +to Opal." Therefore Opal had a right to know before any one else that +she was engaged. + +The girl didn't add "to Robert Lorillard," but a flash of intuition like +a searchlight showed me the meaning behind her words. Living in the same +house with Opal, eating Opal's bread and salt (very little else, I +daresay!), Joyce had guessed Opal's secret--or had been forced to hear a +confidence. That, and nothing else, was the reason why she wouldn't be +engaged to Robert "behind Opal's back!" + +Well, I hope I'm not precisely a coward myself, but I didn't envy Joyce +Arnold and Robert Lorillard their self-appointed tasks. They were +carried out, however, with soldierly promptness the day after the +engagement, and nothing terrific happened--or at least, was reported. + +"Opal was very sweet," Joyce announced, vouchsafing no details of the +interview. + +"The--Duchess was very sensible," was Robert's description of what +passed between him and his exalted ex-mother-in-law. + +"I suppose you asked them not to tell?" was my one question. + +"Oh, Opal _won't_ tell!" exclaimed Joyce; and I believed that she was +right. According to Opal's view, _telling_ things only helped them to +happen. + +"I begged the Duchess to say nothing to anybody," answered Robert. Our +eyes met, and we smiled--Robert rather ruefully. + +Of course the Duchess did the contrary of what she'd been begged to do, +and said something to everybody. In less than a week the world was aware +that Robert Lorillard, its lost idol, was coming back to life; that he +who had been for a few months the husband of wonderful June Dana--the +Duchess of Stane's daughter--was engaged to a "V.-A.-D. girl who'd +nursed him in the war, and had been his secretary or something." + +But, after all, the talk mattered very little to those most concerned. +They were divinely happy, the two who were talked about, though they +would have liked to be let alone. I suppose, for Robert, it was a +different kind of happiness from that which the condescension of his +goddess had given him: less dazzling perhaps; more like the warm +sweetness of early spring and its flowers, compared with a tropical +summer of scented magnolias and daturas. June had been a goddess +stepping down from her golden pedestal, and Joyce was a loving, adoring +human girl, ready for all that wifehood might mean. + +Robert shut up the little place by the river (where they planned to live +later), and stopped at an hotel in town, though he had never let the +flat in St. James's Square, the scene of his engagement to June. + +I began helping Joyce choose a trousseau that could be got together in +haste, for they were to go to the south of France and Italy for their +honeymoon; and one day, after shopping the whole morning and part of the +afternoon, we were to meet Robert for tea at the Savoy. + +You know that soft amber light there is in the big _foyer_ of the Savoy +at tea-time, like the beautiful subdued light in dreams? Since the war +it brings back to me ghosts of all the jolly, handsome boys one used to +see there, whose bodies sleep now under the poppies and _bluets_ of +France; and as Joyce and I walked in, rather late, the thought of those +boys and those days came over me with the sobbing music of the violins. + +"It's like the beat, beat of invisible hearts," I said to myself. And +suddenly I was sad. + +There sat Robert, waiting for us. He had taken a table for three, and +one of the chairs, I noticed, was a noble one covered with velvet +brocade--a chair like a Queen's throne. + +He rose at sight of us, and I saw that a little woman at a table close +by was looking at him with intense interest. In fact, her interest in +Robert gave her a kind of fictitious interest of her own, in my eyes, +she seemed so absorbed in him. + +She was one of those women you'd know to be American if you met them +crawling up the North Pole; and as she was in travelling dress I fancied +that it was not long since she had landed. + +"She probably admired him on the stage when she was here before the war, +and hasn't been in England since till now," I thought, to be interrupted +by Robert himself. + +"That armchair's for you, Princess," he said, as I was going to slip +into a smaller one and leave the "throne" for the bride-elect. + +For an instant we disputed; then I was about to yield, laughing, when +the little woman in brown jumped up with a gasp. + +"Oh, you _can't_ sit in that chair!" she exclaimed. "Don't you +_see_--there's someone there?" + +We all three started and stared, thinking, of course, that the creature +was mad. But her face looked sane, and pathetically pleading. + +"Do forgive me!" she begged. "I forget that everyone doesn't see what I +see. _They_ are so clear to me always. I'm not insane. But I couldn't +let you sit in that chair. You may have heard of me. I am Priscilla Hay +Reardon, of Boston. I can't at this moment give you the name of the +lovely girl--the lady in the chair--but she would tell me, I think, if I +asked her. I must describe her to you, though, she's so beautiful, and +she so wants you all--no, not _all_; only the gentleman--to recognize +her. She has red-brown hair, in glossy waves, and immense blue eyes, +like violet flame. She has a dainty nose; full, drooping red lips, the +upper one very short and haughty; a cleft in her chin; wonderful +complexion, with rosy cheeks, the colour high under the eyes; a long +throat; a splendid figure, though slim; and she is dressed in gray, with +an ostrich plume trailing over a gray hat that shades her forehead. She +has a string of gray pearls round her neck--_black_ pearls she says they +are; she wears a chiffon scarf held by an emerald brooch, and on her +hand is a ring with a marvellous square emerald." + +Robert, Joyce, and I were speechless. The description of June was +exact--June in the gray dress and hat she had worn the day we went to +Robert's rooms, the day they were engaged; the dress he had made her +wear when Sargent painted her portrait. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE SPIRIT OF JUNE + + +Before one of us could utter a word, the little woman hurried on. + +"Ah, the lovely girl has begun to talk very fast now! I can hardly +understand what she says, because she's half crying. It's to +you she speaks, sir; I don't know your name! But, yes--it's +_Robert_... 'Robert!' the girl is sobbing. 'Have you forgotten me +already?'... Do those words convey any special impression to your mind, +sir, or has this spirit mistaken you for someone else?" + +Robert was ghastly, and Joyce looked as if she were going to faint. Even +I--to whom this scene meant less than to them--even I was flabbergasted. +That is the _one_ word! If you don't know what it means, you're lucky, +because in that case you've never been it. I should translate from +experience: "FLABBERGASTED; astounded and bewildered at the same time, +with a slight dash of premature second childhood thrown in." + +I heard Robert answer in a strained voice: + +"The words do convey an impression to my mind. But--this is too +sacred--too private a subject. We can't discuss it here. I----" + +"I know!" the woman breathlessly agreed. "_She_ feels it, too. She +wouldn't have chosen a place like this. She's explaining--how for a long +time she's tried to reach you, but couldn't make you understand. Now +I've given her the chance. She's suffering terribly because of the +barrier between you. I pity her. I wish I could help! Maybe I could if +you'd care to come to my rooms. I'm staying in this hotel. I've just +arrived in England from Boston, the first visit in my life. I haven't +been in London much more than two hours now! I've got a little suite +upstairs." + +If she'd got a "little suite" at the Savoy, the woman must have money. +She couldn't be a common or garden medium cadging for mere fees. +Besides, no common or garden person, an absolute stranger to Robert +Lorillard, met by sheer accident, could have described June Dana and +that gray dress of four years ago; her jewels, too! Robert's name she +might have picked up if Joyce or I had let it drop by accident; but the +last was inexplicable. The thing that had happened--that was +happening--seemed to me miraculous, and tragic. I felt that Fate had +seized the bright bird of happiness and would crush it to death, unless +something intervened. And what could intervene? I struggled not to see +the future as a foregone conclusion. But I could see it in no other way +except by shutting my eyes. + +Robert turned to Joyce. He didn't say to her, "What am I to do?" Yet she +read the silent question and answered it. + +"Of course you must go," she said. "It--whether it's genuine or not, +you'll have to find out. You can't let it drop." + +"No, I can't let it drop," he echoed. He looked stricken. He, too, saw +the dark, fatal hand grasping the white bird. + +He had loved June passionately, but the beautiful body he'd held in his +arms lay under that sundial by the riverside. Her spirit was of another +world. And he'd not have been a human, hot-blooded man, if the +reproachful wraith of an old love could be more to him than the brave +girl who'd saved his life and won his soul back from despair. + +I saw, as if through their eyes, the thing they faced together, those +two, and suddenly I rebelled against that figure of Destiny. I was wild +to save the white bird before its wings had ceased to flutter. I didn't +know at all what to do. But I had to do something. I simply _had_ to! + +Miss Reardon rose. + +"Would you like to come with me now?" she asked, addressing Robert, not +Joyce or me. She ignored us, but not in a rude way. Indeed, there was a +direct and rather childlike simplicity in her manner, which impressed +one with her genuineness. I was afraid--horribly afraid--and almost +sure, that she _was_ genuine. I respected her against my will, because +she didn't worry to be polite; but at the same time I didn't intend to +be shunted. I determined to be in at the death--or whatever it was! + +"Aren't you going to invite us, too?" I asked. "If the--the apparition +is the spirit we think we recognize, she and I were dear friends." + +Miss Reardon's round, mild eyes searched my face. Then they turned as if +to consult another face which only they could see. It was creepy to +watch them gaze steadily at something in that big, _empty_ armchair. + +"Yes," she agreed. "The lady--Lady----Could it be 'June'?--It sounds +like June--says it's true you were her friend. But she says '_Not the +other._' The other mustn't come." + +"I wouldn't wish to come," Joyce protested. She was waxen pale. "I'll go +home," she said to Robert. "Don't bother about me. Don't think about me +at all. Afterward you can--tell me whatever you care to tell." + +"No!" Robert and I spoke together, moved by the same thought. "Don't go +home. Wait here for us." + +"Very well," the girl consented, more to save argument at such a moment, +I think, than because she wished to do what we asked. + +She sank down in one of the chairs we had taken and Robert and I +followed Miss Reardon. She appeared to think that we were sure to know +her name quite well. I didn't know it, for I was a stranger in the world +of Spiritualism. But her air of being modestly proud of the name seemed +to prove that her reputation as a medium was good--that she'd never been +found out in any fraud. And going up in the lift the words spoke +themselves over and over in my head: "She couldn't know who Robert is, +if it's true she's never been in England before, and if she has come to +London to-day. At least, I don't see how she could." + +In silence we let Miss Reardon lead us to the sitting room of her suite +on the third floor. It was small but pretty, and smelt of La France +roses, though none were visible, nor were there any other flowers there. +Robert and I looked at each other as this perfume rushed to meet us. La +France roses were June's favourites, and belonged to the month of her +birth. Robert had sent them to her often, especially when they were out +of season and difficult to get. + +"_She_ is here, waiting for us!" exclaimed Miss Reardon. "Oh, _surely_ +you must see her--on the sofa, with her feet crossed--such pretty +diamond buckles on her shoes!--and her lap full of roses. She holds up +one rose, she kisses it, to you--Robert--Robert--some name that begins +with L. I can't hear it clearly. But Robert is enough." + +Yes, Robert was enough--more than enough! + +Miss Reardon asked in an almost matter-of-fact way if he would like to +sit down on the sofa beside June, who wished him to do so. He didn't +answer; but he sat down, and his eyes stared at vacancy. I knew from +their expression, however, that he saw nothing. + +"What will be the next thing?" I wondered. + +I had not long to wait to find out! + +"_She_ asks me to take your hand and hers. Then she will talk to you +through me," Miss Reardon explained. As she spoke, she drew up a small +chair in front of the sofa, leaned forward, took Robert's right hand in +hers, and held out the left, as if grasping another hand--a hand unseen. + +As the medium did this, with thin elbows resting on thin knees, she +closed her eyes. A look of _blankness_ came over her face like a mist. I +can't describe it in any other way. Presently her chin dropped slightly. +She seemed to sleep. + +Neither Robert nor I had uttered a word since we entered the room. We +waited tensely. + +Just what I expected to happen I hardly know, for I had no experience of +"manifestations" or seances. But what did happen surprised me so that I +started, and just contrived to suppress a gasp. + +A voice. It did not sound like Miss Reardon's voice, with its rather +pleasant American accent. It was a creamy English voice, young and +full-noted. "_June!_" I whispered under my breath, where I sat across +the length of the room from the sofa. I glanced at Robert. There was +surprise on his face, and some other emotion deep as his heart. But it +was not joy. + +"Dearest, have you forgotten me so soon?" the voice asked. "Speak to me! +It's I, your June." + +It was a wrench for Robert to speak, I know. There was the pull of +self-consciousness in the opposite direction--distaste for conversation +with the Invisible while alien eyes watched, alien ears listened. And +then, to reply as if to June, was virtually to admit that he believed in +her presence, that all doubt of the medium was erased from his mind. But +after a second's pause he obeyed the command. + +"No," he said, "I've not forgotten and I never can forget." + +"Yet you are engaged to marry this Joyce Arnold!" mourned the voice that +was like June's. + +I almost jumped out of my chair at the sound of Joyce's name. It was +another proof that the medium was genuine. + +Robert's tone as he answered was more convinced than before I thought. +And the youth had died out of his eyes. They looked old. + +"Do you want me to live all my life alone, now that I've lost you, +June?" he asked. + +"Darling, you are not alone!" answered the voice. "I'm always with you. +I love you so much that I've chosen to stay near you, and be earth +bound, rather than lead my own life on the plane where I might be. I +thought you would want me here. I thought that some day, if I tried long +enough, you would feel my touch, you would see my face. After a while I +hoped I was succeeding. I looked at you from the eyes of my portrait in +your study. Now and then it seemed as if you _knew_. But then that girl +interfered. Oh, Robert, in giving up my progression from plane to plane +till you could join me, has the sacrifice been all in vain?" + +The voice wrung my heart. It shook as with a gust of fears. Its pleading +sent little stabs of ice through my veins. So what must Robert have +felt? + +"No, no! The sacrifice isn't in vain!" he cried. "I didn't know, I +didn't understand that those on the other side came back to us, and +cared for us in the same way they cared on earth. I am yours now and +always, June, of course. Order my life as you will." + +"Ah, my dear one, I thank you!" The voice rose high in happiness. "I +felt you wouldn't fail me if I could only _reach_ you, and at last my +prayer is answered. Nothing can separate us now through eternity if you +love me. You won't marry that girl?" + +"Not if it is against your wish, June. It must be that you see things +more clearly, where you are, than I can see them. If you tell me to +break my word to Joyce Arnold, I must--I will do so." + +"I tell you this, my dearest," said the voice. "If you do _not_ break +with her, you and I are lost to each other for ever. When I chose to be +earth bound I staked everything on my belief in your love. Without it in +_full_, I shall drift--drift, through the years, through ages, I know +not how long, in expiation. Besides, I am not _dead_, I am more alive +than I was in what you call life. You are my husband, beloved, as much +as you ever were. Think what I suffer seeing another woman in your arms! +My capacity for suffering is increased a thousandfold--as is my capacity +for joy. If you make her your wife----" + +"I will not!" Robert choked. "I promise you that. Never shall you suffer +through me if I can help it." + +"Darling!" breathed the voice. "My husband! How happy you make me. This +is our true _marriage_--the marriage of spirits. Oh, do not let the +barrier rise between us again. Put Joyce Arnold out of your heart as +well as your life, and talk to me every day in future. Will you do +that?" + +"How can I to talk to you every day?" he asked. + +"As we are talking now. Through a medium. This one will not always be +near you. But there will be somebody. I've often tried to get word +through to you. I never could, because you wouldn't _believe_. Now you +believe, and we need not be parted again. You know the way to _open the +door_. It is never shut. It stands ajar. Remember!" + +"I will remember," Robert echoed. And his voice was sad as the sound of +the sea on a lonely shore at night. There was no warm happiness for him +in the opening of a door between two worlds. The loss of Joyce was more +to him than the gain of this spirit-wife who claimed him from far off as +all her own. It seemed to me that a released soul should have read the +truth in his unveiled heart. But perhaps it did read--and did not care. + +The voice was talking on. + +"I am repaid for everything now," it said. "My sacrifice is no +sacrifice. For to-day I must say good-bye. Power is leaving me. I have +felt too much. I must rest, and regain vitality--for to-morrow. +_To-morrow_, Robert, my Robert! By that time we can talk with no +restraint, for you will have parted with Joyce Arnold. After to-day you +will never see her again?" + +"No. After to-day I will never see her again, voluntarily, as that is +your wish." + +"Good! What time to-morrow will you talk with me?" + +"At any time you name." + +"At this same hour, then, in this same room." + +"So be it. If the medium consents." + +"I shall make her consent. And you and I will agree upon someone else to +bring us together, when she must go elsewhere, as I can see through her +mind that she soon must. Good-bye, dearest husband, for twenty-four long +hours. Yet it isn't really good-bye, for I am seldom far from you. Now +that you _know_, you will feel me near. I----" + +The voice seemed to fade. The last words were a faint whisper. The new +sentence died as it began. The medium's eyelids quivered. Her flat +breast rose and fell. The "influence" was gone! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE BARGAIN + + +That night was one of the worst in my life. I was so fond of Robert +Lorillard, and I'd grown to love Joyce Arnold so well that the breaking +of their love idyll hurt as if it had been my own. + +Never shall I forget the hour when we three talked together at my flat +after that seance at the Savoy, or the look on those two faces as Robert +and Joyce agreed to part! Even I had acquiesced at first in that +decision--but only while I was still half stunned by the shock of the +great surprise, and thrilled by the seeming miracle. At sight of the two +I loved quietly giving each other up, making sacrifice of their hearts +on a cold altar, I had a revulsion of feeling. + +I jumped up, and broke out desperately. + +"I don't believe it's true! Something _tells_ me it isn't! Don't spoil +your lives without making sure." + +"How can we be surer than we are?" Robert asked. "You recognized June's +voice." + +"I _thought_ then that I did," I amended. "I was excited. Now, I don't +trust my own impression." + +"But the perfume of La France roses? Even if the woman could have found +out other things, how should she know about a small detail like June's +favourite flower? How could she have the perfume already in her room +when we came--as if she were sure of our coming there--which of course +she couldn't have been," Robert argued. + +"I don't _see_ how she could have been sure," I had to grant him. "I +don't see through any of it. But they're so deadly clever, these +people--the fraudulent ones, I mean. They couldn't impress the public as +they do if they weren't up to every trick. All I say is, _wait_. Don't +decide irrevocably yet. The way the voice talked didn't seem to me a bit +like June. Only the tones were like hers; and they might have been +imitated by anybody who'd known her, or who'd been coached by someone." + +"Dear Princess, you're so anxious for our happiness that I fear you're +thinking of impossible things. Who could have an object in parting Joyce +and me? I can think of no one. Still less could this stranger from +America have a motive, even if she lied, and really knew who I was +before she spoke to us at the Savoy." + +"I admit it does sound just as impossible as you say!" I agreed, +forlornly. "But things that _sound_ impossible may be possible. And we +must find out. In justice to Joyce and yourself--even in justice to +June's spirit, which I _can't_ think would be so selfish--we must find +out!" + +"What would you suggest?" Joyce asked rather timidly. But there was a +faint colour in her cheeks, like a spark in the ashes of hope. + +"Detectives!" I said. "Or rather _a_ detective. I know a good man. He +served me very well once, when some of our family treasures disappeared +from Courtenaye Abbey, and it rather looked as if I'd stolen them +myself. He can learn without any shadow of doubt when Miss Reardon did +land, and when she came to London. Besides, he's sure to have colleagues +on the other side who can give him all sorts of details about the woman: +how she's thought of at home, whether she's ever been caught out as a +cheat, and so on. Will you both consent to that? Because if you will, +I'll 'phone to my man this moment." + +They did consent. At least, Robert did, for Joyce left the decision +entirely to him. She was so afraid, poor girl, of seeming determined to +_hold_ him at any price, that she would hardly speak. As for Robert, +though he felt that I was justified in getting to the bottom of things, +I saw that he believed in the truth of the message he'd received. If it +were not the spirit of June who had come to command his allegiance, he +still had a right to his warm earthly happiness with Joyce Arnold. But +if it were indeed her spirit who claimed all he had to give for the rest +of life, it was a fair debt, and he would pay in full. + +I received the detective (my old friend Smith) alone, in another room, +when he came. The necessary discussion would have been torture for +Robert and intolerable for Joyce. When Smith left I had at least this +encouragement to give the two: it would be simple to learn what I wished +to learn about Miss Reardon, on both sides of the Atlantic. + +That was better than nothing. But it didn't make the dark watches of the +night less dark. I had an ugly presentiment that Smith, smart as he was, +would get hold of little to help us, if anything. Yet at the same time I +felt that there _was_ something to get hold of--somewhere! + +If I hadn't implored them to wait, Joyce and Robert would have decided +to publish the news that their marriage (which somehow everyone knew +about!) would "not take place." This concession they did make to me; but +they agreed together that they mustn't meet. My cheerful flat felt like +a large grave fitted with all modern conveniences, when it had been +deprived of Robert. And Joyce trying to be normal and not to shed gloom +over me, her employer, was _too_ agonizing! + +Robert didn't even write to Joyce. I suppose he couldn't trust himself. +But he wrote to me, and gave the history of his second interview with +Miss Reardon. June had come again, and had reminded him of incidents +about which, he said, "no outsider could possibly know." + +"I can't help believing now that there are more things in heaven and +earth than I'd dreamed of in my philosophy," he ended his letter. +"There's no getting round the fact that what I should have thought a +miracle has happened. The spirit of June has claimed me from the 'other +side.' And even if I were brutal enough, disloyal enough, to disown the +claim, to pretend to Joyce and myself that I _didn't_ believe, neither +Joyce nor I could have a moment's happiness, married. She knows that as +well as I do. As my wife her life would be spoiled. June would always +stand between us, separating us one from the other. I think I should be +driven mad. Joyce's heart would be broken! + +"I've promised to talk with June through a medium every day. Miss +Reardon has to leave London in a fortnight, but June's voice asked me to +go to Opal Fawcett. You remember my telling you that Opal suggested this +long ago, saying that June wanted to get in touch with me? I wouldn't +hear of it then, because at that time I had no reason to believe in the +genuineness of visits from one world to another. Now it's different. I +shall go to Opal. + +"Tell Joyce that I'll write her to-night. It won't be a letter such as I +should wish to write. But she will understand." + +Yes, she would understand! One could always trust Joyce to understand, +even if she were on the rack! + +It was the next day--the third day after the unforgettable one at the +Savoy--when my tame detective brought his budget. He would have come +even sooner, he said, if there hadn't been a delay in the cable service. + +Miss Reardon, Smith learned, had never been exposed as an impostor. She +was respected personally, and had attained a certain amount of fame both +in Boston (where she lived) and New York. She had been several times +invited to visit England, but had never been able to accept until now. +She had arrived by the ship and at the time stated. When we met her at +the Savoy, she could not have been more than two hours in London. +Therefore her story seemed to be true in every detail, and what was +more, she had not been met at ship or train by any one. + +I simply _hated_ poor dear little Smith. He ought to have nosed out +_something_ against the woman! What are detectives _for_? + +"You've been an angel to fight for my happiness," Joyce said. "I adore +you for it. And so does Robert, I know--though he mustn't put such +feelings into words, or even _have_ feelings if he can help it. There's +nothing more to fight about now. The best thing I can pray for is that +Robert may forget our--dream, and that he may be happy in this other +dream--of June." + +"And you?" I asked. "What prayer do you say for yourself? Do _you_ pray +to forget?" + +"Oh, no!" she answered. "I don't want to forget. I wouldn't forget, if I +could. You see, it wasn't a dream to me. It was--it always will be--the +best thing in my life--the glory of my life. In my heart I shall live it +all over and over again till I die. I don't mind suffering. I've seen so +much pain in the war, and the courage that went with it. I shall have my +roses--not La France; deep red roses they'll be, red as blood, and sharp +with thorns, but sweet as heaven. There!" and her voice changed. "Now +you know, Princess! We'll never speak of this again, because we don't +need to, do we?" + +"No--o," I agreed. "You're a grand girl, Joyce, worth two of----But +never mind! And I'll try to make you as happy as I can." + +She thanked me for that; she was always thanking me for something. Soon, +however, she broke the news that she must go away. She loved me and her +work, yet she couldn't stop in London; she just couldn't. Not as things +were. If Robert had been turning his back on England she might have +stayed. But his promise to communicate with June daily through Opal +bound him to London. Joyce thought that she might try India. She had +friends there in the Army and in the Civil Service. She might do useful +work as a nurse among the purdah women and their babies, where mortality +was very high, she'd heard. "I _must_ be busy--busy every minute of the +day," she cried, hiding her anguish with that smile of hers which I'd +learned to love. + +What Robert had said to her in his promised letter, the only one he +wrote, she didn't tell. I knew no more than that it had been written and +received. Probably it wasn't an ideal letter for a girl to wear over her +heart, hidden under her dress. Robert would have felt it unfair to write +that kind of letter. All the same I'm sure that Joyce _did_ wear it +there! + +As for me, I was absolutely _sick_ about everything. I felt as if my two +dearest friends had been put in prison on a false charge, and as +though--if I hadn't cotton wool for a brain--I ought to be able to get +them out. + +"There's a clue to the labyrinth if I could see it," I told myself so +often that I was tired of the thought. And the most irritating part was +that now and then I seemed to catch a half glimpse of the clue dangling +back and forth like a thread of spider's web close to my eyes. But +invariably it was gone before I'd _really_ caught sight of it. And all +the good that _concentrating_ did was to bump my intelligence against +the pale image of Opal Fawcett. + +I didn't understand how Opal, even with the best--or worst--will in the +world, could have stage-managed this drama, though I should have liked +to think she had done it. + +Miss Reardon frankly admitted having heard of Opal (who hadn't heard of +her), among those interested in spiritism, during the last few years; +but as the American woman had never before been in England, and Opal had +never crossed to America, the Boston medium hardly needed to say that +she'd never met Miss Fawcett. As for correspondence, if there _were_ a +secret between the pair, of course they'd both deny it. And so, though I +longed to fling a challenge to Opal, I saw that it would be stupid to +put the two women, if guilty, on their guard. Besides, how _could_ they, +through any correspondence, have contrived the things that had happened? + +Suddenly, through the darkness of my doubts, shot a lightning flash: the +thought of Jim Courtenaye. + +Superficially judging, Sir James Courtenaye, wild man of the West, but +lately transplanted, appeared the last person to assist in working out a +psychic problem. All the same a great longing to prop myself against him +(figuratively!) overwhelmed me; and for fear the impulse might pass, I +wired at once: + + Please come if you can. Wish to consult you. + + ELIZABETH DI MIRAMARE. + +Jim was, as usual, hovering between Courtenaye Coombe and Courtenaye +Abbey. There were hours between us, even by telegraph, and the best I +expected was an answer in the afternoon to my morning's message. But at +six o'clock his name was announced, and he walked into the drawing room +of my flat as large as life, or a size or two larger. + +"Good gracious!" I gasped. "You've _come_?" + +"You're not surprised, are you?" he retorted. + +"Why, yes," I said. "I didn't suppose----" + +"Then you're not so brainy as I thought you were," said he. "Also you +didn't look at time-tables. What awful catastrophe has happened to you, +Elizabeth, to make you want to see me?" + +I couldn't help laughing, although I didn't feel in the least like +laughter; and besides, he had no right to call me Elizabeth. + +"Nothing has happened to _me_," I explained. "It's to somebody else----" + +"Oh, somebody you've been trying to 'brighten,' I suppose?" + +"Yes, and failed," I confessed. + +He scowled. + +"A man?" + +"A man and his girl." Whereupon I emptied the whole story into the bowl +of Jim's intelligence. + +"Do you see light?" I asked at last. + +"No," he returned, stolidly. "I don't." + +Oh, how disappointed I was! I'd hardly known how much I'd counted on Jim +till I got that answer. + +"But I might find some," he added, when he'd watched the effect of his +words on me. + +"How?" I implored. + +"There's only one way, if any, to get the kind of light you want," said +Jim. "It might be a difficult way, and it might be a long one." + +"Yet you think light _could_ be got? The kind of light I want?" I +clasped my hands and deliberately tried to look irresistible. + +"Who can tell? The one thing certain is, that trying would take all my +time away from everything else, maybe for weeks, maybe for months." + +His tone made my face feel the way faces look in those awful concave +mirrors: about three feet in length and three inches in width. + +"Then you won't undertake the task?" I quavered. + +"I don't say that," grudged Jim. + +"You _wouldn't_ say it if you could meet Joyce Arnold," I coaxed. "She's +such a darling girl. Poor child, she's out now, pulling strings for a +job in India." + +"Meeting her wouldn't make any difference to me," said Jim. "It's for +you I'd try to bring off this stunt--if I tried at all." + +"Oh, then do it for me," I broke out. + +"That's what I was working up to," he replied. "I wouldn't say 'yes' and +I wouldn't say 'no' till I knew what you'd do for me in return if I +succeeded." + +"Why, I'd thank you a thousand times!" I cried. "I'd--I'd never forget +you as long as I live." + +"There's not much in that for me. I hate being thanked for things. And +what good would it do me to be remembered by you at a distance, perhaps +married to some beast or other?" + +"But if I marry I sha'n't marry a beast," I sweetly assured my +forty-fourth cousin four times removed. + +"I should think any man you married a beast, if he wasn't me," said Jim. + +"Good heavens!" I breathed. "Surely _you_ don't want to marry me!" + +"Surely I do," he retorted. "And what's more, you know it jolly well." + +"I don't." + +"You do. You've known it ever since that affair of the yacht. If you +hadn't, you wouldn't have asked me to hide the Scarlett kid. I knew then +that you knew. And you'd be a fool if you hadn't known--which you're +not." + +I said no more, because--I was found out! I _had_ known. Only, I hadn't +let myself think about it much--until lately perhaps. But now and then I +_had_ thought. I'd thought quite a good deal. + +When he had me silenced, Jim went on: + +"Just like a woman! You're willing to let me sacrifice all my +engagements and inclinations to start off on a wild-goose chase for you, +while you give nothing in return----" + +"But I would!" I cut in. + +"What would you give?" + +"What do you want?" + +"Yourself, of course." + +"Oh!" + +"If you'll marry me in case I find out that someone's been playing a +devil's trick on Lorillard," said Jim, "I'll do--my damnedest! How's +that?" + +I shrugged my shoulders, and looked debonair; which was easy, as my nose +is that shape. Yet my heart pounded. + +"You seem to think the sacrifice of your engagements and inclinations +worth a big price!" + +"I know it's a big price," he granted. "But every man has his price. +That happens to be mine. You may not have to pay, however, even in the +event of my success. Because, in the course of my operations I may do +something that'll land me in quod. In that case, you're free. I wouldn't +mate you with a gaol bird." + +I stared, and gasped. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Don't you know me intimately enough to be sure that once I'm on the +warpath I stop at nothing?" he challenged. + +"I don't think you'd be easy to stop," I said. "That's why I've called +on you to help me. But really, I can't understand what there is in the +thing to send you to prison." + +"You don't need to understand," snorted Jim. "I sha'n't get there if I +can keep out, because that would be the way to lose my prize. But I +suppose from your point of view the great thing is for your two dearest +friends to be happy ever after." + +"Not at a terrible cost to you," I just stopped myself from saying. +Instead, I hedged: "You frighten me!" I cried. "And you make me +curious--_fearfully_ curious. What _can_ you be meaning to do?" + +"That's my business!" said Jim. + +"You've got a plan--already?" + +"Yes, I've got a plan--already, if----" + +"If what?" + +"If you agree to the bargain. Do you?" + +I nodded. + +He seized my hand and squeezed it hard. + +"Then I'm off," he said. "You won't hear from me till I have news, good +or bad. And meanwhile I have no address." + +With that he was gone. + +I felt as if he had left me alone in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE LAST SEANCE + + +The only way in which I could keep Joyce with me for a little while +longer was by pretending to be ill. _That_ fetched her. And it wasn't +all pretense, either, because I was horribly worried, not only about her +and Robert, but about Jim. And about myself. + +I said not a word to Joyce of Jim and his mission. So far as she knew +I'd abandoned hope--as she had. We heard nothing from Robert, or +concerning him, and each day that built itself up was a gloomier _cul de +sac_ than the last. + +Bye and bye there came the end of Miss Reardon's fortnight in London. +"Now Robert will be turned over to Opal," I groaned to myself. And I was +sure that the same thought was in the mind of Joyce. Just one or two +days more, and after that a long monotony of bondage for him, year in +and year out! + +As I waked in the morning with these words on my lips, Joyce herself +knocked, playing nurse, with a tray of coffee and toast. + +"I would have let you sleep on," she said, "but a note has come by +messenger for you, with 'Urgent' on the envelope in such a nice +handwriting I felt you'd want to have it. So I brought your breakfast at +the same time." + +The nice handwriting was Jim's. He had vowed not to write till there was +"news, good or bad." My fingers trembled as I tore open the letter. I +read: + + Make Lorillard invite you and Miss Arnold _and your fiance_ to a + seance before Miss Reardon goes. It will have to be to-day or + to-morrow. Don't take "no" for an answer. Manage it somehow. If you + insist, Lorillard will force Reardon to consent. When the stunt's + fixed up, let me hear at once. + + Yours, Jim. + +L---- is at his flat. You know the address. + +By Jove! This was a facer! Could I bring the thing off? But I simply +_must_. I knew Jim well enough to be sure that the clock of fate had +been wound up by him, ready to strike, and that it wouldn't strike if I +didn't obey orders. + +I pondered for a minute whether or no to tell Joyce, but quickly decided +_no_. The request must first come from Robert. + +I braced myself with hot coffee, and thought hard. Then I asked Joyce +for writing materials, and scribbled a note to Robert. I wrote: + + There is a reason why you _must_ get us invited by Miss Reardon to + the last seance she gives before leaving. When I say "us," I mean + _Joyce_ as well as myself, and the man I've just promised to marry. + I know this will seem shocking to you, perhaps impossible, as you + agreed not to see Joyce again, "_voluntarily_." But oh, Robert, + trust me, and _make_ it possible for the sake of a brave girl who + once saved your life at the risk of her own. Seeing her this time + won't count as "voluntary" on your part. It is necessary. + +When the note was ready I said to Joyce that I'd just had news of Robert +Lorillard from a great friend of mine who was much interested in his +welfare. This news necessitated my writing Robert, and as I was still in +bed I must request her to send the letter by hand. + +"Go out to the nearest post office yourself, and have a messenger take +it," I directed. + +While she was gone I got up, bathed, and put on street dress for the +first time since I'd been "playing 'possum." + +I felt much better, I explained when Joyce came back, and added that, +later in the day, I might even be inclined "for a walk or something." + +"If you're so well as that, you'll be ready to let me go to India soon, +won't you, dear?" she hinted. No doubt my few words about Robert, and +the sight of his name on a letter, had made the poor girl desperate +under her calm, controlled manner. + +I was desperate, too, knowing that her whole future depended on the +success of Jim's plan. If it failed, I should have to let her go, and +all would be over! + +"You must do what's best for you," I answered. "But don't talk about it +now. Wait till to-morrow." + +Joyce was dumb. + +Hours passed, and no reply from Robert. I began to fear he'd gone +away--or that he was hideously offended. We'd got through a pretence of +luncheon, when at last a messenger came. Thank heaven, Robert's +handwriting was on the envelope! + +He wrote: + + I don't understand your wish, dear Princess. It seems like + deliberate torture of Joyce and me that she should be present when + I am visited by the spirit of June--for that is what actually + happens. June materializes. I see her, as well as hear her voice. + Can Joyce bear this? You seem to think she can, and so I must. For + you are a friend of friends, and you wouldn't put me to such a test + without the best of reasons. + + I expected that Miss Reardon would refuse to receive strangers on + such an occasion. But rather to my surprise she has consented, and + a seance is arranged for this evening at nine o'clock in her rooms. + To-morrow would have been too late, as she is leaving for the south + of France, to stay with some American millionairess at Cannes, who + hopes to get into touch with a son on the Other Side. You see, I + don't use that old, cold word "dead." I couldn't now I know how + near, and how like their earthly selves, are those who go beyond. + + So you are engaged to be married! Don't think I'm indifferent + because I leave mention of your news till the last. I'm deeply + interested. Bless you, Princess! + + Yours ever, R. L. + +I read this letter, destroying it (in case Joyce became importunate), +and then broke it to her that Robert earnestly wished us to attend the +last seance with Miss Reardon. + +She turned sickly white. + +"I can't go!" she almost sobbed. "I simply can't." + +Then I said that it would hurt Robert horribly if she didn't. He +wouldn't have asked such a thing without the strongest motive. I would +be with her, I went on; and tried to pull her thoughts up out of tragic +gulfs by springing the news of my engagement upon her. It may have +sounded irrelevant, almost heartlessly so, but it braced the girl. And +she little guessed that the engagement would not exist save for Robert +and her! + +I 'phoned Jim at the address on his letter, a house in Westminster +which--when I happened to notice--was in the same street as Opal +Fawcett's. It was a relief to hear his voice answer "Hello!" for he had +demanded immediate knowledge of our plans; and goodness knew what +mysterious preparations for his _coup_ he might have to elaborate. + +He would meet us at the Savoy, he said, at 8:45, and I could introduce +him to Miss Reardon before the seance began. + +Joyce and I started at 8:30, in a taxi, having made a mere stage +pretence of dinner. We hardly spoke on the way, but I held her hand, and +pressed it now and then. + +Jim was waiting for us just inside the revolving doors of the hotel. + +"I'd have liked to come for you in a car," he said aside to me, "but I +thought it would be hard on Miss Arnold--and maybe on you--to have more +of my society than need be, you know!" + +"Why on me?" I hastily inquired. + +His black eyes blazed into mine. + +"Well, I've sort of blackmailed you, haven't I?" + +"Have you?" + +"Into this engagement of ours." + +"Oh, I haven't got time to think of that just now!" I snapped. "Let's go +to Miss Reardon's rooms." + +We went. Jim said no more, except to mention that Captain Lorillard had +already gone up. + +Joyce may have imagined Jim to be the "great friend interested in +Robert's welfare," but as for me, I wondered how he knew Robert by +sight. Then I scolded myself: "Silly one! Hasn't he been +watching--playing detective for you?" + +It was poignant, remembering the last time when Robert, Joyce, and I had +met in Miss Reardon's sitting room--the last day of their happiness. But +we greeted each other quietly, like old friends, though Joyce's heart +must have contracted at sight of the man's changed face. All the renewed +youth and joyous manhood her love had given him had burned out of his +eyes. He looked as he'd looked when I saw him that day at River Orchard +Cottage. + +Miss Reardon was slightly nervous in manner, and flushed like a girl +when I introduced Sir James Courtenaye to her. But soon she recovered +her prim little poise, and began making arrangements for the seance. + +"Mr. Lorillard has already tested my _bona fides_ to his own +satisfaction," she said. "He has examined my small suite, and knows that +no person, no theatrical 'properties' are concealed about the place. If +any of you would like to look around, however, before we start, I'm more +than willing. Also if you'd care to bind my hands and feet, or sit in a +circle and hold me fast, I've no objection." + +As she made this offer, she glanced from one to the other of us. Pale, +silent Joyce shook her head. Jim "left it to Princess di Miramare," and +I decided that if Captain Lorillard was satisfied, we were. + +"Very well," purred Miss Reardon. "In that case there's nothing more to +wait for. Captain Lorillard, will you switch off the lights as usual?" + +"Oh!" I broke in, surprised, "I thought you'd told us that the +'influence' was just as strong in light as darkness?" + +"That is so," replied the medium, "except for materialization. For that, +darkness is essential. There's some _quality_ in darkness that They +need. They can't get the _strength_ to materialize in light conditions." + +"How can we see anything if the room's pitch-black?" I persisted. + +"Explain to your friends, Captain Lorillard, what takes place," bade +Miss Reardon. + +"When--June comes--she brings a faint radiance with her--seems to evolve +it out of herself," Robert said in a low voice. + +As he spoke he switched off the light, and profound silence fell upon +us. + +Some moments passed, and nothing happened. + +Joyce and I sat with locked cold hands. I was on the right of the +medium, and from my chair quite close to hers could easily have reached +out and touched her, if I'd wished. On her left, at about the same +distance, sat Robert. Jim was the only one who stood. He had refused a +chair, and propped his long length against the wall between two doors: +the door opening into the hall outside the suite, and that leading to +Miss Reardon's bedroom and bath. + +We could faintly hear each other breathe. Then, after five or six +minutes, perhaps, I heard odd, gasping sounds as if someone struggled +for breath. These gasps were punctuated with moans, and I should have +been frightened if the direction and nearness of the queer noise hadn't +told me at once that it came from the medium. I'd never before been to a +materializing seance, yet I felt instinctively that this was the +convulsive sort of thing to expect. + +Suddenly a dim light--oh, hardly a light!--a pale greenish glimmer, as +if there were a glowworm in the room--became faintly visible. It seemed +to swim in a delicate gauzy mist. Its height above the floor (this was +the thought flashing into my mind) was about that of a tall woman's +heart. A perfume of La France roses filled the room. + +At first our eyes, accustomed to darkness, could distinguish nothing +except this glowworm light and the surrounding haze of lacy gray. Then, +gradually, we became conscious of a figure--a slender shape in floating +draperies. More and more distinct it grew, as slowly it moved toward +us--toward Robert Lorillard; and my throat contracted as I made out the +semblance of June Dana. + +The form was clad in the gray dress which Miss Reardon had so +surprisingly described when we met her first--the dress June had worn +the day of her engagement--the dress of the portrait at River Orchard +Cottage. The gray hat with the long curling plume shaded the face, and +so obscured it that I should hardly have recognized it as June's had it +not been for the thick wheel of bright, red-brown hair on each side +bunching out under the hat exactly as June had worn her hair that year. +A long, thin scarf filmed like a cloud round the slowly moving figure, +looped over the arms, which waved gracefully as if the spirit-form swam +in air rather than walked. There was an illusive glitter of rings--just +such rings as June had worn: one emerald, one diamond. A dark streak +across the ice-white throat showed her famous black pearls; +and--strangest thing of all--the green light which glimmered through +filmy folds of scarf was born apparently in a glittering emerald brooch. + +At first the vision (which might have come through the wall of the room, +for all we could tell) floated toward Robert. None save spirit-eyes +could have made him out distinctly in the darkness that was lit only by +the small green gleam. But I fancied that he always sat in the same seat +for these seances; he had taken his chair in a way so matter of course. +Therefore the spirit would know where to find him! + +Within a few feet of distance, however, the form paused, and swayed as +if undecided. "She has seen that there are others in the room besides +Robert and the medium," I thought. "Will she be angry? Will she vanish?" + +Hardly had I time to finish the thought, however, when the electricity +was switched on with a click. The light flooding the room dazzled me for +a second, but in the bright blur I saw that Jim Courtenaye had seized +the gray figure. All ghostliness was gone from it. A woman was +struggling with him in dreadful silence--a tall, slim woman with June +Dana's red-bronze hair, June Dana's gray dress and hat and scarf. + +She writhed like a snake in Jim's merciless grasp, but she kept her head +bent not to show her face, till suddenly in some way her hat was knocked +off. With it--caught by a hatpin, perhaps--went the gorgeous, bunched +hair. + +"A wig!" I heard myself cry. And at the same instant Joyce gasped out +"_Opal!_" + +Yes, it was Opal, disguised as June, in the gray dress and hat and +scarf, with black pearls and emeralds all copied from the portrait--and +the haunting fragrance of roses that had been June's. + +The likeness was enough to deceive June's nearest and dearest in that +dimmest of dim lights which was like the ghost of a light, veiled with +all those chiffon scarves. But with the room bright as day, all +resemblance, except in clothes and wig and height, vanished at a glance. + +The woman caught in her cruel fraud was a pitiable sight, yet I had no +pity for her then. Staring at the whitened face, framed in dishevelled, +mouse-brown hair, the long upper lip painted red in a high Cupid's bow +to resemble June's lovely mouth, I was sick with disgust. As at last she +yielded in despair to Jim's fierce clutch, and dropped sobbing on the +sofa, I felt I could have struck her. But she had no thought for me nor +for any of us--not even for Jim, who had ruined the game, nor for Miss +Reardon, who must have sold her to him at a price; for no one at all +except Robert Lorillard. + +When she'd given up hope of escape, and lay panting, exhausted, flung +feebly across the sofa, she looked up at Robert. + +"I loved you," she wept. "That's why I did it; I couldn't let you go to +another woman. I thought I saw a way to keep you always near me--almost +as if you were mine. You can't _hate_ a woman who loves you like that!" + +Robert did not answer. I think he was half dazed. He stood staring at +her, frozen still like the statue of a man. I was frightened for him. He +had endured too much. Joyce couldn't go to him yet, though he would be +hers--all hers, for ever--bye and bye--but _I_ could go, as a friend. + +I laid my hand on his arm, and spoke his name softly. + +"Robert, I always felt there was fraud," I said. "Now, thank Heaven, we +know the truth before it's too late for you to be happy, as June herself +would want you to be happy, if she knew. She wasn't cruel--the _real_ +June. She wasn't like this false one at heart. Go, now, I beg, and take +Joyce home to my flat--she's almost fainting. You must look after her. I +will stay here. Jim Courtenaye'll watch over me--and later we'll bring +you explanations of everything." + +So I got them both away. And when they were gone the whole story was +dragged from Opal. Jim forced her to confess; and with Robert out of +sight--lost for ever to the wretched woman--the task wasn't difficult. +You see, Miss Reardon _had_ sold her beforehand. Jim doesn't care what +price he pays when he wants a thing! + +First of all, he'd taken a house that was to let furnished, near Opal's. +She didn't know him from Adam, but he had her description. He followed +her several times, and saw her go to the Savoy; even saw her go to Miss +Reardon's rooms. Then, to Miss Reardon he presented himself, _en +surprise_, and pretended to know five times as much as he did know; in +fact, as much as he suspected. By this trick he broke down her guard; +and before she had time to build it up again, flung a bribe of two +thousand pounds--ten thousand dollars--at her head. She couldn't resist, +and eventually told him everything. + +Opal and she had corresponded for several years, it seemed, as fellow +mediums, sending each other clients from one country to another. When +Opal learned that the Boston medium was coming to England, she asked if +Miss Reardon would do her a great favour. In return for it, the American +woman's cabin on shipboard and all expenses at one of London's best +hotels would be paid. + +This sounded alluring. Miss Reardon asked questions by letter, and by +letter those questions were answered. A plan was formed--a plan that was +a _plot_. Opal kept phonographic records of many voices among those of +her favourite clients--did this with their knowledge and consent, making +presents to them of their own records to give to friends. It was just an +"interesting fad" of hers! Such a record of June's voice she had posted +to Boston. Miss Reardon, who was a clever mimic (a fine professional +asset!) learned to imitate the voice. She had a description from Opal of +the celebrated gray costume with the jewels June wore, and knew well how +to "work" her knowledge of June's favourite perfume. + +As to that first meeting at the Savoy, Opal was aware that Joyce and I +met Robert there on most afternoons. A suite was taken for Miss Reardon +in the hotel, and the lady was directed to await developments in the +_foyer_ at a certain hour--an old stage photograph of Robert Lorillard +in her hand-bag. The rest had been almost simple, thanks to Opal's +knowledge of June's life and doings; to her deadly cleverness, and the +device of a tiny electric light glimmering through a square of emerald +green glass on the "spirit's" breast, under scarves slowly unfolded. If +it had not been for Jim, Robert would have become her bond-slave, and +Joyce would have fled from England. + + * * * * * + +"Well, are you satisfied?" Jim asked, spinning me home at last in his +own car. + +"More than satisfied," I said. "Joyce and Robert will marry after all, +and be the happiest couple on earth. They'll forget this horror." + +"Which is what you'd like to do if I'd let you, I suppose," said Jim. + +"Forget! You mean----?" + +"Yes. The promise I dragged out of you, and everything." + +"I never forget my promises," I primly answered. + +"But if I let you off it? Elizabeth, that's what I'm going to do! I love +you too much, my girl, to blackmail you permanently--to get you for my +wife in payment of a bargain. I may be pretty bad, but I'm hanged if I'm +as bad as that." + +I burst out laughing. + +"_Idiot!_" I gurgled. "Haven't you the wits to see I _want_ to marry +you? I'm in love with you, you fool. Besides, I'm tired of being matron +of honour, and you being best man every time people I 'brighten' marry!" + +"It sha'n't happen again!" said Jim. + +And then he almost took my breath away. _What_ a strong man he is! + + + + +BOOK IV + +THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BRANDRETH + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE MAN IN THE CUSHIONED CHAIR + + +"Nice end of a honeymoon I'm having!" Jim grumbled. "With my wife +thinking and talking all the time about another fellow." + +"My darling, adored man!" I exclaimed. "You know perfectly well that +you're the background and undercurrent and foundation of all my +thoughts, every minute of the day and night. And this 'other fellow' is +_dying_." + +Yes; "darling, adored" were my adjectives for Jim Courtenaye, whom I had +once abused. + +All the same, if a cat may look at a king, a bride may just glance at a +man who isn't her bridegroom. + +"Ruling passion strong in--marriage, I suppose," said Jim. "I bet you'd +like to try your hand at 'brightening' that chap--though judging from +his face, he's almost past even your blandishments. _I_ wouldn't be past +'em--not in my _coffin_! But it isn't every blighter who can love as I +do, you minx." + +"And 'tisn't every blighter who has such a perfect woman to love," I +capped him with calm conceit. + +"But I wish I _could_ 'brighten' that poor fellow. Or else I wish that +someone else would!" + +And at this instant my wish was granted in the most amazing way! + +A girl appeared--but no, I mustn't let her arrive upon the scene just +yet. First, I must explain that Jim and I were on shipboard, coming back +to England from America, where we had been having the most wonderful +honeymoon. Jim had taken me out West, and showed me the places where he +had lived in his cowboy days. We had ridden long trails together, in the +Grand Canyon of Arizona, and in the Yosemite Valley of California. I had +never imagined that life could be so glorious, and our future +together--Jim's and mine--stretched before us like a dream of joy. We +were going to live in the dear old Abbey which had been the home of the +Courtenayes for hundreds and hundreds of years, and travel when we +liked. Because we were so much in love and so happy, I yearned to make a +few thousand other people happy also--though it did seem impossible that +any one on earth could be as joyous as we were. + +This was our second day out from New York on the _Aquitania_, and my +spirits had been slightly damped by discovering that two +fellow-passengers if not more were extremely miserable. One of these +lived in a stateroom next to our suite. In my cabin at night I could +hear her crying and moaning to herself in a fitful sleep. I had not seen +her, so far as I knew, but I fancied from the sound of those sobs that +she was young. + +When I told Jim, he wanted to change cabins with me, so that I should +not be disturbed. But I refused to budge, saying that I _wasn't_ +disturbed. My neighbour didn't cry or talk in her sleep all through the +night by any means. Besides, once I had dropped off, the sounds were not +loud enough to wake me. This was true enough not to be a fib, but my +_realest_ reason for clinging to the room was an odd fascination in that +mysterious sorrow on the other side of the wall; sorrow of a woman I +hadn't seen, might perhaps never see, yet to whom I could send out warm +waves of sympathy. I felt as if those waves had colours, blue and gold, +and that they would soothe the sufferer. + +Her case obsessed me until, in the sunshine of a second summer day at +sea, the one empty chair on our crowded deck was filled. A man was +helped into it by a valet or male nurse, and a steward. My first glimpse +of his face as he sank down on to carefully placed cushions made my +heart jump in my breast with pity and protest against the hardness of +fate. + +If he'd been old, or even middle-aged, or if he had been one of those +colourless characters dully sunk into chronic invalidism, I should have +felt only the pity without the protest. But he was young, and though it +was clear that he was desperately ill, it was clear, too, in a more +subtle, psychic way, that he had not been ill long; that love of life or +desire for denied happiness burned in him still. + +Of course Jim was not really vexed because I discussed this man and +wondered about him, but my thoughts did play round that piteously +romantic figure a good deal, and it rather amused Jim to see me forget +the mystery of the cabin in favour of the cushioned chair. + +"Once a Brightener, always a Brightener, I suppose!" he said. Now that +I'd dropped my "Princesshood" to marry James Courtenaye, I need never +"brighten" any one for money again. But I didn't see why I should not go +sailing along on a sunny career of brightening for love. According to +habit, therefore, my first thought was: What _could_ be done for the man +in the cushioned chair? + +Maybe Jim was right! If he hadn't been young and almost better than +good-looking, my interest might not have been so keen. He was the wreck +of a gorgeous creature--one of those great, tall, muscular men you feel +were born to adorn the Guards. + +The reason (the physical reason, not the psychic one) for thinking he +hadn't been ill long was the colour of the invalid's face. The pallor of +illness hadn't had time to blanch the rich brown that life in the open +gives. So thin was the face that the aquiline features stood out +sharply; but they seemed to be carved in bronze, not moulded in plaster. +As for the psychic reason, I found it in the dark eyes that met mine now +and then. They were not black like those of my own Jim, which contrasted +so strikingly with auburn hair. Indeed, I couldn't tell whether the eyes +were brown or deep gray, for they were set in shadowy hollows, and the +brows and thick lashes were even darker than the hair, which was lightly +silvered at the temples. Handsome, arresting eyes they must always have +been; but what stirred me was the violent _wish_ that seemed actually to +speak from them. + +Whether it was a wish to live, or a haunting wish for joy never +gratified, I could not decide. But I felt that it must have been burnt +out by a long illness. + +I had only just learned a few things about the man, when there came that +surprising answer to my prayer for someone to "brighten" him. My maid +had got acquainted with his valet-nurse, and had received a quantity of +information which she passed to me. + +"Mr. Tillett's" master was a Major Ralston Murray, an Englishman, who +had gone to live in California some years ago, and had made a big +fortune in oil. He had been in the British Army as a youth, Tillett +understood, and when the European war broke out, he went home to offer +himself to his country. He didn't return to America till after the +Armistice, though he had been badly wounded once or twice, as well as +gassed. At home in Bakersfield, the great oil town where he lived, +Murray's health had not improved. He had been recommended a long sea +journey, to Japan and China, and had taken the prescription. But instead +of doing him good, the trip had been his ruin. In China he was attacked +with a malady resembling yellow fever, though more obscure to +scientists. After weeks of desperate illness, the man had gained +strength for the return journey; but, reaching California, he was told +by specialists that he must not hope to recover. After that verdict his +one desire was to spend the last days of his life in England. Not long +before a distant relative had left him a place in Devonshire--an old +house which he had loved in his youth. Now he was on his way there, to +die. + +So this was the wonderful wish, I told myself. Yet I couldn't believe it +was all. I felt that there must be something deeper to account for the +burning look in those tortured eyes. And of course I was more than ever +interested, now that his destination proved to be near Courtenaye Abbey. +Ralston Old Manor was not nearly so large nor so important a place +historically as ours, but it was ancient enough, and very charming. +Though we were not more than fifteen miles away, I had never met the old +bachelor, the Mr. Ralston of my day. He was a great recluse, supposed to +have had his heart broken by my beautiful grandmother when they were +both young. It occurred to me that this Ralston Murray must be the old +man's namesake, and the place had been left him on that account. + +Now, at last, having explained the man in the cushioned chair, I can +come back to the moment when my wish was granted: the wish that, if not +I, someone else might "brighten" him. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MRS. BRANDRETH + + +You know, when you're on shipboard, how new people appear from day to +day, long after you've seen everyone on the passenger list! It is as if +they had been dropped on deck from stealthy aeroplanes in the dark +watches of the night. + +And that was the way in which this girl appeared--this girl who worked +the lightning change in Major Murray. It didn't seem possible that she +could have come on board the ship nearly two days ago, and we not have +heard of her, for she was the prettiest person I'd ever seen in my life. +One would have thought that rumours of her beauty would have spread, +since _someone_ must have seen her, even if she had been shut up in her +cabin. + +Heads were turned in her direction as she came walking slowly toward us, +and thanks to this silent sensation--like a breeze rippling a field of +wheat--I saw the tall, slight figure in mourning while it was still far +off. + +The creature was devastatingly pretty, too pretty for any one's peace of +mind, including her own: the kind of girl you wouldn't ask to be your +bridesmaid for fear the bridegroom should change his mind at the altar! + +"Jim," I exclaimed, "the prettiest girl in the world is now coming +toward you." + +"Really?" said he. "I was under the impression that she sat beside me." + +I suppose I must have spoken rather more loudly than I meant, for my +excited warning to Jim caught the ear of Major Murray. My deep interest +in the invalid had woven an invisible link between him and me, though we +had never spoken, nor even smiled at each other: for sympathy inevitably +has this effect. Therefore his hearing was attuned to my voice more +readily than to others in his neighbourhood. He had apparently been half +asleep; but he opened his eyes wide just in time to see the girl as she +approached his chair. Never had I beheld such a sudden change on a human +face. It was a transfiguration. + +The man was very weak, but he sat straight up, and for a moment all look +of illness was swept away. "Rosemary!" he cried out, sharply. + +The girl stopped. She had been pale, but at sight of him and the sound +of his voice she flushed to her forehead. I thought that her first +impulse was to escape, but she controlled it. + +"Major Murray!" she faltered. "I--I didn't dream of--seeing you here." + +"I have dreamed many times of seeing you," he answered. "And I wished +for it--very much." + +"Ah," thought I, "_that_ is the real wish! _That's_ what the look in his +eyes means, not just getting back to England and dying in a certain +house. Now I _know_." + +Everyone near his chair had become more or less interested in Murray, +romantic and pathetic figure that he was. Now, a middle-aged man whose +chair was near to Murray's on the right, scrambled out of a fur rug. "I +am off to the smoking room," he said. "Won't you" (to the girl) "take my +chair and talk to your friend? I shall be away till after lunch, maybe +till tea-time." + +I fancied that the girl was divided in her mind between a longing to +stay and a longing to flee. But of course she couldn't refuse the offer, +and presently she was seated beside Major Murray, their arms touching. I +could hear almost all they said. This was not eavesdropping, because if +they'd cared to be secretive they could have lowered their voices. + +Soon, to my surprise, I learned that the girl was married. She didn't +look married, or have the air of being married, somehow, and in the +conversation that followed she contradicted herself two or three times. +Perhaps it was only because I confused my brain with wild guesses, but +from some things she said one would think she was free as air; from +others, that she was tied down to a rather monotonous kind of existence. +She spoke of America as if she knew it only from a short visit. Then, in +answer to a question of Murray's, she said, as if reluctantly, that she +had lived there, in New York, and Baltimore, and Washington, for years. + +It was quite evident to me--whether or not it was to Murray--that Mrs. +Brandreth (as he called her after the first outburst of "Rosemary!") +disliked talking of herself and her way of life. She wanted to talk +about Major Murray, or, failing that subject, of almost anything that +was remote from her own affairs. + +I gathered, however, that she and Murray had known each other eight +years ago or more, and that they had met somewhere abroad, out of +England. There had been an aunt of Rosemary's with whom she had +travelled as a young girl. The aunt was dead; but even the loss of a +loved relative didn't account to my mind for this girl's sensitiveness +about the past. + +"They must have been engaged, these two, and something happened to break +it off," I thought. "But _he_ can bear to talk of old times, and she +can't. Odd, because she must have been ridiculously young for a love +affair all those years ago. She doesn't look more than twenty-one now, +though she must be more, of course--at least twenty-four. And he is +probably thirty-two or three." + +I am often what Jim calls "intuitive," and I had a strong impression +that there was something the beautiful Mrs. Brandreth was desperately +anxious to conceal, desperately afraid of betraying by accident. Could +it have to do with her husband? I wondered. She seemed very loth to +speak of him, and I couldn't make out from what she said whether the man +was still in existence. Her mourning--so becoming to her magnolia skin, +great dark eyes, and ash-blonde hair--didn't look like widow's mourning. +Still, it might be, with the first heaviness of crepe thrown off. Or, of +course, the girl's peculiar reticence might mean that there had been, or +was to be, a divorce. + +I didn't move from my deck-chair till luncheon time, but I had to go +then with Jim; and we left Mrs. Brandreth ordering her food from the +deck steward. She would have it with Major Murray, who, poor fellow, was +allowed no other nourishment than milk. + +When we came back on deck it was to walk. We had been below for an hour +or more, but the girl and the man were still together. As Jim and I +passed and repassed those chairs, I could throw a quick glance in their +direction without being observed. Mrs. Brandreth's odd nervousness and +shy distress seemed to have gone. The two were talking so earnestly that +a school of porpoises might have jumped on deck without their knowing +that anything out of the way had happened. + +Later in the afternoon, the owner of Mrs. Brandreth's chair appeared; +but when she would blushingly have given up her place, he refused to +take it. "I've only come to say," he explained, "that one seat on deck +is the same to me as any other. So why shouldn't I have _your_ chair, +wherever it is, and you keep mine? It's very nice for the Major here to +have found a friend, and it will do him a lot of good. I'm a doctor, and +if I were his physician, such society would be just what I should +prescribe for him." + +Mrs. Brandreth had a chair, it seemed, though she said she'd come on +board so tired that she had stayed in her cabin till this morning. +Whether or not she were pleased at heart with the proposal, she accepted +it after a little discussion, and Murray's tragic eyes burned with a new +light. + +I guessed that his wish had been to see this beautiful girl again before +he died. The fact that he was doomed to death no doubt spiritualized his +love. He no longer dreamed of being happy in ways which strong men of +his age call happiness; and so, in these days, he asked little of Fate. +Just a farewell sight of the loved one; a new memory of her to take away +with him. And if I were right in my judgment, this was the reason why, +even if Mrs. Brandreth had a husband in the background, these hours with +her would be hours of joy for Murray--without thought of any future. + +That evening, as Jim and I were strolling out of our little salon to +dinner, the door of the cabin adjoining mine opened, and it was with a +shock of surprise that I saw Mrs. Brandreth. So _she_ was my mysterious +neighbour who cried and moaned in her sleep!... I was thrilled at the +discovery. But almost at once I told myself that I ought to have +Sherlocked the truth the moment this troubled, beautiful being had +appeared on deck. + +Mrs. Brandreth was in black, of course, but she had changed into +semi-evening dress, and her white neck was like swansdown in its folded +frame of filmy black gauze. Over the glittering waves of her ash-blonde +hair she had thrown a long black veil of embroidered Spanish lace, which +fell nearly to her knees, and somehow, before she could close the door, +a gust blew it back, shutting in the veil. The girl was struggling to +free herself when Jim said, "Let me help you." + +Naturally, she had to thank him, and explain how she ought to have +fastened her window, as ours was the windy side of the ship to-night. +She and I smiled at each other, and so our acquaintance began. I guessed +from the veil that she was dining in Murray's company, and pictured them +together with the deck to themselves, moonlight flooding the sea. + +Next day the smile and nod which Mrs. Brandreth and I exchanged won a +pleasant look from Major Murray for me. We began speaking soon after +that; and before another day had passed Jim or I often dropped into the +empty chair, if Mrs. Brandreth was not on deck. Murray was interested to +know that we would be neighbours of his, and that I was the +grand-daughter of the famous beauty his old bachelor cousin had loved. + +I remember it was the night after my first real talk with him that I met +Mrs. Brandreth again as we both opened our doors. Jim was playing bridge +or poker with some men, and hadn't noticed the dressing bugle. I was +ready, and going to remind him of the hour; yet I was charmed to be +delayed by Mrs. Brandreth. Hitherto, though friendly when we were with +our two men, or only one of them, she had seemed like a wild bird trying +to escape if we happened to be alone. It was as if she were afraid I +might ask questions which she would not wish to answer. But now she +stopped me of her own accord. + +"I--I've been wanting to tell you something," she began, with one of her +bright blushes. "It's only this: when I'm tired or nervous I'm afraid I +talk in my sleep. I came on board tired out. I had--a great grief a few +months ago, and I can't get over the strain of it. Sometimes when I wake +up I find myself crying, and have an impression that I've called out. +Now I know that you're next door, I'm rather worried lest I have +disturbed you." + +I hurried to reassure her. She hadn't disturbed me at all. I was, I +said, a splendid sleeper. + +"You haven't heard anything?" she persisted. + +I felt she would know I was fibbing if I did fib, so it wasn't worth +while. "I _have_ heard a sound like sobbing now and then," I admitted. + +"But no words? I hope not, as people say such _silly_ things in their +sleep, don't they?--things not even true." + +"I think I've heard you cry out 'Mother!' once or twice." + +"Oh! And that is all?" + +"Really, that's all--absolutely!" It was true, and I could speak with +such sincerity that I forced belief. + +Mrs. Brandreth looked relieved. "I'm glad!" she smiled. "I hate to make +myself ridiculous. And I'm trying very hard now to control my +subconscious self, which gets out of hand at night. It's simply the +effect of my--grief--my loss I spoke of just now. I'm fairly normal +otherwise." + +"I hope you're not entirely normal!" I smiled back. "People one speaks +of as 'normal' are so bromidic and dull! You look far too interesting, +too individual to be normal." + +She laughed. "So do you!" + +"Oh, I'm not normal at all, thank goodness!" + +"Well, you're certainly interesting--and individual--far more than _I_ +am." + +"Anyhow, I'm sympathetic," I said. "I'm tremendously interested in other +people. Not in their _affairs_, but in themselves. I never want to know +anything they don't want me to know, yet I'm so conceited, I always +imagine that I can help when they need help--just by sympathy alone, +without a spoken word. But to come back to you! I have a lovely remedy +for restlessness at night; not that I need it often myself, but my +French-Italian maid carries dried orange leaves and blossoms for me. She +thinks _tisanes_ better than doctor's medicines. May she make some +orange-flower tea for you to-night at bedtime?" + +Mrs. Brandreth had shown signs of stiffening a little as I began, but +she melted toward the last, and said that she would love to try the +poetic-sounding tea. + +It was concocted, proved a success, and she was grateful. Perhaps she +remembered my hint that I never wanted to know things which my friends +didn't want me to know, because she made some timid advances as the days +went on. We had quite intimate talks about books and various views of +life as we walked the deck together; and I began to feel that there was +something else she longed to say--something which rose constantly to her +lips, only to be frightened back again. What could it be? I wondered. +And would she in the end speak, or decide to be silent? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CONDITION SHE MADE + + +I think she meant to be silent, but desperation drove her to speak, and +she spoke. + +I had a headache the last day out but one, and stayed in my cabin all +the afternoon. It seems that Mrs. Brandreth asked Jim if she might visit +me for a little while, and he consented. + +I was half dozing when she came, with a green silk curtain drawn across +the window. I suggested that she should push this curtain back, so that +we might have light to see each other. + +"Please, no!" she said. "I don't want light. I don't want to be seen. +Dear Lady Courtenaye--may I really call you 'Elizabeth,' as you asked me +to do?--I need so much to talk to you. And the darker it is, the +better." + +"Very well--Rosemary!" I answered. "I've guessed that you are +worried--or not quite happy. There's nothing I should like so much as to +help you if I could. I believe you know that." + +"Yes, I know--I feel it," she said. "I want your advice. I think you're +the only person whose advice I would take whether I liked it or not. I +don't understand why that is so. But it is. You're probably younger than +I am----" + +"I'm getting on for twenty-three," I informed the girl, when I had made +her sit down beside my bed. + +"And I'm nearly twenty-six!" + +"You look twenty-one." + +"I'm afraid I look lots of things that I'm not," she sighed, in a voice +too gloomy for the half-joking words. "Oh, now that I'm trying to speak, +I don't know how to begin, or how far to go! I must confess one thing +frankly: and that is, I can't tell you _everything_." + +"Tell me what you want to tell: not a word more." + +"Thank you. I thought you'd say that. Well, suppose you loved a man who +was very ill--so ill he couldn't possibly get well, and he begged you to +marry him--because then you might be in the same house till the end, and +he could die happily with you near: what would you do?" + +"If I loved him _enough_, I would marry him the very first minute I +could," was my prompt answer. + +"I do love him enough!" she exclaimed. + +"But you hesitate?" + +"Yes, because----Oh, Elizabeth, there's a terrible obstacle." + +"An obstacle!" I echoed, forgetting my headache. "I can't understand +that, if--forgive me--if you're free." + +"I am free," the girl said. "Free in the way you mean. There's no _man_ +in the way. The obstacle is--a woman." + +"Pooh!" I cried, my heart lightened. "I wouldn't let a woman stand +between me and the man I loved, especially if he needed me as much +as--as----" + +"You needn't mind saying it. Of course you know as well as I do that +we're talking about Ralston Murray. And I believe he does need me. I +could make him happy--if I were always near him--for the few months he +has to live." + +"He would have a new lease of life given him with you," I ventured. + +The girl shook her head. "He says that the specialists gave him three +months at the most. And twelve days out of those three months have gone +already, since he left California." + +For an instant a doubt of her shot through me. Ralston Murray had been a +get-rich-quick oil speculator, so I had heard, anyhow, he was supposed +to be extremely well off. Besides, there was that lovely old place in +Devonshire, of which his widow would be mistress. I knew nothing of +Rosemary Brandreth's circumstances, and little of her character or +heart, except as I might judge from her face, and voice, and charming +ways. Was I _wrong_ in the judgment I'd impulsively formed? Could it be +that she didn't truly care for Murray--that if she married him in spite +of the mysterious "obstacle," it would be for what she could get? + +Actually I shivered as this question asked itself in my mind! And I was +ashamed of it. But her tone and look had been strange. When I tried to +cheer her by hinting that Murray's lease of life might be longer because +of her love, she had looked frightened, almost horrified. + +For the first time I deliberately tried to read her soul, whose +sincerity I had more or less taken for granted. I stared into her eyes +through the green dusk which made us both look like mermaids under +water. Surely that exquisite face couldn't mask sordidness? I pushed the +doubt away. + +"All the more reason for you to make radiant the days that are left, if +you're strong enough to bear the strain," I said. And Rosemary answered +that she was strong enough for anything that would help him. She would +tell Ralston, she added, that she had asked my advice. + +"He wanted me to do it," she said. "He thought I oughtn't to decide +without speaking to a sweet, wise woman. And _you_ are a sweet, wise +woman, although you're so young! When you are better, will you come on +deck and talk to Ralston?" + +"Of course I will, if you think he'd care to have me," I promised. And +it was extraordinary how soon that headache of mine passed away! I was +able to talk with Ralston that evening, and assure him that, in my +opinion, he wasn't _at all_ selfish in wanting Rosemary Brandreth to +"sacrifice" herself for him. It would be no sacrifice to a woman who +loved a man, I argued. He had done the right thing, it seemed to me, in +asking Mrs. Brandreth to marry him. If Jim were in his place, and I in +Rosemary's, I should have proposed if he hadn't! + +But while I was saying these things, I couldn't help wondering +underneath if she had mentioned the "obstacle" to Ralston, and if he +knew precisely what kind of "freedom to marry" her freedom was--whether +Mr. Blank Brandreth were dead or only divorced? + +Somehow I had the strongest impression that Rosemary had told Major +Murray next to nothing about herself--had perhaps begged him not to ask +questions, and that he had obeyed for fear of distressing--perhaps even +losing--the woman he adored. + +"Of course, I shall leave her everything," he announced, when Mrs. +Brandreth had strolled away with Jim in order to give me a few minutes +alone with Major Murray. "While she's gone, I'd like to talk with you +about that, because I want you to consult your husband for me. Rosemary +can't bear to discuss money and that sort of thing. I had almost to +force her to it to-day; for you see, I haven't long at best--and the +time may be shorter even than I think. At last I made her see my point +of view. I told her that I meant to make a new will, here on shipboard, +for fear I should----Well, you understand. I said it would be in her +favour, as Rosemary Brandreth, and then, after we were married--provided +I live to marry her, as I hope to do--I ought to add a codicil or +something--I don't quite know how one manages such things--changing +'Rosemary Brandreth' to 'my wife, Rosemary Murray.'" + +"Yes," I agreed. "I suppose you would have to do that. I don't know very +much about wills, either--but I remember hearing that a legacy to a wife +might be disputed if the will were in her favour as an engaged girl, and +mentioning her by her maiden name." + +"Brandreth isn't Rosemary's maiden name," he reminded me. "That was +Hillier. But it's the same thing legally. And disputes are what I want +to avoid. Still, I daren't delay, for fear of something happening to me. +There's a doctor chap in Devonshire, who would have inherited Ralston +Old Manor and the money that goes with it if my cousin hadn't chosen to +leave all he had to me instead. I believe, as a matter of fact, he's my +only living relative. I haven't seen him many times in my life, but we +correspond on business. Every penny I possess might go to Paul Jennings, +as well as the Ralston property--by some trick of the law--if I don't +tie it up for Rosemary in time. You see why I'm impatient. I want you +and Sir Jim to witness a will of sorts this very night. I shall sleep +better if it's done. But--there's a funny thing, Lady Courtenaye: a whim +of Rosemary's. I can't see light on it myself. Perhaps you could lead up +to the subject, and get her to explain." + +"What is the funny thing?" I asked. + +"Why, at first she implored me not to leave money to her--actually +begged, with tears in her eyes. However, I explained that if she didn't +get what I have, a stranger would, which would make me unhappy. My being +'unhappy' settled the matter for her! But she made a queer condition. If +she allowed me to leave everything to her, the legacy must be arranged +somehow without altering it to her married name when she is my wife. It +must be in favour of 'Rosemary Brandreth,' not 'Rosemary Murray.' I +begged her to tell my why she wanted such an odd thing, and she said it +was a prejudice she had about women changing their names and taking +their husbands' names. Well, as a matter of fact, I believe a woman +marrying _can_ keep her own name legally if she likes. Taking the +husband's name is a custom, not a necessity for a woman, I remember +hearing. But I'm not sure. Sir Jim may know. If not, he'll find out for +me. I haven't much strength, and it would be the greatest favour if he +would get some first-rate legal opinion about carrying out this wish of +Rosemary's." + +"Jim will be glad to do anything he can," I said, warmly. "We shall be +neighbours, you know." + +"Yes, thank Heaven!" he exclaimed. "I used not to think much about such +things, but I do feel as if you two had been sent me in my need, by +Providence. There was the wonderful coincidence of Rosemary being on my +ship--at least, one _calls_ it a coincidence, but it must be something +deeper and more mysterious than that. Then, finding such friends as you +and Sir Jim--neighbours on deck, and neighbours on shore. I can't tell +you the comfort it is to know that Rosemary won't be left alone when I'm +gone." + +"Count on us," I repeated, "now and always." + +"I do," Murray answered. "As for the present, my first will in favour of +Rosemary Brandreth will be clear sailing. It is the second one--or the +codicil--after marriage, that raises a question. I suppose I needn't +worry about that till the time comes: yet I do. I want to be sure that +Rosemary is safe. I wish you could persuade her not to stick to the +point she's so keen on." + +"If you can't persuade her, it's not likely that I can," I objected. I +tried to keep my voice quite natural, but something in my tone must have +struck him. + +"You have an idea in your mind about this condition Rosemary makes!" he +challenged. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE OLD LOVE STORY + + +"Oh--one simply wonders a little!" I stammered. + +Major Murray's face changed. "Of course, there's one idea which presents +itself instantly to the mind," he said. "But it's such an obvious one! I +confess I had it myself at first--just for a moment. I even asked +Rosemary, because--well, she might have been in trouble that wasn't her +fault. I asked her if she were sure that she was free to marry--that +there was no legal hitch. I said that if there were, she must tell me +the truth without fear, and I would see if it couldn't be made right. +But she assured me that, so far as the law is concerned, she's as free +as though she were a girl. I believe her, Lady Courtenaye; and I think +you would believe if you could have looked into her eyes then. No, +there's another reason--not obvious like the first; on the contrary, +it's obscure. I wish you'd try to get light on it." + +"I'll try if you want me to," I promised. "But I don't expect to +succeed." + +Major Murray looked more anxious than I had seen him since Mrs. +Brandreth appeared on deck that second day at sea. "Hasn't she confided +in you at all?" he asked. + +"Only"--I hesitated an instant--"only to tell me of her love, and her +engagement to you." This was the truth, with one tiny reservation. I +couldn't give Rosemary away, by mentioning the "obstacle" at which she'd +hinted. + +"She never even told you about our first engagement, eight years ago?" +he persisted. + +"No." + +"Well, I'd like to tell you that, if the story won't bore you?" + +"It will interest me," I said. "But perhaps Mrs. Brandreth mightn't----" + +"She won't mind; I'm sure of that, from things she's said. But it's a +subject easier for me to talk about than for her. She was travelling in +Italy with an aunt--a sister of her mother's--when we met. She was just +seventeen. I fell in love with her at first sight. Do you wonder? It was +at Bellagio, but I followed her and the aunt from place to place. The +aunt was a widow, who'd married an American, and I imagined that she +wasn't kind to her niece--the girl looked so unhappy. But I did Mrs. +Brandreth an injustice----" + +"Mrs. Brandreth?" I had to interrupt. "Rosemary was already----" + +"No, no! The aunt's name was Mrs. Brandreth. The man Rosemary married a +few weeks later was the nephew of her aunt's American husband. When I +asked Rosemary to be my wife, I heard the whole story. Rosemary told me +herself. The aunt, Mrs. John Brandreth, came to England to visit her +sister. It wasn't long after her husband had died, and she wasn't +strong, so the nephew--Guy Brandreth--travelled with her. He was a West +Point graduate, it seems; probably you know that West Point is the +American Sandhurst? He was still in the Army and on long leave. He and +the aunt both stayed at Mrs. Hillier's house in Surrey, and--I suppose +you can guess what happened?" + +"A--love affair?" I hesitated. + +"Yes. It didn't take Brandreth long to make up his mind what he wanted, +and to go for it. He proposed. Rosemary said 'Yes.' It was her first +love. But Brandreth had been practically engaged to an American girl--a +great heiress. He hadn't much himself beyond his pay, I fancy. Money was +an object to him--but Rosemary's beauty bowled him over, and he lost his +head. Bye and bye, when he began to see the light of common sense again, +and when he realized that Rosemary wouldn't have a red cent of her own, +he weakened. There was some slight lover's quarrel one day. Rosemary +broke off the engagement for the pleasure of hearing Brandreth beg to be +taken back. But he didn't beg. He took her at her word and went to +London, where the American girl had arrived. That same night he wrote +Rosemary that, as she didn't want him, he had offered himself to someone +who did. So ended the love story--for a time. And that's where I came +in." + +"Rosemary went to Italy?" I prompted him. + +"Yes. Her aunt felt responsible, and carried the girl away to help her +to forget. Rosemary told me this, but thought she had 'got over it,' and +said she would marry me if I wanted her. Of course, I did want her. I +believed--most men would--that I could teach her to love me. She was so +young. And even then I wasn't poor. I could give her a good time! The +poor child was keen on letting Brandreth know she wasn't mourning his +loss, and she'd heard he was still in London with his fiancee and her +millionaire papa. So she had our engagement announced in the _Morning +Post_ and other London papers." + +"Well--and then?" I broke into a pause. + +"Guy Brandreth couldn't bear to let another fellow have the girl. He +must have loved her really, I suppose, with what was best in him. +Anyhow, he asked for his release from the heiress, and found out from +Mrs. Hillier where her daughter was. As soon as he could get there, he +turned up at the Villa d'Este, where Rosemary and her aunt were staying +then." + +"And you--were you there?" + +"No. If I had been, perhaps everything would have been different. I was +in the Army, and on leave, like Brandreth. I had to go back to my +regiment, but Rosemary'd promised to marry me on her eighteenth +birthday, which wasn't far off. I'd made an appointment to go and see +Mrs. Hillier on a certain day. But before the day came a telegram +arrived from the aunt, Mrs. Brandreth, to say that Rosemary had run away +with Guy. + +"It was a deadly blow. I went almost mad for a while--don't know what +kept me from killing myself, except that I've always despised suicide as +a coward's way out of trouble. I chucked the Army--had to make a +change--and went to California, where an old pal of mine had often +wanted me to join him. I knew that Brandreth was stationed down south +somewhere, so in California I should be as far from him and Rosemary as +if I stayed in England. Well--now you know the story--for I never saw +Rosemary or even heard of her from that time till the other day on board +this ship. Does what I've told help you at all to understand the +condition she wants me to make about her name, in my will?" + +"No, it doesn't," I had to confess. "You must just--_trust_ Rosemary, +Major Murray." + +"I do," he answered, fervently. + +"I wish I did!" I could have echoed. But I said not a word, and tried to +remember only how sweet Rosemary Brandreth was. + +Before it was time for us to witness the will I repeated to Jim all that +Murray had told me, and watched his face. His eyebrows had drawn +together in a puzzled frown. + +"I hope she isn't going to play that poor chap another trick," he +grumbled. "It would finish him in an hour if she did." + +"Oh, she _won't_!" I cried. "She loves him." + +I was sure I was right about _that_. But I was sure of nothing else. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE MAN WITH THE BRILLIANT EYES + + +Jim and I witnessed Ralston Murray's will, which left all he possessed +to "Mrs. Rosemary Brandreth." No reference was made in the document to +the fact that Rosemary was engaged to marry him. + +Next day we landed, and Murray was so buoyed up with happiness that he +was able to travel to London without a rest. He stayed at a quiet hotel +in St. James's Square, and we took Rosemary Brandreth with us to the +Savoy. Murray applied for a special licence, and the marriage was to +take place in town, as soon as possible, so that they two might travel +to Devonshire as husband and wife. Jim and I both pined for Courtenaye +Abbey, but we wouldn't desert our new friends. Besides, their affairs +had now become as exciting to us as a mystery play. There were many +questions we asked ourselves and each other concerning obscure and +unexplained details. But--if Murray didn't choose to ask them, they were +no business of ours! + +Jim consulted a firm considered to be among the smartest solicitors in +London; and thanks to their "smartness," by hook or by crook the +difficulty of the codicil was got over. + +The wedding was to take place at Major Murray's hotel, in the salon of +his suite, as he was not able to go through a ceremony in church. Jim +and I were the only invited guests; but at the last moment a third guest +invited himself: the cousin to whom the Ralston property would have gone +if its owner hadn't preferred Ralston Murray for his heir. + +It seemed that the distant relatives had always kept up a +correspondence--letters three or four times a year; and I imagine that +Murray made the disappointed man a consolation allowance, though he +hinted at nothing of the kind to me. In any case, Doctor Paul Jennings +(who lived and practised at Merriton, not far from Ralston Old Manor) +reported unofficially on the condition of the place at stated intervals. +Murray had wired the news of his arrival in England to Jennings, and +that he would be bringing a wife to Devonshire; whereupon the doctor +asked by telegram if he might attend the wedding. Neither Murray nor the +bride-elect could think of any reason why he should not come, so he was +politely bidden to be present. + +I was rather curious about the cousin to whom Murray had referred on +shipboard; and as the acquaintanceship between the two men seemed to be +entirely impersonal, I thought it "cheeky" of Jennings to wangle himself +to the wedding. Jim agreed with me as to the cheekiness. He said, +however, that the request was natural enough. This poor country doctor +had heard, no doubt, that Murray was doomed to death, and had +accordingly hoped great things for himself. There had seemed to be no +reason why these great things shouldn't happen: yet now the dying man +was about to take a wife! Jennings had been too impatient to wait till +the couple turned up in Devonshire to see what the lady was like. + +"Besides," Jim went on (with the shrewdness I always accused him of +picking up in America), "besides, the fellow probably hopes to make a +good impression on the bride, and so get taken on as family physician." + +"He'll be disappointed about _that_!" I exclaimed, with a flash of +naughty joy, for somehow I'd made up my mind not to like Doctor +Jennings. "Major Murray has promised Rosemary and me to consult Beverley +Drake about himself. It's the most perfect thing that Sir Beverley +should be in Exeter! Not to call him to the case would be tempting +Providence!" + +Jim doesn't know or care much about doctors, but even he knew something +of Sir Beverley Drake. He is the man, of course, who did such wonders in +the war for soldiers who'd contracted obscure tropical diseases while +serving in Egypt, India, Mesopotamia, Salonika, and so on. + +You could bet pretty safely that a person named Drake would be of +Devonshire extraction, and you would not lose your money on Beverley of +that ilk. + +He had spent half his life in the East, and hadn't been settled down as +a Harley Street specialist for many years when the war broke out. +Between 1914 and 1919 he had worn himself to a thread in France, and had +temporarily retired from active life to rest in his native town, Exeter. +But he had known both my wonderful grandmother and old Mr. Ralston. He +wasn't likely to refuse his services to Ralston Murray. Consequently, I +didn't quite see Doctor Paul Jennings getting a professional foothold in +Major Murray's house, no matter what his personal charm might be. + +As it turned out, the personal charm was a matter of opinion. Jennings +had the brightest eyes and the reddest lips ever seen on a man. He was +youngish, and looked more like a soldier than a doctor. Long ago some +Ralston girl had married a Jennings; consequently, the cousinship, +distant as it was. But though you can't associate Spain with a +"Jennings," there was Spanish blood in the man's veins. If you had met +him in Madrid, he would have looked more at home than as a doctor in a +Devonshire village. Not that he had stuck permanently to the village +since taking up practice there. He had gone to the Front, and brought +back a decoration. Also he had brought back a French wife, said to have +been an actress. + +I heard some of these things from Murray, some from Jennings himself on +the day of the wedding. And they made me more curious about the man than +I should have been otherwise. Why, for instance, the Parisian wife? Do +Parisian women, especially actresses, marry obscure English doctors in +country villages which are hardly on the map? + +No. There must be a very special reason for such a match; and I sought +for it when I met Paul Jennings. But his personality, though attractive +to many women, no doubt, wasn't quite enough to account for the +marriage. I resolved to look for something further when I got to +Devonshire and met Mrs. Jennings. + + * * * * * + +You wouldn't believe that a wedding ceremony in a private sitting room +of an old-fashioned hotel, with the bridegroom stretched on a sofa, +could be the prettiest sight imaginable; but it was. I never saw so +charming or so pathetic a picture! + +Jim and I had sent quantities of flowers, and Doctor Jennings had sent +some, too. Rosemary and I arranged them, for there was no conventional +nonsense about this bride keeping herself in seclusion till the last +minute! Her wish was to be with the man she loved as often as she could, +and to belong to him with as little delay as possible. + +We transformed the room into a pink-and-white bower, and then taxied +back to the Savoy to dress. There had been no time for Rosemary to have +a gown made, and as she had several white frocks I advised her to wear +one which Murray hadn't seen. But no! She wouldn't do that. She must be +married in something new; in fact, _everything_ new, nothing she'd ever +worn before. The girl seemed superstitious about this: and her pent-up +emotion was so intense that the least opposition would have reduced her +to tears. + +Luckily she found in a Bond Street shop an exquisite model gown just +over from Paris. It was pale dove-colour and silver, and there was an +adorable hat to match. The faint gray, which had a delicate suggestion +of rose in its shadows, enhanced the pearly tints of the bride's +complexion, the coral of her lips, and the gold of her ash-blonde hair. +She was a vision when I brought her back to her lover, just in time to +be at his side before the clergyman in his surplice appeared from the +next room. + +To see her kneeling by Murray's sofa with her hand in his sent the tears +stinging to my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. She looked like an +angel of sweetness and light, and I reproached myself bitterly because I +had half suspected her of mercenary plans. + +Once during the ceremony I glanced at Doctor Jennings. He was gazing at +the bride as I had gazed, fixedly, absorbedly, with his brilliant eyes. +So intent was his look that I wondered its magnetism did not call +Rosemary's eyes to his; but she was as unconscious of his stare as he of +mine. He must have admired her; yet there was something deeper than +admiration; and I would have given a good deal to know what it +was--whether benevolent or otherwise. His expression, however, told no +tale beyond its intense interest. + +There was a little feast after the wedding, with an imposing cake, and +everything that other, happier brides have. It seemed a mockery to drink +health to the newly married pair, knowing as we did that Ralston Murray +had been given three months at most to live. Yet we drank, and made a +brave pretence at all the conventional wedding merriment; for if we +hadn't laughed, some of us would have cried. + +An hour later Major and Mrs. Murray started off on the first stage of +their journey to Devonshire. They went by car, a magnificent Rolls-Royce +rather like a travelling boudoir; and in another car was Murray's +nurse-valet, with the comfortable elderly maid I had found for Rosemary. + +They were to travel at a moderate pace, to stay a night at Glastonbury, +and go on next morning to Ralston Old Manor, which they expected to +reach early in the afternoon. As for Jim and me, we were too keen on +seeing the dear old Abbey together, as our future home, to waste a +minute more than need be _en route_, no matter how beautiful the journey +by road. + +Our packing had been done before the wedding, and we were in a fast +express tearing westward an hour after the Murrays had set off by car. + +Ours had been such a long honeymoon--months in America--that outsiders +considered it over and done with long ago. We two knew that it wasn't +over and done with, and never would be, but we couldn't go about +proclaiming that fact; therefore we made no objection when Doctor +Jennings proposed travelling in the train with us. We reflected that, if +he were in the same train he would be in the same compartment, and so it +happened; but, though I didn't warm to the man, I was interested in +trying to study the character behind those brilliant eyes. + +Some people's eyes seem to reveal their souls as through clear windows. +Other eyes conceal, as if they were imitation windows, made of mirrors. +I thought that Paul Jennings' were the mirror windows; but he had a +manner which appeared almost ostentatiously frank. He told us of the +difficulties he had had in getting on, before the war, and praised +Ralston Murray's generosity. "Ralston would never tell you this," he +said, "but it was he who made it possible for me to marry. He has been +awfully decent to me, though we hardly know each other except through +letters; and I only wish I could do something for him in return. All +I've been able to do so far is very little: just to look after the +Manor, and now to get the place ready for Murray and his bride: or +rather, my wife has done most of that. I wish I were a great doctor, and +my joy would be to put my skill at Ralston's service. But as it is, +he'll no doubt try to get an opinion from Beverley Drake?" + +Jennings put this as a question rather than stating it, and I guessed +that there had been no talk on the subject between him and Murray. But +there could be no secret: and Jim answered promptly that we were staying +in Exeter on purpose to see Sir Beverley. We'd made an appointment with +him by telegram, Jim added, and would go on the rest of the way, which +was short, by car. Even with that delay we should reach the Abbey in +time for dinner. + +"My wife is meeting me at Exeter, as I have business there," Doctor +Jennings replied. "She will come to the train. I hope you will let me +introduce her to you, Lady Courtenaye?" + +I murmured that I should be charmed, and felt in my bones that he hoped +we would invite them to motor with us. Jim glanced at me for a +"pointer," but I looked sweetly blank. It would not have taken us far +out of our way to drop the Jenningses at Merriton. But I just didn't +want to do it. So _there_! + +All the same, I was curious to see what the Parisian wife was like; and +at Exeter we three got out of the train together. "There she is!" +exclaimed Jennings suddenly, and his face lit up. + +"He's in love!" I thought, and caught sight of the lady to whom he was +waving his hand. + +"Why, you've married Gaby Lorraine!" I cried, before I had stopped to +think. + +But the doctor was not offended. "Yes, I have, and I'm jolly proud of +her!" he said. "It's she, not I, who keeps dark in Merriton about her +past glories.... She wants only to be Mrs. Paul Jennings here in the +country. Hello, cherie! Here I am!" + +Gaby Lorraine was a well-known musical comedy actress; at least _had_ +been. Before the war and even during the first year of the war she had +been seen and heard a good deal in England. Because of her pretty +singing voice and smart recitations, she had been taken up by people +more or less in Society. Then she had disappeared, about the time that +Grandmother took me to Rome, and letters from friends mentioning her had +said there was some "hushed-up scandal." Exactly what it was nobody +seemed to know. One thought it had to do with cocaine. Another fancied +it was a question of kleptomania or "something really weird." The world +had forgotten her since, but here she was, a Mrs. Jennings, married to a +Devonshire village doctor, greeting her husband like a good wife at the +railway station. + +Nothing could have been more perfect than her conception of this new +part she'd chosen to play. Neat, smooth brown hair; plain tailor-made +coat and skirt; little white waistcoat; close-fitting toque; low-heeled +russet shoes; gloves to match: admirable! Only the "liquid powder" which +gives the strange pallor loved in Paris suggested that this _chic_ +figure had ever shown itself on the stage. + +"I wish I knew _what_ the scandal had been!" I murmured half to myself +and half to Jim, as we parted in the station after introductions. + +"That sounds unlike you, darling," Jim reproached me. "Why should you +want to know?" + +"Because," I explained, "whatever it was, is the reason why she married +this country doctor. If there'd been no scandal, Mademoiselle Gaby +Lorraine wouldn't be Mrs. Paul Jennings." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE PICTURES + + +Our interview with Sir Beverley Drake was most satisfactory. Because he +had known old Mr. Ralston and Grandmother, the great specialist granted +my earnest request. + +"I had almost vowed not to receive one solitary patient," he laughed, +"yet here I am promising to motor thirty miles for the pleasure of +calling on one." + +"You won't regret it," I prophesied. "You will find Major Murray an +interesting man, and as enthralling a case as you ever met. As for the +bride, you'll fall in love with her. Every man must." + +It was finally arranged that he should visit Ralston Murray early in the +following week. He could not go before, as he was expecting visitors; +but it was already Wednesday, so there were not many days to wait. + +Jim and I had decided not to run over to see the Murrays at once, but to +give them time to "settle in." We would go on Sunday afternoon, we +thought; but on Saturday I had a telegram from Rosemary. "Would Sir +Beverley be offended if we asked him not to come, after all? Ralston +thinks it not worth while." + +I was utterly amazed, for in London she had seemed as keen on consulting +the specialist as I was, and had thanked us warmly for the offer of +breaking our journey at Exeter. + +"We can't force Sir Beverley on Murray," Jim said. "It wouldn't be fair +to either of them." But I insisted. + +"There's something odd about this," I told him. "Let's spin over to-day +instead of to-morrow, and tell the Murrays that Sir Beverley _would_ be +offended. I shall say to Rosemary that as we asked him to call, it would +be humiliating to us to have him treated in such a way." + +I think Jim has laid down for himself a certain line of action with me. +He yields to me on all matters as to which he's comparatively +indifferent, so that I won't notice much when he turns into the Rock of +Gibraltar over big issues. + +This was one of the occasions when he yielded, and we flashed to Ralston +Old Manor directly after luncheon. There wasn't time for a telegram to +be delivered there before our arrival, and the Manor had no 'phone, so +we appeared _en surprise_. And the "surprise" was a double one, for I +was amazed to come upon Mrs. Jennings walking with Rosemary down the elm +avenue. Evidently the visitor was going home, and her hostess was +accompanying her as far as the gate. Our car running along the drive +startled them from what seemed to be the most intimate talk. At sight of +us they both looked up, and their manner changed. Rosemary smiled a +welcome. Gaby smiled, in politeness. But before the smile there was the +fraction of a second when each face revealed something it didn't mean to +reveal--or I imagined it. Rosemary's had lost the look of exalted +happiness which had thrilled me on her wedding day. For that instant it +had a haunted look. As for Gaby, the fleeting expression of her face was +not so hard to understand. For some reason she was annoyed that we had +come, and felt an impulse of dislike toward us. + +"Can those two have met before?" I asked myself. It seemed improbable: +yet it was odd that strangers who had known each other only a couple of +days should be on such terms. + +They parted on the spot, when we had slowed down, Mrs. Jennings walking +on alone the short distance to the gate, and Rosemary getting into the +car with us, to drive to the house. I couldn't resist asking the +question, "Had you ever seen Mrs. Jennings before she was married?" For, +after all, there was no reason why I should not ask it. But Rosemary +looked me full in the face as she answered: + +"No, I never met her until she and her husband called the day before +yesterday. She had been very kind about getting the house beautifully +ready for us, and finding servants. I feel I know her quite well, +because she has come in every day to explain about repairs that have had +to be made, and that sort of thing." + +"Do you like her?" I asked. + +"I think she's tremendously clever," Rosemary said. + +I was inclined to think so, too. "It's _she_ who has been trying to +persuade the Murrays not to have Sir Beverley Drake," I told myself. +"She wants the job for her husband." + +Happiness had had a wonderful effect upon Murray, even in this short +time. It seemed to have electrified him with a new vitality. He had +walked a few steps without any help, and for the first time in many +weeks felt an appetite for food. + +"If I didn't _know_ there was no hope for me, I should almost think +there was some!" he said, laughing. "Of course there isn't any! This is +only a flash in the pan, but I may as well enjoy it while it lasts, and +it makes things a little less tragic for my angel of mercy. I feel that +it might be best to 'let well alone,' as they say, and not disturb +myself with a new treatment. All the American specialists agreed that +nothing on earth could change the course of events, so why fuss, as I'm +more comfortable than I hoped to be? If you don't think it would be rude +to Sir Beverley----" + +But there I broke in upon him, and Jim helped me out. We _did_ think it +would be rude. Sir Beverley would be wounded. For our sakes, if for +nothing else, we asked that Sir Beverley should be allowed to make his +call and examination as arranged. + +Murray did not protest much when he saw how we took his suggestion; and +Rosemary protested not at all. She simply sat still with a queer, +_fatal_ look on her beautiful face; and suspicions of her began to stir +within me again. Did she not _want_ to give her husband a chance of +life? + +The answer to that question, so far as Sir Beverley came into it, was +that she could easily have influenced Murray not to heed us if she had +been determined to do so. But that was just the effect she gave; lack of +determination. It was as if, in the end, she wanted Murray to decide for +himself, without being biassed by her. + +"That Gaby Lorraine _is_ in it somehow, all the same," I decided. "She +was able to make Rosemary send us the telegram, and if we hadn't come +over, and argued, she would have got her away." + +It seemed rather sinister. + +Ralston Murray was charmed with his heritage, and wanted Rosemary to +show us all over the house, which she did. It was beautiful in its +simple way: low-ceilinged rooms, many with great beams, and exquisite +oak panelling of linen-fold and other patterns. But the fame of the +Manor, such as it was, lay in its portraits and pictures by famous +artists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Rosemary frankly +confessed that she knew very little about Old Masters of any age; and +Jim had been, as he said, in the same boat until the idea had struck him +of renewing the past glories of the family place, Courtenaye Abbey. +After renting the Abbey from me, and beginning to restore its +dilapidations, he had studied our heirlooms of every sort; had bought +books, and had consulted experts. Consequently, he had become as good a +judge of a Lely, a Gainsborough, a Romney, a Reynolds, and so on, as I +had become, through being my grandmother's grand-daughter. + +I wondered what was in his mind as we went through the hall and the +picture gallery, and began to be so excited over my own thoughts that I +could hardly wait to find out his. + +"Well, what is your impression of the famous collection?" I asked, the +instant our car whirled us away from the door of Ralston Old Manor. +"What do you think of everything?" + +"_Think_, my child?" echoed Jim. "I'm bursting with what I think; and +so, I expect, are you!" + +"I wonder how long it is since the pictures were valued?" I muttered. + +"I suppose they must have been done," said Jim, "at the time of old +Ralston's death, so that the amount of his estate could be judged." + +"Yes," I agreed; "I suppose the income-tax people, or whoever the fiends +are that assess heirs for death duties, would not have accepted any old +estimates. But that would mean that the pictures were all right ten +months ago." + +We looked at each other. "There's been some queer hocus-pocus going on," +mumbled Jim. + +"It sounds like black magic!" I breathed. + +"Black fraud," he amended. "Ought we to speak to Murray--just drop him a +hint, and suggest his getting an expert to have a look round?" + +"It would worry him, and he oughtn't to be worried now," I said. + +"Still, he wants everything to be all right for his wife when he goes +west." + +"I know," said I; "but I don't feel that these happy days of his--his +last days, perhaps--ought to be disturbed. If--if Rosemary loves him as +much as we believe she does, she'd rather have a fuss after he's gone +than before. We might be breaking open a wasp's nest if we spoke. And it +isn't our _business_, is it?" + +"Unless we could find out something on the quiet," thoughtfully +suggested Jim. "For instance, is there anybody in this neighbourhood +who's a pretty good artist and a smart copyist--anybody, I mean, who +could have had the run of the Manor while the house was unoccupied +except by a caretaker?" + +"Yes, we might set ourselves to find out that," I assented. "And, by the +way--apropos of nothing, of course!--I think we might call on the +Jenningses, don't you?--as the doctor intimated that they didn't 'feel +grand enough' to call on us." + +"I think we might," echoed Jim. "And why not to-day, while we're close +to Merriton?" + +Quick as a flash I seized the speaking-tube and directed the chauffeur. +We had gone only a mile out of the way, and that was soon retraced. + +Both the doctor and his wife were at home, in their rather ugly modern +villa, which was one of the few blots on the beauty of Merriton. But +there were no pictures at all in the little drawing room. The +distempered walls were decorated with a few Persian rugs (not bad, +though of no great interest) given to Doctor Jennings, it seemed, by a +grateful patient now dead. By round-about ways we tried to learn whether +there was artistic talent in the family, but our efforts failed. As Jim +said later, when the call had ended in smoke, "There was nothing doing!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SIR BEVERLEY'S IMPRESSIONS + + +Jim is not a bad amateur detective, and he didn't abandon his efforts to +get behind the portrait mystery. But we had decided that, for Murray's +sake, "discretion was the better part of valour" for us; and the care +with which he had to work added a lot to his difficulties. Besides, +there were a good many other things to think of just then: things +concerning ourselves, also things concerning the Murrays. And those +things which concerned them were a thousand times more important than +any faked heirlooms. + +Sir Beverley Drake gave some faint hope that Ralston Murray's life might +be saved. There was a serum upon which he had been experimenting for +years, and in which he had begun enthusiastically to believe, for +obscure tropical maladies resembling Murray's. + +We had asked him to motor on to the Abbey and luncheon, after his visit +to Ralston Old Manor, hardly daring to think that he would accept. But +he did accept; and I saw by his face the moment we met that the news he +had to give was, at the worst, not bad. I was so happy when I heard what +he had to say that I could have danced for joy. + +"Mind, I don't promise anything," Sir Beverley reminded me. "But there +_is_ hope. Murray must have had a marvellous constitution to have gone +through what he has, in the war and since. If he hadn't had that, he'd +be dead now. And then, of course, this amazing romance of his--this +deathbed marriage--as you might call it--has given him a wonderful +fillip. Happiness is an elixir of life, even in the most desperate cases +at times, so I've got something hopeful to work on. I don't feel _sure_ +even of a partial success for my treatment, and I told them that. It's +an experiment. If it fails, Murray may burn out rather than flicker out, +and go a few weeks sooner than he need if let alone. If it +succeeds--why, there's no limit to the success it _might_ have!" + +"You mean, he might be entirely cured--a well man again?" I almost +gasped. + +"Yes, it's just on the cards," Sir Beverley answered. + +"Of course, Murray decided at once to run the risk?" asked Jim. + +"Of course," replied the specialist. But he looked thoughtful. + +"And Rosemary?" I added. "Couldn't she have kissed your feet for the +blessed message of hope you gave her?" + +Sir Beverley smiled at the picture. "I saw no sign of such a desire on +the part of the beautiful lady," he said. + +"She's rather shy of expressing her emotions," I explained Rosemary to +the great man. "But she has the _deepest_ feelings!" + +"So I should judge," he answered rather drily. "Perhaps, though, she has +no great faith in the experiment, and would prefer for her husband's +peace to let 'well enough alone,' as people vaguely say." + +Again I felt the disagreeable shock I'd experienced when Rosemary had +first spoken to me of Murray's death as certain. "It must be that," I +said, quickly. "She adores him." + +"She gave me proof of that, in case I'd doubted," Sir Beverley answered. +"I told them that before beginning the hypodermic injections of serum I +should like to change and purify Murray's blood by transfusion, and so +give him an extra chance. Mrs. Murray instantly offered her blood, and +didn't flinch when I told her a pint would be necessary. Her husband +refused to let her make such a sacrifice for him, and was quite +indignant that I didn't protest against it. But she begged, coaxed, +insisted. It was really a moving scene, and--er--went far to remove my +first impression." + +"What was your first impression?" I catechized. "Oh, don't think I ask +from curiosity! I'm Rosemary's friend. Jim and I are both as much +interested in Ralston Murray's case as if he were our brother. In a way, +we're responsible for the marriage--at least, we advised it. I know +Rosemary well, I believe, though she has a hard nature to understand. +And if you had an unfavourable impression of her, perhaps out of my +knowledge I might explain it away." + +"Well, to tell the truth," said Sir Beverley bluntly, "when I gave the +verdict which I'd thought would enchant her, Mrs. Murray seemed--not +happy, but terrified. I expected for a second or two that she would +faint. I must confess, I felt--chilled." + +"What--did she say?" I faltered. + +"She said nothing at all. She looked--frozen." + +"I hope poor Murray didn't get the same impression you got?" said Jim. + +"I don't think he did. She was sitting on the edge of his sofa, holding +his hand, after I'd made my examination of the patient, and had called +her back into the room. And when I told them what I hoped, I saw Mrs. +Murray squeeze his fingers suddenly very tight with her small ones. To +me--combined with the staring look in her eyes--the movement seemed +convulsive, such as you might see in a prisoner, pronounced guilty by +the foreman of the jury. But naturally no thought of that kind jumped +into Murray's head! When she pressed his hand, he lifted hers to his +lips and kissed it. All the same, my impression remained--like a lump of +ice I'd swallowed by mistake--until Mrs. Murray so eagerly offered her +blood for her husband. Then I had to acknowledge that she must be truly +in love with him--for some women, even affectionate wives, wouldn't have +the physical or mental courage for such an ordeal." + +"I hope she won't weaken when the time comes!" exclaimed Jim. + +"I don't somehow think she will weaken," Sir Beverley replied, a puzzled +frown drawing his thick eyebrows together. + +I was puzzled, too, but I praised Rosemary, and gave no hint of my own +miserable, reawakened suspicions. What I wanted to do was to see her as +soon as possible, and judge for myself. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHILE WE WAITED + + +When Sir Beverley Drake undertakes a case, he puts his whole soul into +it, and no sacrifice of time or trouble is too much. I loved the dear +man when he quietly announced that he would live at Ralston Old Manor, +coming in the day before the transfusion, and remaining till what he +called the "end of the treatment, first phase." + +This meant that he would be on the spot for a month. By that time he +could be practically certain whether or not the serum had "gripped" the +disease, and would at last conquer it. If "success" were the verdict, +Sir Beverley would instruct another doctor how to continue the +hypodermics and other treatment, and observe results. + +"Selfishly, I should have liked to put the patient into a nursing home +at Exeter," he said, "where I could stay at home and visit him once a +day. But I didn't feel that would be giving the man his best chance. +He's in love with his wife, and in love with his house. I wouldn't +separate him from either." + +This was splendid of Sir Beverley, and splendid for Murray--except for +one possibility which I foresaw. What if Rosemary or Murray himself +should suggest Paul Jennings as the doctor understudy? I was afraid that +this might happen, both because Jennings lived so near the Manor, and +because of the friendship which Rosemary had oddly struck up with the +French wife. + +I dared not prejudice Sir Beverley against Murray's distant cousin, for +I'd _heard_ nothing to Paul's disadvantage--rather the contrary. He was +said to be a smart doctor, up to date in his methods, and "sure to get +on." Still, I thought of the changed portraits, and tried to put the +microbe of an idea into Sir Beverley's head. I told him that, if it +hadn't been for Ralston Murray, Jennings would without much doubt have +inherited the Manor, with a large sum of money. + +The specialist's quick brain caught what was in mine as if I'd tossed it +to him, like a ball. "I suppose, if Murray died now, Jennings could hope +for nothing," he said, "except perhaps a small legacy. Murray will have +made a will in his wife's favour?" + +"Yes," I replied, "or he made a will when he was engaged to her, and has +added a codicil since. But it's unusual in some ways, and might be +disputed." + +Sir Beverley smiled. "Well, don't worry," he reassured me. "I have my +own candidate to take over the job when I leave the Manor. I wouldn't +trust a stranger, no matter how good a doctor he might be. So that's +that." + +It was! I felt satisfied; and also more than satisfied with Rosemary. I +went to see her the day before the transfusion experiment, and found her +radiant in a strange, spiritual way. It seemed to me more like +exaltation than any earthly sort of happiness; and her words proved that +my feeling about it was right. + +"Whether Ralston lives or dies, I shall always be so thankful that I +could do this thing for him. I don't think it's a _big_ thing, though he +does, and it was hard to persuade him. But to do it gives me the most +divine joy, which I can't describe. If I'd been born for that and +nothing else, it would be enough." + +"How you love him!" The words broke from me. + +"I do love him," she answered in a low voice, as if she spoke more to +herself than me. "Whatever may happen, I have loved him, and always will +in this world and the next." + +"Aren't you frightened?" I asked. + +"Frightened?" she echoed. "Oh, _no_!" + +And quite a new sort of respect for her grew up within me--respect for +her physical courage. She was such a tall lily-in-silver-moonlight +creature, and so sensitive, that one could not have been disgusted with +her, as one can with some women, for cowardice; but she was brave in her +love. When she said that she was not frightened, I knew she wasn't +trying to make herself think so. She had no fear at all. She was eager +for the moment when she could make the gift. + +Jim and I were allowed to be in the house when the experiment was tried, +not with the hope of seeing Murray or Rosemary afterward, but in order +to know the result without waiting. + +We sat in the library, and were presently joined by Paul Jennings and +Gaby. They had grown so fond of "the hero and heroine of this romance" +(as Gaby put it) that they hadn't been able to keep away. + +Jennings explained to us in detail the whole process of transfusion, and +why it was more effectual in a case like Murray's than the saline +injections given by some modern men. I felt rather faint as I listened, +seeing as if in a picture what those two devoted ones were going +through. But I knew that they were in the hands of a master, and that +the assistant and nurses he had brought would be the most efficient of +their kind. + +"Would you do for me what your friend is doing for her husband?" Paul +Jennings suddenly flung the question at his wife. And she answered him, +not in words, but with a smile. I couldn't read what that smile meant, +and I wondered if he could. + +Jim would not have needed to _ask_ me a thing like that! + +After what seemed a long time of suspense Sir Beverley came to tell us +the news--looking like a strong-faced, middle-aged pierrot in his +surgeon's "make-up." + +"All's well," he said. "They've both stood it grandly; and now they're +asleep. I thought you'd like to hear it from me, myself." + +Then he looked from us to the Jenningses, whom he had never seen before. +I introduced them, and for the first time I became aware of what Gaby +Lorraine could be when she wished intensely to charm a man. She radiated +some subtle attraction of sex--deliberately radiated it, and without one +spoken word. She hadn't tried that "stunt" on my Jim, and if she had on +Ralston Murray I hadn't been there to see. There was something she +wanted to get out of Sir Beverley! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE GOOD NEWS + + +I thought I knew what that "something" was. I thought that Gaby wished +to "tame" Sir Beverley, and make him so much her slave that he would +appoint Paul to understudy him with Murray. I chuckled as I "deduced" +this ambition, for poor Gaby was in blissful ignorance of a certain +conversation I'd had with Sir Beverley. + +"She'll find him a hard nut to crack," I said to myself. Still, I +suffered some bad moments in the month that followed. The Jenningses +were as often at the Manor as we were, and Gaby came frequently alone, +seldom failing to see Sir Beverley. He did seem to admire her, and to +like Paul well enough to worry me. + +"Will he stick to his point about his own doctor?" I wondered. But when +the time came to prove his strength of mind, he did stick. + +When he had been at Ralston Old Manor four weeks and two days there was +a letter for me from him in my morning post at the Abbey. "I want you to +come along as soon as you can and break something to Mrs. Murray," he +wrote. "I think she would rather hear it from you than me." + +I hardly waited to finish breakfast; but I was more excited than +frightened. If the news had been bad, I thought that Sir Beverley was +the man to have told it straight out. If it were good, he wouldn't mind +tantalizing me a little. + +Sir Beverley was walking under the elms, his hands behind his back, +taking his early stroll, when my car drove up. I got out at once and +joined him. + +"The man's going to get well--_well_, I tell you!" he joyously +announced. "No dreary semi-invalid for a devoted wife to take care of, +but a man in the prime of life, for a woman to adore. I'm sure of it." + +"But how wonderful!" I cried, ecstatically squeezing his arm. "What a +triumph, after dozens of great doctors had given him up! Does he know +yet?" + +Sir Beverley shook his head. "I'm going to tell him this morning. I +wanted to wait till Mrs. Murray had been told." + +"Why on earth didn't you tell her yourself--tell them both together?" I +asked. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I only thought she'd rather get the good +news from an intimate friend like you. If it makes her break down a bit +she won't mind before you as she would before me, and it wouldn't be +wise to surprise her in front of the invalid. When Murray hears from my +lips, and Mrs. Murray from yours, there won't have to be any +preliminaries: they can just fall into each other's arms." + +I argued no further. Indeed, there was no need. I knew as well as if +he'd had the embarrassment of putting it into words, how Sir Beverley +had feared that Rosemary might disappoint her husband, if the great news +were told in his presence. I thought also that if she were "strange" in +the way she had been strange before, he didn't want to see her being it! + +All my lurking suspicions of Rosemary had died an ignominious death at +the moment when, radiant with the light of her own devotion, she had +tried to define the love she felt. I was sure that what Sir Beverley had +mistaken for "horror" was only an effort at self-control when--perhaps +rather suddenly--he had given his first hint of hope. But I didn't +insist to Sir Beverley. Rosemary would soon prove to him that I was +right. + +He and I walked into the house together, and as he went to his patient, +I inquired for Mrs. Murray. Her boudoir opened off a corridor which ran +at right angles out of the panelled hall where many of the once famous, +now infamous, portraits hung. Murray had been moved down to a wing on +the ground floor after Sir Beverley came to the Manor, and this boudoir +of Rosemary's had a door opening into that wing. It was a charming, +low-ceilinged room, with a network of old beams, leaded windows with +wide sills where bowls of flowers stood, and delightful chintz chosen by +Rosemary herself. She came almost at once, through the door leading from +the invalid's wing; and as the sunlight touched her bright hair and +white dress I was thrilled by her ethereal beauty. Never had she been +more lovely, but she looked fragile as a crystal vase. + +"Darling!" I exclaimed, snatching her in my arms. "You are a dream +to-day--but I want to see you more solid. You _will_ be soon--a strong +pink rose instead of a white lily--because there's the most gorgeous +news to-day. I met Sir Beverley and he gave me leave to tell you, +because I love you so much. Your dear man is saved. _You've_ helped to +save him, and----" + +The words died on my lips. I had to put out all my strength with a +sudden effort to keep her from falling. She didn't faint, but her knees +collapsed. I held her for an instant, then supported her till she had +sunk into a chair which was luckily near. If she hadn't been in my arms +I think she would have fallen. Her head lay against the high back of the +grandfather chair, and her face was so white that she reminded me of a +snow-wreath flitting past one's window, ghostlike at twilight. + +Her eyes were half closed. She didn't look at me, nor seem to be any +longer conscious of my presence; but I dropped on my knees beside her, +and covered her cold hands with my own. + +"I oughtn't to have told you so abruptly," I said. "Sir Beverley trusted +me. I've betrayed his trust. But I thought, as you knew there was hope, +hearing that now it was certainty wouldn't excite you too much. Oh, +Rosemary, dear, think how glorious it will be! No more fears, no more +anxieties. Instead of saying to yourself, 'I have him only for a few +weeks,' you will know that you have years together to look forward to. +You will be like Jim and me. You can travel. You can----" + +"Yes," Rosemary almost whispered. "Yes, it is glorious--for Ralston. I +am thankful. You are--good to sympathize so much, and I'm grateful. +I--I'd hardly dreamed before that he _could_ get well. All those +specialists, they were so sure; many of them very celebrated--as +celebrated as Sir Beverley--and he is only one against a dozen. That's +why it is--a surprise, you see." + +She was making so violent an effort to control herself that I felt +guiltily conscious of my eyes upon her face. One would have thought +that, instead of giving her the key to happiness, I had handed her that +of a dungeon where she would be shut up for life. + +"Would you rather I'd go?" I stammered. "Would you like to be alone?" + +She nodded, moistening her lips. "Yes, thank you, Elizabeth," she +breathed. "I--yes, for a little while I'd like to be alone--with my +joy--to pray." + +I jumped up like a marionette. "Of course," I said. "I understand." + +But I didn't understand, as perhaps she guessed from my quivering voice. + +"I wish I could make you--_really_ understand," she sighed. "I--I'm +different from other women. I can't take things as they do--as you +would. But--I told you once, before, _whatever happens I love him_." + +"I'm sure you do," I answered, as I opened the door and slipped softly +out. Yet that wasn't so true as it had been a few minutes ago. I felt as +if I'd been through an earthquake which had shaken me up without +warning. + +"I'm glad that it was I and not Sir Beverley who told her," I said to +myself. But I said it sadly. The sunshine was dimmed. I longed like a +child to escape from that house--escape quickly, and run to Jim's arms +as to a fortress. + + * * * * * + +Sir Beverley kept his promise, and sent for a man who had worked with +him in his experiments. Then he went back to Exeter, promising to return +if he were sent for, or in any case to look in once a fortnight. + +There was no need, however, to send for him. Ralston Murray got on--as +the new man, Doctor Thomas, said--"like a house on fire." + +At first there was little change to be noticed in his appearance. It was +only that the bad symptoms, the constant high temperature, the agonizing +pains in all the bones, and the deadly weakness, diminished and +presently ceased. Then, the next time Jim and I called, I cried out: +"Why, you are _fatter_!" + +Murray laughed with a gay, almost boyish ring in his laugh. +"Transformation of the Living Skeleton into the Fat Man!" he cried. +"What a happy world this is, after all, and I'm the happiest man in it; +that is, I would be, if Rosemary weren't shrinking as rapidly as I +increase. What _are_ we to do with her? She says she's perfectly well. +But look at her little face." + +We looked at it, and though she smiled as brightly as she could, the +smile was camouflage. Always pearly, her skin was dead white now. Even +the lips had lost their coral red, though she bit them to bring back the +blood, and a slight hollow had broken the exquisite oval of her cheeks. +Her eyes looked far too big; and even her hair had dulled, losing +something of its moonlight sheen. + +"I'm perfectly all right!" she insisted. "It's only the reaction after +so much anxiety. _Anybody_ would feel it, in my place." + +"Yes, of course," I soothed her. But I knew that there must be more than +that. She looked as if she never slept. My heart yearned over her, yet I +despaired of doing any good. She would not confide in me. All my +confidence in myself as a "Brightener" was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE CLIMAX + + +From that time on I was haunted by Rosemary's thin, beautiful face, the +suppressed anguish in her eyes, and the wretched conviction that I was +of no use--that I'd stumbled against a high, blank wall. Often at night +I dreamed of her in a feverish way, queer dreams that I couldn't +remember when I waked, though they left me depressed and anxious. And +then, one night nearly four weeks after Murray had been pronounced a +saved man, came the climax. + +As usual, I was thinking of the Murrays when I went to bed--how well and +handsome and happy he was, how mysteriously and silently the girl was +fading. I must have dropped off to sleep with these thoughts in my mind, +and how long I slept I don't know, but I waked, sitting up, hearing loud +sobs. At first I imagined they were Rosemary's. Then I realized that +they were my own. + +In a moment Jim was with me, holding me tight, as if I were a child. +"Darling one, what is it? Tell Jim!" he implored. + +"I don't know," I wailed. "Except the letter--or was it a telegram? And +then that dark precipice! She was on the edge. She called to me: +'Elizabeth--help! help!' But the whole ocean came rolling between us. +Oh, Jim, I _must_ get to her!" + +"I suppose it's Rosemary you're talking about," Jim said. "But it was +only a dream, dearest child. You're not awake yet. Nothing has happened +to Rosemary." + +But I couldn't be consoled. "I suppose it was a dream," I wept. "But +it's true; I know it is. I _know_ something has happened--something +terrible." + +"Well, let's hope it hasn't," soothed Jim. "What could happen in the +middle of the night? It's a quarter to three. We can't do anything till +morning. Then, if you still feel anxious, I'll take you over to the +Manor in the car as early as you like. That is, I will if you're good +and do your best to go to sleep again now." + +How I adored him, and how sorry I was for Rosemary because a black cloud +obscured the brightness of her love, which might have been as sweet as +mine! + +I couldn't sleep again as Jim wished me to do, but he comforted me, and +the dark hours passed. As soon as it was light, however, I bounded up, +bathed and dressed, and Jim did the same for the sake of "standing by"; +which was silly of us, perhaps, because it would be hardly decent to +start before half-past nine. If we did we should reach the Manor at an +absurd hour, especially as Ralston and Rosemary were lazy creatures, +even now, when he was rejoicing in this new lease of life. She hated to +get up early, and he liked to do what she liked. + +"If anything had been wrong, I think we should have got a telegram by +this time," said Jim, as he tried to make me eat breakfast. "You know +how quickly a wire is delivered at our office from Merriton, and----" + +At that instant a footman appeared with a brown envelope on a silver +tray. It was addressed to "Lady Courtenaye," but I asked Jim to open it +and read the message first. + +"Rosemary has--gone," he told me. "Murray asks if, by any chance, she +has come here. There's a 'reply-paid' form; but he wants us to run over +to him if we can." + +Jim scrawled an answer: + + Deeply regret she is not here. Will be with you shortly. + +and sent it off by the post-office boy who waited, though it was +probable that we should see Murray before our response to his question +reached him. + +I think I was never so sorry for any man in my life! + +"I have been too happy!" he said, when he had come to meet us in the +hall--walking firmly in these days--and had led us into his study or +"den." "She's such a friend of yours, Elizabeth. Has she consciously or +unconsciously given you some clue?" + +"No real clue," I told him, regretfully; "though I may think of a +forgotten hint when we've talked things over. But you must tell us +exactly what has happened." + +Poor Murray held himself in iron control. Perhaps he even "hoped for the +best," as Jim urged him to do. But I saw through the false calmness into +a despairing soul. Already the newly lit flame of restored vitality +burned low. He looked years older, and I would have given much if Sir +Beverley or even the understudy had been in the house. Doctor Thomas had +gone a week ago, however, Sir Beverley judging that Murray could now get +on by himself. Alas, he had not guessed how literally the man would be +left alone to do this! + +The morning of yesterday had passed, Murray said, in an ordinary way. +Then, by the second post, which arrived after luncheon, a registered +letter had come for Rosemary. Such letters appeared now and then, at +regular intervals, and Rosemary had explained that they were sent on by +her bank in London, and contained enclosures from America. Rosemary +never talked to him of these letters, or of America at all, having told +him once, before their marriage, that her one link with that country now +was her sister. Whether or not she was fond of the sister he could not +say; but she always seemed restless when one of these registered letters +arrived. + +Yesterday was no exception to the rule. When the letter was handed to +Rosemary she and her husband were having coffee and cigarettes in her +boudoir. She flushed at sight of the envelope, but tossed it aside +unopened, as though she took no interest in its contents, and continued +the conversation as if it had not been broken off. Murray felt uneasily +conscious, however, that she was thinking of the letter, and made an +excuse to leave her alone so that she might read it in peace. Depressed +and anxious, he strolled out on the lawn with the dogs. One of them made +a rush at the open bay window into the boudoir; and, snatching the +animal back by its collar, Murray caught a glimpse of Rosemary burning +something in the grate. + +Soon after she had joined him out of doors, and had made an effort to be +gay. He had thought, however, that she was absent-minded, and he longed +to ask what the trouble was; but America as a subject of conversation +was taboo. + +For the rest of the day they were mostly together, and never had +Rosemary been so loving or so sweet. + +At night Ralston had remained with his wife in her room till twelve. +They had talked of their wonderful meeting on the _Aquitania_, and the +life to which it had led. Then the clock striking midnight reminded +Rosemary that it was late. She had a headache, she said, and would take +some aspirin. Murray was banished to his own room, which adjoined hers, +but the door was left open between. + +It was some time before Ralston went to sleep, yet he heard no sound +from Rosemary's room. At last, however, he must have slumbered heavily, +for he knew no more till dawn. Somehow, he had got into the habit of +rousing at six, though he generally dozed again. This time he waked as +usual, and, remembering Rosemary's headache, tiptoed to the door and +peeped into the darkened room. To his surprise she was not in bed. +Still, he was not worried. His thought was that she had risen early and +stealthily, not to rouse him, and that she had gone to the bathroom next +door to bathe and dress for an early walk. + +He tapped at the bathroom door, but getting no answer, turned the +handle. Rosemary was not in the room, and there were no towels lying +about. + +Murray's next move was to draw back the curtains across one of the open +windows; and it was then that he saw an envelope stuck into the mirror +over the dressing table. His name was on it, and with a stab of +apprehension he broke the seal. + +The letter which this envelope had contained he showed to Jim and me. It +was written in pencil, and was very short. It said: + + Good-bye, my Beloved. I must go, and I cannot even tell you why. + You may find out some day, but I hope not, for both our sakes. It + would only make you more unhappy. You would hate me, I think, if + you knew the truth. But oh, try not to do that. I love you so much! + I am so happy that you are growing well and strong, yet if I had + known I should not have dared to marry you, because from the first + this that has happened was bound to happen. Forgive me for hurting + you. I didn't mean to do it. I thought only to make your last days + on this earth happier, and to keep a blessed memory for myself. + While I live I shall love you, but it will be best for you to + forget. + + Rosemary. + +In spite of this farewell, Ralston had hoped to hear something of +Rosemary from me. At all events, he wanted our advice, Jim's and mine. + +It was a blow to him that we had no news to give; and it was hard even +to offer advice. What could we say? I had known for long that the girl +was miserable, and this sudden break-up of everything was more of a +shock than a surprise. I was afraid to say: "Get her back at any price!" +for--the price (not in money but in heart's blood) might prove too high. +Instead I hedged. + +"What if Rosemary is right?" I ventured. "What if it _would_ be best as +she says, for both your sakes, to let her go?" + +Murray's eyes flashed rage. "Is that your _real_ advice?" he flung at +me. "If it is, you're not the woman I thought you. I'll move heaven and +earth to get Rosemary back, because we love each other, and nothing else +matters." + +"Well, that's what I wanted to find out!" I exclaimed in a changed tone. +"That's the way I should feel in your place----" + +"I, too!" chimed in Jim. + +"And since that _is_ the way you feel," I went on, "I've thought of +something, or rather, _someone_, that may help. Mrs. Paul Jennings." + +Ralston stared, and repeated the name. + +"Mrs. Paul Jennings? What is she likely to know about Rosemary's secrets +that you don't know?" + +"That's for you to find out," I answered. "It's an impression I have. I +may be mistaken. But it's worth trying. I should send for Mrs. Paul +Jennings if I were you." + +"I will!" cried Murray. "I'll send a note now--and the car to fetch her +here." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +WHAT GABY TOLD + + +It seemed to us that hours dragged heavily by, between the time that the +motor left and the time when we heard it draw up at the front door. A +moment later, and Gaby Jennings was shown into Murray's den, where we +three were waiting. + +Ralston had said in his short note that Rosemary had gone away suddenly, +and that he was most anxious. But there was no sign of distress on the +Frenchwoman's face. On the contrary, those big dark eyes of hers, which +could be so languorous, looked hard as glass as she smiled at me and +nodded at Jim. + +Her voice was soft, however, when she answered Ralston's question. + +"Ah, my poor Major!" she gently bleated. "You have all my sympathy. I +could say nothing. But I always feared--I feared this would come!" + +Ralston braced himself. "You know something, then?" he exclaimed. "You +have something to tell me!" + +"I do know something--yes," she said. "But whether I have something to +tell--ah, that is different. I must think first." + +"You mean, you wish to consult Paul," he prompted her. "But I can't wait +for that. For heaven's sake, Mrs. Jennings, speak out; don't keep me in +suspense." + +"I did not mean to consult Paul," Gaby replied. "When I read your note I +told Paul you asked me to come over alone, though it was not true. It is +better that we talk without Paul listening." + +"Shall Jim and I go away?" I asked quickly, speaking not to her, but to +Ralston. + +"No," he answered. "Mrs. Jennings can have nothing to say about Rosemary +which I wouldn't care for you and Jim to hear." + +I saw from Gaby's face that this verdict annoyed her, but she shrugged +her pretty shoulders. "As you will," she said. "For me, I would rather +Sir James and Lady Courtenaye were not here. But what matter? You would +repeat to them what passes between us." + +"Doubtless I should," Ralston agreed. "Now tell me what you have to +tell, I beg." + +"It is a very big thing," Gaby began. "Rosemary did not want me to tell. +She offered me bribes. I refused, because I would not bind myself. Yet +there is a favour you could do for me--for us--Major Murray. If you +would promise--I could not resist giving up Rosemary's secret." + +Ralston's face had hardened. I saw his dislike of her and what she +suggested. But he could not afford to refuse, and perhaps lose all +chance of finding his wife. + +"Will what you have to tell help me to get Rosemary back?" he asked. + +"Yes--if after you have heard you still want her back," Gaby hedged. "I +can tell you where she is likely to be." + +"Nothing on God's earth you could tell would make me not want her back!" +he cried. "What is this favour you speak of?" + +"It is only that I ask you to take my husband as your doctor. Oh, do not +think it is from Paul I come! He does not know Rosemary's secret, or +that I make a price for this. If you do this--and why not, since Paul is +a good doctor, and you have now finished with others?--I will tell you +all I know about your wife." + +As she went on I was thinking fast. Poor Rosemary! I was sure that Gaby +had tried to work upon her fears--had promised secrecy if Mrs. Murray +would get Doctor Jennings taken on as Ralston's physician. At first +Rosemary had been inclined to yield. That must have been at the time +when she wired to stop Sir Beverley's visit, if not too late. Then we +had appeared on the scene, saying that it _was_ too late, and urging +that Sir Beverley might offer Ralston a chance of life. At this +Rosemary's love for her husband had triumphed over fears for her own +sake. She had realized that by keeping Sir Beverley away she might be +standing between her husband and life itself. If there were a ray of +hope for him, she determined to help, not hinder, no matter what the +cost. + +Once she had refused Mrs. Jennings' request, she had been at the woman's +mercy; but Gaby had waited, expecting the thing that had happened +to-day, and seeing that her best chance for the future lay with Murray. +As for Jennings, it might be true that he wasn't in the plot; but if my +theory concerning the portraits were correct, he certainly _was_ in it, +and had at least partially planned the whole scheme. + +I was so afraid Ralston might accept the bargain without stopping to +think, that I spoke without giving him time to open his lips. "Before +you decide to take Paul Jennings as your doctor, send for an expert to +look through your collection of portraits!" + +"What have the portraits to do with Doctor Jennings?" asked Ralston, +astonished. + +I stared at Gaby Jennings as I answered; but a woman who uses liquid +powder is fortified against a blush. + +"That's what I want you to find out before making a bargain with his +wife. All I know is, there are modern copies in the frames which once +held your greatest treasures. Only a person free to come and go here for +months could bring off such a fraud without too much risk. And if Doctor +Jennings _had_ brought it off, would he be a safe person to look after +the health of the man he'd cheated?" + +Gaby Jennings sprang to her feet. "Lady Courtenaye, my husband can sue +you for slander!" she cried. + +"He can; but will he?" I retorted. + +"I go to tell him of what he is accused by you!" she said. "There is no +fear for us, because you have no proof. But it is finished now! I leave +this house where I have been insulted, and Major Murray may search the +world. He will never find his lost wife!" + +"Stop, Mrs. Jennings!" Murray commanded, sharply. "The house is mine, +and _I_ have not insulted you. I thank Lady Courtenaye for trying to +protect me. But I don't intend to make any accusations against your +husband or you. Tell me what you know, and I will write a letter asking +Jennings to attend me as my doctor. That I promise." + +Gaby Jennings threw me a look of triumph; and I am ashamed to say that +for a minute I was so angry at the man's foolhardiness that I hardly +cared what happened to him. But it was for a minute only. I felt that +Jim would have done the same in his place; and I was anxious to help him +in spite of himself. + +The Frenchwoman accepted the promise, but suggested that Major Murray +might now wish to change his mind: he might like to be alone with her +when she made her revelations. Ralston was so far loyal to us, however, +that he refused to let us go. We were his best friends, and he was +deeply grateful, even though he had to act against our advice. + +"Let them hear, then, that Rosemary Brandreth is Rosemary Brandreth to +this hour--not Rosemary Murray," Gaby Jennings snapped out. "She is not +your wife, because Guy Brandreth is not dead, and they are not divorced. +She does not even love you, Major Murray. She loves madly her real +husband, and left him only because she was jealous of some flirtation he +had with another woman. Then she met you--on shipboard, was it not?--and +this idea came into her head: to go through a ceremony of marriage, and +get what she could to feather her nest when you were dead, and she was +free to return home." + +"My God! You lie!" broke out Ralston. + +"I do not lie. I can prove to you that I do not. I knew Guy and Rosemary +Brandreth before I left the stage. I was acting in the States. People +made much of me there, as in England, in those days. In a big town +called Baltimore, in Maryland, I met the Brandreths. I met them at their +own house and at other houses where I was invited. There could be no +mistake. But when I saw the lady here, as your wife, I might have +thought her husband was dead; I might have thought that, and no +more--except for one thing: she was foolish: she showed that she was +afraid of me. Because of her manner I suspected something wrong. Letters +take ages, so I cabled to a man who had been nice to me in Baltimore. It +was a long message I sent, with several questions. Soon the answer came. +It told me that Captain Guy Brandreth is now stationed in Washington. He +is alive, and not divorced from his wife. They had a little quarrel, and +she sailed for Europe, to stay three or four months, but there was not +even gossip about a separation when she went away. My friend said that +Captain Brandreth talked often about being anxious for his wife to come +back, and instead of taking advantage of her absence, he no longer +flirted with the lady of whom Mrs. Brandreth had been jealous. Now you +have heard all--and you _see_ all, don't you? I know about the codicil +added to your will. You remember, my husband witnessed it, one day when +Sir James Courtenaye had meant to come over, but could not? Mrs. +Brandreth arranged cleverly. If you had died, as she was sure you would +die before the time when she was expected back, she could easily have +got your money--everything of which you had been possessed. She +waited--always hoping that you might die. But at last she had to give +up. She could stay no longer without fear of what her American husband +might do. If you don't believe, I will show you the cablegrams I have +received. But, in any case, you must read them!" And pulling from her +hand-bag several folded papers, Gaby forced them upon Ralston. + +Oh, with what horrible plausibility the story hung together! It fitted +in with everything I had ever guessed, suspected, or known of +Rosemary--except her ethereal sweetness, her seeming love for the man +she had now deserted. Could she have pretended well enough to deceive me +in spite of my suspicions? Above all, would she have offered the blood +from her veins to save Ralston Murray if she had not wanted him to live? + +My head buzzed with questions, and no answers were ready. Still I could +see, confusedly, that the terrible imposture Rosemary was accused of +might have been committed by a woman who loved its victim. Meeting him +on shipboard, old feelings might have crept back into her heart. On a +mad impulse she might have agreed to make his last weeks on earth happy. +As for the money, that extra temptation might have appealed to the worst +side of her nature. + +When Ralston implored desperately, "Do _you_ believe this of Rosemary?" +I could not speak for a moment. I glanced from his despairing face to +Jim's perplexed one. Almost, I stammered, "I'm afraid I do believe!" But +the look I caught in Gaby's eyes as I turned stopped the words on my +lips. + +"No, I _don't_ believe it of her--I can't, and won't!" I cried. + +"God help me, I do!" groaned Ralston, and breaking down at last, he +covered his face with his hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE + + +Well, there we had to leave matters for the moment. + +Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice. +Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one--except to be let +alone. + +He had said to Gaby Jennings that he would always want Rosemary back +whatever he heard about her past; but now, believing Gaby's story with +its additional proofs, at all events he had no more hope of getting her +back. In his eyes she was another man's wife. He did not expect to see +her again in this world. + +Jim and I could do nothing with him: Jim was helpless because he also, +at heart, believed Gaby, and defended Rosemary only to please me; I had +ceased to be of use, because I could give no reason for my faith in her. +What good to say: "There must be some awful misunderstanding!" when +there were those cablegrams from Baltimore and Washington? Gaby would +not have shown copies of her own messages with the address of her +correspondent, if she hadn't been willing that Murray should make +inquiries as to the man's identity and bona fides. + +We could not persuade him to wait, before keeping his promise to Mrs. +Jennings, until he had heard from America. He knew what he should hear, +he said. Besides, a promise was a promise. He didn't care whether Paul +had stolen his heirlooms or not, but there was no proof that he had, and +people must be presumed innocent until they were found to be guilty. Nor +did he care what Jennings' designs on him might be. It was too +far-fetched to suppose that the man had any designs; but no greater +kindness could now be done to him, Ralston, than to put him for ever out +of his misery. + +This was mad talk; but in a way Ralston Murray went mad that day when he +lost Rosemary. No doctor, no alienist, would have pronounced him mad, of +course. Rather would I have seemed insane in my defence of Rosemary +Brandreth. But when the man's heart broke, something snapped in his +brain. All was darkness there. He had turned his back on hope, and could +not bear to hear the word. + +We did persuade him, in justice to Rosemary, to let us cable a New York +detective agency whose head Jim had known well. This man was instructed +to learn whether Gaby's friend had told the truth about Captain +Brandreth and his wife: whether she had sailed for Europe on the +_Aquitania_, upon a certain date; and whether the pair had been living +together before Mrs. Brandreth left for Europe. + +When news came confirming Gaby's story, and, a little later, mentioning +that Mrs. Brandreth had returned from abroad, Ralston said: "I knew it +would be so. There's nothing more to do." But I felt that there was a +great deal more to do; and I was bent on doing it. The next thing was to +induce Jim to let me do it. + +To my first proposition he agreed willingly. Now that I had shot my +bolt, there was no longer any objection to employing detectives against +the Jenningses. Indeed, there was a strong incentive. If their guilt +could be proved, Ralston Murray would not be quite insane enough to keep +Paul on as his doctor. + +We both liked the idea of putting my old friend Mr. Smith on to the +case, and applied to him upon our own responsibility, without a word to +Murray. But this was nothing compared with my second suggestion. I +wanted to rush over to America and see for myself whether Rosemary was +living in Washington as the wife of Guy Brandreth. + +"What! You'd leave me here, and go across the Atlantic without me on a +wild-goose chase?" Jim shouted. + +"Who said anything about my going without you?" I retorted. "Oh, darling +Man, _do_ take me!" + +That settled it: and as soon as the thing was decided, we were both keen +to start. Our one cause for hesitation was fear for Ralston Murray's +safety, now that he had so recklessly flung himself into Paul Jennings' +hands. Still, in the circumstances, we could do little good if we stayed +at home. Ralston had shut himself up, refusing to see any one--including +ourselves. His mental state was bad enough to sap his newly restored +health, even if I did Doctor Paul Jennings a grave injustice; and Mr. +Smith could watch the Jenningses better than we could. + +I did take the precaution to write Sir Beverley that his late patient +had fallen into the clutches of the Merriton doctor, and beg him to call +at the Manor some day, declining to take 'no' for an answer if he were +refused at the door: and then we sailed. It was on the _Aquitania_ +again, and every moment brought back some recollection of Rosemary and +Ralston Murray. + +We travelled straight to Washington after landing, and were met at the +station by the young detective Jim's friend had engaged. He had +collected the information we needed for the beginning of our campaign, +and had bought tickets for the first performance of a new play that +night. + +"The Brandreths have a party going," he said, "and your places are next +to theirs. Yours are at the end of the row, so they'll have to pass you +going in, if you're early on the spot." + +I liked that detective. He had "struck" a smart idea! + +We had only just time to dress and dine at our hotel, and dash to the +theatre in a taxi, if we wished to arrive when the doors were opened. + +It was lucky we did this, for the audience assembled promptly, in order +to hear some music written for the new play by a popular composer. We +had hardly looked through the programme after settling down in our +chairs when a familiar fragrance floated to me. It was what I had always +called "Rosemary's _leitmotif_," expressed in perfume. I turned my head, +and--there she was in great beauty coming along the aisle with three or +four men and as many pretty women. + +I had got myself up that night expressly to attract +attention--Rosemary's attention. I was determined that she should not, +while laughing and talking with her friends, pass me by without +recognition. Consequently, I was dressed more suitably for a ball than a +play. I had on a gown of gold tissue, and my second best tiara, to say +nothing of a few more scattered diamonds and a double rope of pearls. It +was impossible for the most absent-minded eye to miss me, or my +black-browed, red-haired giant in evening dress--Jim. As I looked over +my shoulder at Rosemary, therefore, she looked at me. Our gaze +encountered, and--my jaw almost dropped. She showed not the slightest +sign of surprise; did not start, did not blush or turn pale. Her lovely +face expressed good-natured admiration, that was all. + +She glanced at Jim, too--as all women do glance--with interest. But it +was purely impersonal interest, as if to say, "There's a _man_!" + +Those black brows of his drew together in disapproval, because she had +no right to be so rosy and happy, so much more voluptuous in her beauty +than she had been when with Ralston Murray. Rosemary, however, seemed +quite unconscious of Jim's disgust. She had an air of conquering, +conscious charm, as if all the world must love and admire her--such an +air as she had never worn in our experience. Having looked us over with +calm admiration she marshalled her guests, and was especially charming +to one of the women, a dark, glowing creature almost as beautiful as +herself. Something within me whispered: "_That's_ the woman she was +jealous of! This party is meant to advertise that they're the best of +friends." + +"Guy, you're to sit next Mrs. Dupont," she directed; and at the sound of +her voice my heart gave a little jump. There was a different quality +about this voice--a contralto quality. It was heavier, richer, less +flutelike than Rosemary's used to be. + +Mrs. Dupont and Guy Brandreth passed us to reach their chairs. Guy was a +square-jawed, rather ugly, but extremely masculine young man of a type +intensely attractive to women. + +"She wants to show everyone how she trusts him now!" I thought. "She's +giving him Mrs. Dupont practically to himself for the evening." + +All the party pushed by, Rosemary and an elderly man, who, it appeared, +was Mr. Dupont, coming last. He sat between her and me, and they chatted +together before the music began; but now and then she looked past him at +me, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. + +"Jim," I whispered, "_it isn't Rosemary_!" + +"Well--I was wondering!" he answered. "But--it _must_ be." + +"It simply _isn't_," I insisted. "To-morrow I'm going to call on Mrs. +Guy Brandreth." + +"Supposing she won't see you?" + +"She will," I said. "I shall ring her up early before she can possibly +be out, and make an appointment." + +"If it is Rosemary, when she knows who you are she won't----" began Jim, +but I cut him short. I repeated again the same obstinate words: "It is +_not_ Rosemary." + + * * * * * + +I called up Mrs. Guy Brandreth at nine o'clock next morning, and heard +the rich contralto voice asking "_Who_ is it?" + +"Lady Courtenaye at Willard's Hotel," I boldly answered. "I've come from +England on purpose to see you. I have very important things to say." + +There was a slight pause; then the voice answered with a new vibration +in it: "When can you come? Or--no! When can you have me call on you? +That would be better." + +"I can have you call as soon as you care to start," I replied. "The +sooner the better." + +"I'm not dressed," said the quivering voice. "But I'll be with you at +ten o'clock." + +I told Jim, and we arranged that he should be out of the way till +ten-thirty. Then he was to walk into our private sitting room, where I +would receive Mrs. Brandreth. I thought that by that time we should be +ready for him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MRS. BRANDRETH'S STORY + + +She came--into a room with all the blinds up, the curtains pushed back, +and floods of sunshine streaming in. + +Just for an instant I was chilled with doubt of last night's impression, +for her face was so pale and anxious that she was more like Rosemary +than had been the red-rose vision at the theatre. But she was genuinely +surprised at sight of me. + +"Why!" she exclaimed. "You are the lovely lady who sat next us at the +play!" + +"Does my name suggest nothing to you?" I asked. + +"Nothing," she echoed. + +"Then we'll sit down, and I'll tell you a story," I suggested. + +I began with the _Aquitania_: the man in the cushioned deck-chair, going +home condemned to die; the beautiful girl who appeared on the second day +out; the recognition. I mentioned no names. When I said, however, that +years ago the two had been engaged, a sudden light flashed into my +visitor's eyes. She would have interrupted, but I begged her to let me +go on; and she sat silent while I told the whole story. Then, before she +had time to speak, I said: "There's just _one_ thing I know! You are not +the woman who came to England and married Ralston Murray. If you have a +heart in your breast, you'll tell me where to find that woman. He will +die unless she goes back to him." + +Her lips parted, but she pressed them tightly together again. I saw her +muscles stiffen in sympathy with some resolve. + +"The woman, whoever she was, must have personated me for a reason of her +own," she answered. "It's as deep a mystery to me as to you." + +I looked her in the eyes. "That's not true. Mrs. Brandreth," I flung at +her, brutally. "In spite of what I've said, you're afraid of me. I give +you my most sacred word that you shall be protected if you will help, as +you alone can, to save Ralston Murray. It is only if you _refuse_ your +help that you may suffer. In that case, my husband and I will fight for +our friend. We won't consider you at all. Now that we have a strong clue +to this seeming mystery, and it is already close to our hands, +everything that you have done or have not done will soon come out." + +The beautiful woman broke down and began to cry. "What I did I had a +right to do!" she sobbed. "There was no harm! It was as much for the +sake of my husband's future happiness as my own, but if he finds out +he'll never love or trust me again. Men are so cruel!" + +"Tell me who went to England in your place, when you pretended to sail, +and he sha'n't find out. Only ourselves and Ralston Murray need ever +know," I urged. + +"It was--my twin sister," she gasped, "my sister Mary-Rose Hillier, who +sailed on the _Aquitania_ as Mrs. Guy Brandreth. It was the only way I +could think of, so that I could be near my husband and watch him without +his having the slightest suspicion of what was going on. Mary-Rose owed +me a lot of money which I couldn't really afford to do without. It was +when she was still in England, before she came to America, that I let +her have it. My mother was dreadfully ill, and Mary-Rose adored her. She +wanted to call in great specialists, and begged me to help her. At first +I thought I couldn't. Guy and I are not rich! But he was flirting with a +woman--a cat of a woman: you saw her last night. I was nearly desperate. +Suddenly an idea came to me. I sold a rope of pearls I had, first +getting it copied, and making my sister promise she would do whatever I +asked if I sent her the thousand pounds she wanted. You look shocked--I +suppose because I bargained over my mother's health. But my husband was +more to me than my mother or any one else. Besides, Mother hadn't wished +me to marry Guy. She didn't want me to jilt Ralston Murray. I couldn't +forgive her for the way she behaved, and I never saw her after my +runaway wedding." + +"So it was you, and not your sister, who was engaged to Ralston Murray +eight years ago!" I couldn't resist. + +"Yes. It happened abroad--as you know, perhaps. Mary-Rose was away at a +boarding school, and they never met. The whole affair was so short, so +quickly over, I doubt if I ever even told Ralston that my sister and I +were twins. But he gave me a lot of lovely presents, and refused to take +them back--wrote that he'd burn them, pearls and all, if I sent them to +him. Yes, the pearls I sold were a gift from him when we were engaged. +And there were photographs of Ralston that Mary-Rose wouldn't let me +destroy. She kept them herself. She was sorry for Ralston--hearing the +story, and seeing some of his letters. She was a romantic girl, and +thought him the ideal man. She was half in love, without having seen him +in the flesh." + +"That is why she couldn't resist, on the _Aquitania_," I murmured. "When +Ralston asked her to marry him, she fell in love with the reality, I +suppose. Poor girl, what she must have gone through, unable to tell him +the truth, because she'd pledged herself to keep your secret, whatever +happened! I begin to see the whole thing now! When your mother died in +spite of the specialists, you made the girl come over to this side, +without your husband or any one knowing. You hid her in New York. You +planned your trip to Europe. You left Washington. Your cabin was taken +on the _Aquitania_, and Mary-Rose Hillier sailed as Rosemary Brandreth, +wearing clothes of yours, and even using the same perfume." + +"You've guessed it," she confessed. "We'd arranged what to do, in case +Guy went to the ship with me. But he and I were rather on official terms +because of things I'd said about Mrs. Dupont, and he let me travel to +New York alone. I learned from a famous theatrical wig-maker how to +disguise myself, and I lived in lodgings not half a mile from our house +for three months, watching what he did every day. At first I didn't find +out much, but later I began to see that I'd done him an injustice. He +didn't care seriously for the Dupont woman. It was only a flirtation. So +I was in a hurry to get Mary-Rose over here again, and reappear myself." + +"Why did you have to insist on her coming back to America?" I asked, +trying not to show how disgusted I was with the selfishness of the +creature--selfishness which had begun long ago, in throwing Ralston +over, and now without a thought had wrecked her sister's life. + +"Oh, to have her book her passage in my name and sail for home was the +only safe way! All had gone so well, I wouldn't spoil it at the end." + +"All had gone well with _you_," I said. "But what about _her_?" + +"She didn't tell me what you've told me to-day. I supposed till almost +the last that she was just travelling about, as we planned for her to +do. The only address I had was Mother's old bank, which was to forward +everything to Mary-Rose, on her own instructions. Then, a few weeks ago, +she wrote and asked if I could manage without her coming back to +America. She said it would make a lot of difference in her life, but she +didn't explain what she meant. If she'd made a clean breast of +everything I might have thought of some other way out; but----" + +"But as _she_ didn't, _you_ didn't," I finished the sentence. "Oh, how +different Mary-Rose Hillier is in heart from her sister Rosemary +Brandreth, though their faces are almost identical! She was always +thinking of you, and her promise to you. That promise was killing +her--that and her love for Ralston Murray. She didn't want his money, +and when she found he was determined to make a will in her favour she +thought of a way in which everything would come to _you_. It was you he +really loved--no doubt she argued with herself--and he wanted you to +inherit his fortune. Oh, poor tortured girl!--and I used to suspect that +she was mercenary. But, thank Heaven, Ralston didn't die, as he expected +so soon to do when he made that hurried will. The woman he truly loves +was never married before, and is his legal wife. Now, when she goes back +to him and he hears the whole truth he will be so happy that he'll live +for years, strong and well." + +"I don't believe even you can induce Mary-Rose to go back to Ralston +Murray," Mrs. Brandreth said. "She wouldn't think he could forgive her +for deceiving him." + +"He could forgive her anything after what he went through in losing +her," I said. "When you've told me where to find your sister, I will +tell her that--and a lot more things besides." + +"Well, if you can make her see your point of view!" Mrs. Brandreth +grudged. "If _my_ secret is kept, I hope Mary-Rose may be happy. I don't +grudge her Ralston Murray or his fortune; but when she feels herself +_quite_ safe as his wife she can pay me my thousand pounds." + +"She _has_ paid you, and more, with her heart's blood!" I exclaimed. +"Where is she?" + +"In New York. She told me she could never go to England again after what +had happened there. She seems awfully down, and I left her deciding +whether she should enter a charitable sisterhood. They take girls +without money, if they'll work in the slums, and Mary-Rose was anxious +to do that." + +"She won't be when she understands what work lies before her across the +sea," I retorted. + +Even as I spoke--and as Mrs. Guy Brandreth was writing down her sister's +address--I mentally marshalled the arguments I would use: the need to +save Ralston from himself, and above all from Paul and Gaby Jennings. +But, oh, the sudden stab I felt as those names came to my mind! + +_How_ keep the secret when Gaby Jennings had known the real Rosemary +Brandreth in Baltimore? All the complications would have to be explained +to her, if she were not to spread scandal--if she were not to whisper +revengefully among her friends: "Ralston Murray isn't really married to +his wife. I could have her arrested as a bigamist if I chose!" + +It was an awful question, that question of Gaby Jennings. But the answer +came like balm, after the stab, and that answer was--"_The pictures._" + +By the time Jim and I reached England again, taking Mary-Rose with us, +my tame detective would have got at the truth about the stolen +treasures, and who had made the copies. Then all that Ralston need do +would be to say: "Tell the lies you want to tell about my wife (who _is_ +my wife!); spread any gossip at all--and you go to prison, you and your +husband. Keep silence, and I will do the same." + +Well, we found Mary-Rose in New York. At first she was horrified at +sight of us. Her one desire had been to hide. But after I had talked +myself nearly dumb, and Jim had got in a word or two edgewise, she began +to hope. Even then she would not go back, though, until I had written +out her story for Ralston to read. He was to decide, and wire either +"Come to me," or "I cannot forgive." + +We took her to our hotel, to await the answer; but there something +happened which changed the whole outlook. A long cablegram was delivered +to me some days before it would be possible to hear from Ralston. It was +from Mr. Smith, and said: + + G. J. and husband proved guilty portrait fraud. Woman's father + clever old Parisian artist smuggled to England copy pictures. Her + career on stage ruined by cocaine and attempt to change friend's + jewels for false. When she attempted nursing in war, went to pieces + again; health saved by P. J., but would not have married him if he + had not pretended to be R. M.'s heir. R. M. so ill I took liberty + send for Sir B. D. as you directed. Sir B. D. proved nothing + positive against P. J., but suspicion so strong I got rid of couple + by springing portrait discoveries on them and threatening arrest. + They agreed leave England if allowed do so quietly. Consulted R. + M., who wished them to go, and they have already gone. Sir B. D. + installed at Manor. Things going better but patient weak. Hope you + think I did right.-- + + Smith. + +I showed this message to Ralston's wife; and she said what I knew she +would say: "Oh, let's sail at once! Even if he doesn't want me, I must +be _near_." + +Of course he did want her. He loved her so much that--it seemed to +him--the only person who had to be forgiven was that creature in +Washington. Her he forgave because, if it hadn't been for her selfish +scheme he would never have met his "life-saving angel." + +Yes, that is his name for her now. It is a secret name, yet not so sweet +as Jim's for me. But that's a secret! And it's better than "The +Brightener." + +THE END + + + + +BOOKS BY C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON + + + A Soldier of the Legion + Everyman's Land + It Happened in Egypt + Lady Betty Across the Water + Lord Loveland Discovers America + My Friend the Chauffeur + Princess Virginia + Rosemary in Search of a Father + Secret History + Set in Silver + The Brightener + The Car of Destiny + The Chaperon + The Golden Silence + The Great Pearl Secret + The Guests of Hercules + The Heather Moon + The Lightning Conductor + The Lightning Conductor Discovers America + The Lion's Mouse + The Motor Maid + The Port of Adventure + The Princess Passes + The Second Latchkey + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Brightener, by +C. N. Williamson and A. M. 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