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diff --git a/40450-8.txt b/40450-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6c2f5e3..0000000 --- a/40450-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10200 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Violet Forster's Lover, by Richard Marsh - -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: Violet Forster's Lover - -Author: Richard Marsh - -Illustrator: E. S. Hodgson - -Release Date: August 8, 2012 [EBook #40450] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIOLET FORSTER'S LOVER *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by -Google Books (Oxford University) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://books.google.com/books?id=3DwPAAAAQAAJ - (Oxford University) - - - - - - - VIOLET FORSTER'S LOVER - - - - - - - By the Same Author - - * * * - - TWIN SISTERS - THE LOVELY MRS. BLAKE - THE INTERRUPTED KISS - - * * * - - - _Cassell & Co., Ltd., London_ - - - - - - -[Illustration: "'Sydney!' she cried. 'My darling! Thank God, it's -you.'" (_see page 145_).] - - - - - - - VIOLET FORSTER'S LOVER - - - - - BY - RICHARD MARSH - _Author of "The Interrupted Kiss," "The Lovely Mrs. Blake," - "Twin Sisters," etc. etc_. - - - - - WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOUR BY - E. S. HODGSON - - - - - CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD. - London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne - 1912 - - - - - - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER - - 1. The Card on the Floor. - - 2. While the Groom Waited. - - 3. "Stop, Thief!" - - 4. The Good Samaritan. - - 5. Dreaming. - - 6. His Wife. - - 7. Among Thieves. - - 8. The Sandwich-man. - - 9. The Drapery. - - 10. The Woman Tempted Me. - - 11. In the Wood. - - 12. "What Does it Mean?" - - 13. The Alcove. - - 14. "Who is Simmons?" - - 15. 'Twixt the Dark and Daylight. - - 16. The Lacquered Club. - - 17. Sleepers Awakened. - - 18. In Bed. - - 19. The Two Women. - - 20. The Leather Bag. - - 21. An Envelope. - - 22. The Countess and Violet. - - 23. The Latest Story. - - 24. 2A Cobden Mansions. - - 25. Julia Spurrier. - - 26. Happiness! - - 27. A Game of Billiards. - - 28. An Irregular Visitor. - - 29. The Visitor Remains. - - 30. The Story of what Happened after the Easter Ball. - - 31. Asking Forgiveness. - - 32. In the Taxicab. - - 33. "Vi!" - - 34. Some Letters and a Telegram. - - - - - - VIOLET FORSTER'S LOVER - - - - - CHAPTER I - - The Card on the Floor - - -Tickell turned his cards. - -"A straight." The men all bent over to look. "King high--there you are, -nine, ten, knave, queen, king; a mixed lot, but they'll take some -beating." - -Something on Beaton's face seemed to suggest that the other's hand was -unexpectedly strong. He smiled--not easily. - -"You're right, they will; and I'm afraid----" He turned his hand half -over, then, letting the five cards fall uppermost on the table, sat and -stared at him, as if startled. It was Major Reith who announced the -value of the hand. - -"A full and ace high--he's got you, Jack; a bumper, Sydney." - -He pushed the salver which served as a pool over towards Beaton. -Obviously it contained a great deal of money; there were both notes and -gold, and cheques and half-sheets of paper. - -"What will you take for it, Sydney?" asked George Pierce. - -Anthony Dodwell interposed. - -"One moment, before Beaton takes either the pool or--anything else. -Perhaps he won't mind saying what is the card that he dropped on the -floor." - -They all looked at him--Beaton with a sudden startled turn of the head. - -"What do you mean?" he asked. - -Dodwell met his eager gaze with a calmness which, in its way, was -almost ominous. - -"I'm afraid that question is quite unnecessary; I fancy you know quite -well what I mean. Will you pick up the card you dropped, or shall I?" - -"I dropped no card." He drew his chair a little away from the table so -as to enable him to see the floor. "I didn't know it, but there does -seem to be one down there." - -"Unless some good fairy removed it since you dropped it, there was -bound to be. Draycott, would you mind picking up that card?" - -Noel Draycott, stooping, picking up the card, showed it to the -assembled players, in whose demeanour, for some as yet unspoken reason, -there seemed to have come a sudden change. - -"It's only the nine of spades." - -"Exactly, which was possibly the reason why Beaton dropped it; with the -nine of spades he could hardly have made a full." - -Beaton rose to his feet, his face flushed, his tones raised. - -"Dodwell, are you--are you insinuating----" The other cut him short. - -"I'm insinuating nothing. You are the dealer; there's a pack close to -your hand; you gave yourself three cards; I saw you glance at them, -then drop one on to the floor, and take another off the top of the -pack--in the hope, I presume, that it was a better one. It clearly was; -the card you dropped was the nine of spades; the hand you have shown -there consists of three aces and a pair of knaves; I can't say which -was the card you took from the top of the pack, but it was one of them, -and it certainly gave you the full." - -There was silence, that curious silence which suggests discomfort, -which presages a storm. It is not often that an accusation of foul play -is made at a card-table around which are seated English gentlemen. -These men were officers in one of His Majesty's regiments of Guards; -they were having what they called "a little flutter at poker" after the -mess dinner--it had gone farther perhaps than some of them had -intended. Considerable sums had been staked, and won and lost. Sydney -Beaton in particular had punted heavily. For the most part he had -lost--all his ready cash and more. For some time he had been betting -with I.O.U.'s scribbled on odd scraps of paper. There had just been a -jackpot. Five men had come in, dropping out one after the other until -only Beaton and Tickell had been left. Tickell's last raise had been a -hundred pounds; Beaton had covered the bet with an I.O.U. for £100 to -see him; the hand he had exposed was, of course, the better one; there -was a large sum of money in the pool, much the largest which it had as -yet contained; if it was his, then it would probably more than set him -on his feet again. It was the fact that there seemed to be an "if" -which caused those present to stare at each other and at him as if all -at once tongue-tied. - -Beaton had gone red, then white; and now one felt that something must -have happened to the muscles of his face, its expression seemed to have -become so set and rigid. Major Reith, who was the oldest man present, -broke the silence. - -"Dodwell, please be careful what you say. Come, Sydney, tell him he is -mistaken." - -What Beaton said was gasped rather than spoken. - -"It's a lie!" - -Dodwell's manner continued unruffled. He turned to Draycott. - -"Noel, I fancy I caught your eye. Am I wrong in supposing that you also -saw what happened?" - -"I'm afraid I did." - -"You saw Beaton drop one of the three cards he gave himself, and take -another off the top of the pack?" - -"I'm afraid I did." - -As Draycott repeated his former words, Beaton, still on his feet, -swinging round, struck him with such violence that the man and the -chair on which he was seated both went together to the floor. The thing -was so unexpected that it had been done before anyone could interpose. -Frank Clifford, who was on the other side of him, caught at Beaton's -arm. - -"Sydney! That won't do!" - -Beaton, instead of heeding his words, was endeavouring to thrust the -table away in order to get at Dodwell, who was on the other side. The -others were able to prevent his doing that. - -"If I get at him," he gasped, "I'll kill him." - -But they did not allow him to get at his accuser, for they held him -back; and they were five or six to one. Major Reith spoke. - -"Don't make bad worse, Beaton, please; this is not a matter with which -you can deal on quite those lines. Do we understand you to deny what -Dodwell and Draycott say?" - -The fact was, Beaton had not only had his share of wine at the table, -he had been drinking since, liqueur after liqueur. Trifles of that -kind, when in sufficient numbers, do not tend to cool a young man's -already heated brain. For longer than they supposed Sydney had not been -his real self; many and various were the causes which had been tending -to make him lose his balance. Then, in that supreme moment, when he -needed to keep his head more than ever in his life, he lost his balance -altogether and played the fool. - -"Do you think," he shouted, "that I'll condescend to deny such a charge -coming from a beast like Draycott and a cur like Dodwell? I tell you -what I will do, I'll take them on both together and fight them to a -standstill, and choke their infernal lies back into their throats. -Major Harold Reith, if I do get hold of you, I'll tear your lying -tongue out by the roots." - -He tried to get at the major, but of course they would not let him. For -a few minutes there was a discreditable scene; Beaton behaved like a -lunatic. Those who tried to keep him from attacking Major Reith he -fought tooth and nail. Between them he was borne to the ground, then, -as if he had been some wild beast, they had to drag him out of the -room, and fling the door to in his face. - -When, later, inquiries were made as to his whereabouts, he was not to -be found. His room was empty. He had apparently paid a hurried visit to -it. His mess uniform was on the floor. Apparently he had torn it off -him and attired himself in something else. What he had done afterwards -there was little to show. The sentry on duty, when closely questioned, -said that Captain Beaton, in civilian dress, had passed him, reeling -like a drunken man, and vanished into the night. The sentry was the -last man connected with his regiment who saw him. Not a line came from -him; nothing was heard; the place which had known him knew him no more. -He had gone, a pariah, out into the world. He had been one of the -best-liked men in the regiment; there were many who missed him; but -there was one whose heart was nearly broken. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - While the Groom Waited - - -Two days before that fatal night Sydney Beaton had gone down to see his -brother, Sir George Beaton, head of the family, and practically its -sole representative, in his old home at Adisham, in the County of -Wilts. The visit had been of the nature of a forlorn hope. Sydney -wanted help, pecuniary help, as he had done more than once before. He -was in a very tight place. He had piled folly on to folly, and just -lately he had surmounted the pile with the biggest of the lot. If he -could not get money quickly matters would go very ill with him. -Money-lenders and all those sort of people were not to be persuaded; he -owed them already more than they ever expected to get. Nor did he know -of any friend or acquaintance who would be likely to do what he -required; his credit was bad even among them. He did not think he would -be able to get the money from his brother; George had told him on a -previous occasion that he would never let him have another farthing; -there was evidence that he meant to keep his word. Still, Sydney had to -try lest worse befell. - -But he failed, badly. There was something very like a quarrel. Sydney -confessed, after a fashion. He warned George that if he did not get the -money he wanted the family name might suffer. George, in reply, said -right out what he thought of him; he made it quite clear that his -opinion of his brother could hardly have been a worse one. He refused -to let him have even so much as a five-pound note. - -"Sydney," he said with brutal frankness, "nothing can save -you--certainly my money can't; I mean, nothing can save you from -yourself. I mayn't be the steadiest mover; I'm not holding myself up as -an example----" - -"There you show your wisdom." - -"But you--you're the limit. In the sense in which they use the word in -the stable, you're a rogue. You're worse than an unbroken, bad-tempered -colt; you're not safe either to ride or drive. You're absolutely -certain to come a cropper, and probably a bad one. I give you my word -that I have no intention, if I can help it, of letting you bring me -down with you. You know, I'm not a rich man; I want all the money I've -got for my own use----" - -"That I will admit." - -"If you had your way you'd make a bankrupt of me in another couple of -years. But you're not going to have your own way; not another sovereign -do you get out of me. That's my last word." - -The younger brother seemed to be moistening his lips before answering; -there was a strained look in his eyes. - -"You understand that if you won't help me I'm in a hole?" - -"I understand that clearly. I also understand that if I won't, what you -call, 'help' you, you'll drag me in with you. In fact, what you're -after is sheer blackmail. If there had been a witness of our -conversation, I could give you into custody for attempting to obtain -money by means of threats, and you'd be convicted. If the family name -is to be dragged in the mud by you, then I shall want all the money I -have to get it out again. Hadn't you better go? I don't propose to -offer you a bed for the night, and if you waste much more time the last -train will need some catching." - -Sydney did go, after some very unbrotherly words had been exchanged; -but he did not catch the last train. The last train from that part of -the world left early; another interview which immediately followed the -one with his brother delayed him till it was dawn. As he was leaving -the house in which he was born, Ling, the butler, handed him a note, -remarking, as if imparting a confidence: - -"From Miss Forster, Mr. Sydney. It reached me just after you came, but -I thought I had better not bring it in to you while you were with Sir -George." - -Without a word he tore the envelope open. Within was a sheet of paper -on which were half a dozen lines. - - -"DEAR SYDNEY,--Why did you not let me know you were coming? How dare -you not to? If I had not seen you driving from the station I might -never have known. I shall be at the old place this evening at seven -o'clock; mind you come. I don't know that I need give a special reason -why you are to come; I take it for granted that you will jump at the -chance, but there is a special reason all the same.--VI. - -"Mind--I said seven! Just you make it _seven_." - - -Sydney looked at his watch; it was a quarter to seven. The last train -left for London soon after eight. The station was nearly eight miles -off; the dog-cart in which he had come was waiting at the door; he had -not much time to spare if the train was not to go without him. He -arrived at a sudden resolution--all his resolutions were arrived at -suddenly, or he would have been a happier man. He spoke to the groom in -the cart. - -"Go down the village and wait for me at 'The Grapes.' I'll be with you -as soon as I can." - -He strode off. The groom touched his hat. He winked at Ling, who had -appeared on the doorstep. The butler resented the familiarity. - -"I don't want anything of that sort from you, Sam Evans; you mind your -own business and leave others to mind theirs. You do as Mr. Sydney -tells you, and wait for him at 'The Grapes.'" - -"I'll wait for him right enough, but I wouldn't mind having a trifle on -it that I keep on waiting till it's too late for him to catch his -train." - -Sam Evans grinned; he kept on grinning as he drove off, although the -butler had done his best to keep him in his place. But the groom was -right; the dog-cart waited outside the village inn till it was too late -for Sydney Beaton to catch the last up train. - -Autumn was come. The nights were drawing in. It was dusk. Sydney Beaton -pursued his way through gathering shadows, through trees whose foliage -had assumed the russet hues of autumn. There had been rain earlier in -the day; a northerly breeze had blown it away, the same breeze was -bringing the leaves down in showers about him as he walked. He went -perhaps a good half-mile, taking a familiar short cut across his -brother's property on to the neighbouring estate of Nuthurst. He came -to a ring of trees which ran round a little knoll, on the top of which -was what looked to be an old-fashioned summer-house. His footsteps must -have been audible as they tramped through the dry leaves; that his -approach had been heard was made plain by the fact that a feminine -figure came out of the building and down the rising ground to meet him -as he came. What sort of greeting he would have offered seemed -doubtful; something in his bearing suggested that it would have been a -less ardent one than that which he received. Moving quickly towards -him, without any hesitation the lady placed her two hands upon his -shoulders and kissed him again and again. - -"Sydney, you are a wretch! Why didn't you let me know that you were -coming?" - -"I scarcely knew myself until I was in the train." - -"You might have sent me a telegram before the train started." - -"I'm only here for half an hour; I shall have to hurry off to catch the -last train back to town." - -Something in his words or manner seemed to strike her. She drew a -little away from him in order to see him better. - -"Sydney, what's wrong?" - -He smiled, not gaily. To her keen eyes his bearing seemed to lack that -touch of boyish carelessness with which she was familiar. - -"What isn't wrong? Isn't everything always wrong with me? Aren't I one -of those unlucky creatures with whom nothing ever does go right?" - -"Have you quarrelled with George again?" - -"He's told me he couldn't give me a bed for the night, which doesn't -seem to point to our being on the best of terms." - -There was a momentary pause before she spoke again; and then it was -with quizzically uplifted eyebrows. - -"More money, Sydney?" - -He was silent. His hands in his jacket pockets, his feet a little -apart, he stood and looked at her, something on his handsome face which -seemed to have obscured its sunshine. When he spoke it was with what, -coming from him, was very unusual bitterness. - -"Vi, what's the use of this? I didn't want to let you know that I was -coming; I didn't mean to let you know that I had come, because--what's -the use of it?" - -"What's the use of my loving you, do you mean? Well, for one thing, I -thought that you loved me. - -"An unlucky beggar who is always in a mess, and only scrambles out of -one hole to get into another--what does his love matter to anyone?" - -"I cannot tell you how much it matters to me. And, Sydney, doesn't my -love matter to you?" - -"Vi! you mustn't tempt me." - -"How do you mean, tempt you?" - -"If you only knew how I longed to take you in my arms, and keep you -there. But what's the good of longing?" - -"You can take me in your arms--and keep me there--for about ten -seconds." - -"Yes, I know; I know that you're a darling, the sweetest girl in the -world, but what right have I to do it? What prospect have I of ever -making you my wife? All debts, and nothing to pay them. What would your -uncle say if he came upon us now? Wouldn't he warn me off the premises, -as my brother has done? You know, my dear, you're not for such as I am. -I don't want to say anything unkind, but don't you see, can't you see, -that the only thing left for me to do is to withdraw and leave the -field open for a better man?" - -"Sydney, this time you must have come a cropper." - -There was that in the girl's tone which, in spite of himself, brought a -real smile to the young man's lips. - -"I have. You're right. One which is going to make an end of me." - -The girl shook her head gaily. - -"Oh, no, it won't. I know you better. You've been coming croppers ever -since I have known you, and that's all my life, some of them awful -croppers; there must have been quite twenty from which you were never -going to rise again. But you've managed, and you'll manage again. Only, -really, I do wish you'd get out of the habit, if only for a while." - -"Vi, you don't understand, this time you really don't. I'm done. I went -to my brother as a last resource--you may be pretty sure it was a last -resource--for the money which was the only thing that could save me. I -am quite serious. He told me he would not give me so much as a -sovereign; he even refused me a night's lodging. That means, as I tell -you, that I'm done. I don't know quite what will happen to me, but -something not pretty. When you and I meet again it is quite possible it -will not be as equals; I shall be in a class of which you do not take -social cognisance." - -Again the young lady shook her head; if again it was with an attempt at -gaiety, there was something which looked very much like tears in her -eyes. - -"What a cropper you must have come; it makes my blood run cold to hear -you talking. Have you been robbing a bank?" - -"I might as well have done. I'm likely to be in as awkward a position -as if I had." - -The girl looked at him steadily; his eyes met hers. Each might have -been looking into the other's soul. - -"Sydney, do you still love me?" - -"Wouldn't it be better for you if I were to tell you straight out that -I don't? Think, wouldn't it?" - -"No, it wouldn't; it would be much worse. It would be a cowardly thing -to say, and also, I happen to know, an untrue one. I know that you do -still love me. I only asked you for the sake of hearing your answer. -You do." - -"It has become a habit." - -"And habits are not things which are easily rooted up." - -"So it would seem." - -"I don't flatter myself that your love for me is such an important a -factor in your life as I should like it to be, or you would keep clear -of croppers. I don't think you are capable of very strong and enduring -emotions where a woman is concerned; nowadays men aren't. But, in your -own fashion, you love me all the same, and you'll keep on loving me. I -know you. And it's a fashion with which I should be very well content -if----" - -"Yes, if; that's it--if! So what's the use?" - -"You're frightfully selfish." - -"Is that a new discovery? You've told me so--how many times? And now, -when for the first time in my life I'm really generous, you say it -again." - -"But you're not generous; you're only considering yourself. You're more -selfish than ever. You love me in your fashion, but you must remember -that I love you in mine. I don't see myself how I'm going to marry you -just yet awhile." - -"Just yet awhile!" - -"Yes, I said just yet awhile. But then, are you thinking of marrying -someone else?" - -"I shall never marry any other woman if I don't marry you. I'm not that -kind of man." - -"Precisely. I believe you. Nor am I that kind of girl. As I say, I may -not be able to marry you just yet awhile, nor may I ever be able to -marry you at all, but--it's you or no one. Sydney, whatever becomes of -you, you will always be the only man in the world for me. You may come -badly to grief; you may do things I would much rather you didn't do; -you may make me suffer more than the average man makes the woman who -loves him suffer; but I'd rather anything than lose you. Whatever may -become of you, whatever you do, wherever you may be, be sure of one -thing, always--that I love you. I'll make open confession. Sydney, I'd -marry you to-morrow if you wished me. I don't think you're likely to, -nor do I think that it would be good for either of us if you did, -but--there's the truth. And that confession stands for always. In -whatever plight you may find yourself, penniless and in rags--I'm only -talking to suit your mood, you know--you have merely to say so that I -can hear you, 'Come, let's marry,' and I'll be your wife, your glad and -loving wife. Here's my hand on it, and my lips to boot if you'd like -them, as soon as the thing may be." - - - - - CHAPTER III - - "Stop, Thief!" - - -Since his brother had refused him hospitality; since Violet Forster had -spoken such sweet words to him by the summer-house; since he had been -thrown by his brother officers out of the room which he had regarded -almost as his own--these things, to Sydney Beaton, seemed how many -years ago? It was as though the Sydney Beaton that had been belonged to -one world and the Sydney Beaton that was to another. And indeed that -was the case. He had in truth passed from one world to another; out of -a world in which it was all joy, into another in which it was all -misery. But, instead of being divided by years from one another, it was -only by days. It seemed incredible that so much could have happened to -him in so short a time; but in cases such as his it is the incredible -which happens. Scarcely more than four weeks ago, twenty-eight days, -and already he was brought to this. During the last few days he had -been practically penniless; now he was literally without a farthing, or -the prospect of getting one, and it was November in London, one of -those damp, cold, foggy, uncharitable Novembers which Londoners know -well. Never since the night when he had been thrown out of the room -could he be said to have had all his wits about him, to have been, in -any real sense, himself. It was as though a cloud had settled on his -brain and dulled it; which was, perhaps, an explanation why from that -last moment of his crowning degradation he had behaved like an utter -fool. He had left the barracks with, as his whole fortune, the suit of -clothes which he was wearing, his watch and chain, his studs and links, -and about three pounds in money. All the rest of his cash, which had -been little enough, was in that last pool. His account at the bank was -overdrawn; no one owed him anything; and, placed as he was, there was -not a soul to whom he could turn. His first idea, if he could be said -to have had a really clear one, was to get out of England--it generally -is the first idea of men placed as he was; they are to be met all over -the English-speaking colonies. In his case it was impossible. He had -heard vaguely of a man working his passage, but he had no idea how it -was done. When he found his way down to the docks, and began to have -some glimmering of an idea of the state of things that obtained there, -it was borne in upon him that he had as much chance of working his -passage to any place worth going to as he had of getting to the moon. -For him there was only London, the seamy side of it. - -His money lasted about a week. Then he pawned his watch and chain for -£10, and had fooled that away before he knew it. He got five more for -his links and studs, and that went. There was nothing left but the -clothes he stood up in. They were already in a state in which he had -never dreamt that clothes of his could ever be. It is unnecessary to -enter into details, but his full wardrobe was in what, a very short -time ago, would have been to him an unthinkable condition. He had to -get money somehow, or--he could not think or what. He had contemplated -suicide during the first few days; vague thoughts in that direction -still passed through his mind; but--he still lived. If he was to keep -on living, food was necessary. The less chance he had of getting food -the more he seemed to crave for it, with a craving which became sheer -agony. - -That November night hunger seemed to be driving him mad. He had lived -during the last week on two or three shillings, but he himself could -scarcely have said how. He had come to look upon a common lodging-house -as a desirable haven, of a Rowton House as positive luxury; he had -slept two nights running in a Salvation Army shelter, and had been -thankful for that. The last three nights he had slept--if he could be -said to have slept at all--out of doors, under the November sky, in -mist and mire, cold and gloom. To-night he found himself in Hyde Park. -No man knows of what he is capable until his whole being cries out for -food, and gets none. When a man who has been nurtured as Sydney Beaton -had finds himself on the verge of starvation, his plight is much worse -than that of the man who has fared hardly all his days. His powers of -resistance are less, in more senses than one. Let so much be urged in -excuse of Sydney Beaton, because that night he went to Hyde Park with -some idea of asking for alms. Darkness, he thought, might shelter him; -in some sort hide his shame. He would not be able to see clearly whom -he accosted; what was much more, they would not be able to see him. But -almost at the outset he had a shock which drove all notion of playing -the beggar from him. - -He was on the path on the Knightsbridge side of the Ring, under cover -of a tree. A fine rain was falling; it was the only shelter to be had. -Two men same swinging along the path. Something in their gait told him -even in the darkness, while they were still at some distance, that they -were well-to-do. He made up his mind that he would try to get out of -them at least the price of a loaf of bread; the mere thought of a hot -crusty loaf fresh from the oven made his brain reel. If he could only -get the wherewithal to purchase one from the men who were coming -towards him! Nearer they came, and nearer; they were almost on him. He -was just coming out from under the tree when one of them spoke and the -other laughed. He shrank back against the friendly trunk trembling, -shivering. He knew who the two men were; in the other world which he -had left behind they had been his brother officers: one was Anthony -Dodwell, who had accused him of foul play, the other was Noel Draycott, -who had supported the accusation! And he had been about to ask them for -the price of a loaf of bread! If he had! - -They went on. Dodwell's voice came back to him again, and Draycott's -laughter. His heart was thumping so against his side that it seemed to -be shaking him to pieces. He felt sure they had not seen him. He had -noticed particularly that they never turned their heads; they were too -anxious to press on to look his way--but if they had! It was some time -after they were out of both sight and hearing that he recovered himself -sufficiently to venture out into the open. Then, like a frightened cur, -he slunk across the roadway towards the remoter portions of the park on -the other side. - -What a night that was, almost the worst of all the nights that he had -had. Something, he knew not what, kept him in the park. When the hour -for closing approached, he was cowering under a clump of bushes not far -from the Serpentine. No one saw him. A policeman tramped along the -path, but did not trouble himself to search for stragglers either on -his right or left, seemingly taking it for granted that on such a night -even the most miserable wretch would not choose such quarters. - -Towards morning the weather improved. When the tardy light came -back into the sky, Beaton ventured to show himself--a rain-sodden, -half-frozen, shivering, weary, hopeless, starving wretch; his hunger -seemed to be tearing at his vitals like some wild animal. A keeper eyed -him suspiciously. - -"What are you doing here? Where have you been all night? Have you been -in the park?" - -"In the park! Why, man, I spent last night at Claridge's Hotel, where -I've just had breakfast. You haven't got a crust of bread about you, -have you, something which you were going to give to the ducks?" - -"No, I haven't. You had better take yourself outside of here. You're up -to no good, I'm sure." - -The keeper passed on, leaving Beaton to obey him or not as he chose. -Sydney, aware that the park was now open to the public, did not choose. -The morning grew brighter; positively the sun began to appear in the -sky, a faint, uncertain sun in a watery sky. Riders began to come upon -the scene, for the most part masculine; those victims of too much work, -or perhaps too good living, who for various reasons are unable to take -exercise in any other form, and are ordered by their doctors to take a -regular morning ride in the park, no matter what the season of the year -or the weather. Possibly because the morning, for November, was a fine -one, the equestrians became quite numerous. Sydney stood up against the -rail to watch them. There had been times, not so very long ago, when he -had taken his morning canter in the park. As he watched the riders come -and go, it seemed incredible--now. In spite of his physical distress it -still tickled him to notice how badly some of them rode; the "Liver -Brigade" always had been famous for its bad riding. But what did it -matter how they rode? The world went very well with them; they had -slept on spring mattresses, between linen sheets, had come from -luxurious homes, were returning to an excellent meal, which they -probably lacked appetite to enjoy; while he----! He was rapidly -approaching that state of mind in which the anarchist throws bombs; if -he had had one handy he might have thrown it at one of those well-fed -looking persons there and then. If he were to stop one of them and ask -him for the price of a loaf of bread? Was it not probable that, instead -of giving him what he asked, he would summon the police? He knew them, -ignorant, stupid, selfish to the backbone, thinking that no one could -be hungry because they themselves were too well fed. The pangs of -hunger seemed suddenly to grow more intense; he would have to get food -somewhere, somehow, soon. - -Two pedestrians came down the path, an old and a young man. They hailed -a passing rider. He stopped; they drew close up to the rails as he came -towards them. They were within three feet of Sydney Beaton. He could -hear distinctly what was said. The elder man drew out a sovereign -purse, and from it two gold coins. He said to the equestrian: - -"You were right, Buxton, and I'm the loser. Here are your ill-gotten -gains." - -He held out the coins towards the man on the horse. Always a creature -of impulse, Sydney Beaton gave way to the worst impulse he had ever had -yet; in other words, he all at once went stark, staring mad. The old -gentleman's umbrella was under his arm, in his left hand were the two -coins, in his right the sovereign purse, still open. A heavy gold chain -stretched from pocket to pocket across his waistcoat unguarded. -Probably there was a handsome gold watch at the other end of it. No -thought of anything of the kind had been in Beaton's mind one instant; -the next he stepped forward and, snatching at the unguarded chain, had -it in his possession before he himself clearly realised what he was -doing. The act was so audacious, so instantaneous, so unexpected, so -astounding, that for three or four seconds even the victim did not -appreciate what had happened. Then he shouted, so that he might have -been heard outside the park: - -"The scoundrel's taken my watch and chain!" - -Then his companion became alive to what had occurred, and the man on -the horse to whom he had been about to give the coins, and presently -everyone within sight and earshot. It is conceivable, and even -probable, that Beaton did not understand what he was doing till -he had done it; it was only when he saw the watch and chain in his -own hand that understanding really came. He knew he was a thief; and -the first instinct of a thief was born within him, the instinct of -self-preservation. In a moment all his energies were centred in an -attempt to escape. He rushed across the path, vaulted over the railing, -tore across the grass as fast as his feet could carry him, with the -chase at his heels. The old gentleman could not do much in the way of -chasing, but seemingly his companion could, and there, were others who -joined him who plainly were still capable of running after such a -quarry. Swift-footed though he knew himself to be, before he had taken -many steps Sydney knew that he would owe not a little to fortune if he -escaped scot free. His impulse was to hurl from him the incriminating -watch and chain, but that was an impulse to which he did not yield. It -would do him no good; everyone would see him throw it, just as everyone -had seen him take it. The watch would certainly be damaged, perhaps -ruined; there would be nothing gained by treating it in such brutal -fashion. So he crammed it into his jacket pocket, and set himself to -move yet faster. The victim's companion was uncomfortably close behind -him. - -It was plain that he would have to reckon with more pursuers than one. -People were coming towards him from all sides, even from the front. A -crowd was gathering, all bent on capturing him. He saw a keeper -hurrying down the path which bounded the stretch of grass which he was -crossing, possibly the keeper who had already accosted him. A constable -was advancing from the other side. If he shook off the amateur -thief-catchers, he would have to reckon with them. The pair would -probably be more than a match for him, but he would not be taken if he -could help it. That would be indeed the end. - -As he neared the opposite railing three or four persons were already -there to meet him, others were rapidly approaching, including the -keeper and the constable. He swerved to one side, ran rapidly along the -railing, vaulted over it a dozen yards lower down, alighting within a -few feet of the constable. That official halted, seeming to take it for -granted that the criminal had delivered himself into his hands. He was -premature. Nothing was farther from his intention. Sydney charged right -at him, as he had learnt to do in his old days of Rugby football. The -policeman, taken unawares, went over like a ninepin; he made a vain -grab at the other's legs as he fell. Sydney sped triumphantly on. - -But, although he had sent the policeman sprawling, he knew that he had -almost shot his bolt; the next fence would bring him down. His breath -was failing him; the world seemed spinning round; a few more steps and -he would be able to go no farther; they would have him; all would be -ended. - -At the very moment when already his pace was getting slower something -happened which, if he had had his wits sufficiently about him and time -enough to use them, would have seemed to him very like a miracle. He -was coming into the road which leads through the park from the Corner -to the Marble Arch. He had still sense enough to see that a motorcar -was coming along the road, slowing as it came. It came to a standstill -just as it was abreast of him. The sole occupant of the body of the car -was a woman, who all at once opened the door, stood up, and beckoned to -him. He did not pause to think what the gesture might mean, who this -fair owner of a motor-car might be who had fallen from the skies. There -was not time, nor had he wit enough; his senses were fast leaving him. -He was so conscious that this was so that he made a last desperate -effort, scrambled pantingly over the railing, got somehow to the side -of the car. When he had got there, unless the woman inside had given -him a helping hand, he would have been hard put to it to enter. - -The moment he was in the door was slammed, the car was off. For Sydney -that was the end of the chapter. He just managed to drop back on to the -seat, but almost before he reached it his few remaining senses fled; he -was as unconscious of what was happening as if he had not been there. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - The Good Samaritan - - -The thing was successful because so unexpected. The car was started, -quickened its pace, and was out of the park before, probably, any of -Beaton's pursuers understood what was being done. It was a triumph of -impudence. The car had joined the other traffic, and was running along -Piccadilly, without anyone lifting so much as a finger in an attempt to -stop it. It turned up Bond Street, crossed Oxford Street, and began to -thread its way among the maze of streets which constitute Marylebone. - -The unexpected passenger continued unconscious throughout the entire -run. The night and morning had completed the havoc wrought by the last -few weeks; the works had run down at last. On his seat sat the -chauffeur, a youngish man, clad in immaculate livery; he had apparently -paid not the slightest heed to the incident of picking up in such -strange fashion so singular a passenger. Although he had received no -instructions as to the route he was to take, he drove steadily on -without the slightest hesitation, as if carrying out a prearranged -programme. By Sydney's side sat the woman who had opened the door, -beckoned to him, and assisted him to enter. In spite of its being an -open car, she was scarcely dressed in what is generally known as a -motoring costume, but was rather attired as a lady might be who is -taking the air in the park, or paying a morning call. It was not easy, -from her appearance, to determine her age. Where a woman is concerned -it seldom is, but she was certainly not old; she might have been -anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. Nor was she ill-looking. -At times, as she glanced at the man beside her, her face was lit by a -smile which made it even more than pretty, then the smile went, and was -succeeded by an expression which had in it something hard and cruel and -even sinister; but even then, after some uncomfortable fashion, it was -a handsome face, though scarcely one which one would have chosen for a -friend. Her immobility was striking. Although she had been guilty of -such a quixotic action as to rescue a man, a vagabond, who obviously -was flying from the police, so soon as she was in the car her interest -in him had seemed to cease. One might have supposed that this was a -sentimental person, whose emotional nature was prone to lead her into -what she supposed to be acts of kindness which afterwards she would -have reason to regret, but there was nothing suggestive either of -sentiment or emotion as she sat by Beaton. He presented such a pitiable -spectacle, huddled there in the corner of the car, limp and lifeless, -that the average woman would surely have shown some sign either of -interest or sympathy. Not only did she do nothing to relieve his -position, which was a more than sufficiently uneasy one, but she made -no effort, even by speaking to him, to win him back to consciousness. - -She regarded him almost continually, but rather as if he were a lay -figure than a living man. One wondered if she proposed to use him as a -model for a picture; she seemed to be studying him with so curious an -air. She was observing him closely enough; one felt that nothing about -him escaped her scrutiny--that she noted the well-cut clothes as well -as the state that they were in; the hand which dangled helplessly by -his side, that it was not that of a man who had done much manual -labour; the face, which, unshaven and unwashed though it was, was not -only a handsome one, but also the face of a man of breeding. Possibly -she was putting these things together, and from them drawing her own -conclusions. - -Whatever her conclusions were, she kept them to herself. Clearly, -instead of being the prey of her own emotions, this was a woman who -kept her own feelings in the background; whose face was a mask; who was -mistress of herself; who, to judge from her bearing, was as cool and -calm and calculating as if she had been thrice her years. Which made -this thing she had done seem all the stranger. - -The car drew up in a short street of dull, old-fashioned houses, with -stuccoed fronts, tall, narrow, dingy. The moment it stopped, before the -lady had the chance to alight from the car, the door of the house flew -open, and a tall, clean-shaven man appeared on the doorstep who might -have been a servant. Crossing the pavement, he opened the door of the -car; the lady got out. As she moved towards the house she made one -remark, which seemed an odd one: - -"I've got him." - -That was all she said. Moving easily--one noticed as she did so what a -charming figure she had--she passed into the hall. The chauffeur sat -still; he did not so much as glance round at the man who had come out -of the house. That individual shared the general calmness of demeanour. -He exhibited no surprise at what the lady had said or at the sight of -the figure which was huddled in the car. He said nothing. Leaning -forward, he put his arms under Beaton and raised him as if he were a -child, carried him into the house, up a flight of stairs, into a room -at the back, and laying him on a couch which it contained, looked down -at him with an air of detached curiosity without showing any sign of -having turned a hair. Beaton had grown lighter of late, but he had -nearly six feet of bone and muscle, and still weighed something. The -man must have been possessed of unusual strength, as well as knack; it -is something of a feat to lift a big and unconscious person out of a -vehicle and carry him up a steep flight of stairs as if he were a baby. - -Presently the woman entered. The man was still standing by the couch, -with a watch and chain and sovereign purse held in his hand. He was -examining the watch. He nodded towards it as the woman appeared. - -"What does this mean?" - -He spoke quietly in a not unmusical voice; his accent was that of an -educated person; his tone, though respectful, was that of one who -addresses an equal, not that of a servant who speaks to his mistress. - -"What's what?" She glanced at what he was holding. "It looks as if it -were a watch and the usual appendages. Where were they?" - -"In his jacket pocket. There's a name on the watch--Charles Carter--and -a crest, and there are a couple of sovereigns in the purse." - -"So that's why they wanted him." - -"Who's they?" - -"I was coming through the park when I saw that something interesting -was taking place on one side of me: one man was trying to get away from -a number of others. When I saw the way he bowled over a policeman I -said to myself, 'That's the gentleman I want,' and here he is." - -"I presume that watch and chain and sovereign purse explain the -interest the crowd was taking in him. I imagine that they are articles -that have only very recently come into his possession. He's a -gentleman." - -"I felt sure he was from the way he handled that policeman." - -"There's his name on the jacket." He picked up the garment in question, -of which he had relieved the still unconscious Sydney, and which was -hanging over the back of a chair. "Here it is on the tab. The jacket -was made in Savile Row, and here's his name: Sydney Beaton." - -"It might, of course, have been made for someone else and come into his -possession; he alone knows how." - -"No; it was made for him, it fits too well. His name is Sydney Beaton, -and he's a swell who's down on his luck." - -"That's the kind of person we want, isn't it?" - -For the first time the man's and woman's eyes met. In hers there was a -gleam as of laughter. In his there was no expression at all. His was -one of those square faces whose blue cheeks and chin show how strong -the beard would be which is not allowed to grow. He glanced from the -woman to the unconscious figure on the couch before he spoke. - -"Perhaps. When will he be wanted?" - -"By to-morrow morning. I ought to write at once to say that he is -coming; it will be safer." - -"Safer!" The man's thin lips were parted by what was rather a sneer -than a grin, as if the word she had used had borne an odd significance. -He continued to survey the unconscious Sydney, as a surgeon might -survey a body which he is about to dissect. "He'll have to be ready." - -"There's time; and no one can do that sort of thing better than you." - -Again the lips parted in that curious substitute for a smile, as if the -woman's words had conveyed a compliment. - -"Oh, yes, there's time; and, as you say, I dare say I'll be able to -make a decent job of him." - -When the woman left him it was to remove her hat and coat. Then she -went into a good-sized apartment, in which there was a blazing fire. In -a corner was a bookshelf filled with books; she took one down, it was -Burke's "Landed Gentry." She took a case out of some receptacle in her -bodice, and lit a cigarette. Settling herself in a big arm-chair before -the fire, she put her feet upon a second chair, and set to studying -Burke. She found what she wanted among the B's. - -"There it is: 'Beaton, Sir George, seventh baronet,' and all the rest -of it. 'Seat, Adisham, Wilts; unmarried; next heir, his brother, -Sydney, D.S.O., the Guards, captain, twenty-eight years old.' If that -coat was built for him it looks as if that ought to be our man." - -She closed the book and let it fall upon the floor. She inhaled the -smoke of her cigarette, staring with a contemplative air at the flaming -fire. - -"I wonder what's his record? One can, of course, find out, but there -will be hardly time before he's wanted. An heir to a baronetcy, a -captain in the Guards, and a D.S.O. hardly comes to snatching watches -and chains without good and sufficient reasons. And yet, in spite of -the state he's in, he hardly looks it, and by this time I ought to be a -judge of that kind of thing. He must have had some queer experiences, -that young gentleman. I wonder if any of them have been queerer than -the one he'll have to-morrow. And what'll become of him afterwards? It -seems a pity, but so many things are pitiful which have to be." - -As she indulged in the expression of that almost philosophical opinion -she expelled the smoke of her cigarette from between her pretty lips, -and she smiled. Then she sat up straighter in her chair, and threw her -scarcely half-consumed cigarette into the fire. - -"And there are those who pretend that this is a very good world that we -live in!" - - - - - CHAPTER V - - Dreaming - - -"Will you have all the apollinaris, Sir Jocelyn?" - -Sydney Beaton looked up. He was vaguely conscious of having been roused -from slumber by someone, possibly by the person who was standing by his -side. He was still very far from being wide awake; his eyes, limbs, -body, all were heavy. He had not a notion where he was. There was a -real bed, in striking contrast to the makeshifts he had known of late; -there were soft sheets, a soft pillow, and there were hangings. It was -not really a large room, but, compared to the kind of accommodation -with which he had recently been made familiar, it was palatial. There -seemed to be some decent furniture, and a carpet on the floor. It was -not well lighted; there was only one not over large window, on the -other side of which was the November fog. What had happened to him? -Where could he be? He put his wondering into words. - -"Where am I? Who are you?" - -The man at his bedside did not answer. He was holding in one hand a -tray on which was a glass; in the other was a bottle, out of which he -was pouring something into the glass. He repeated in another form his -first inquiry: - -"Will that be enough apollinaris, Sir Jocelyn?" - -"I'm not Sir Jocelyn, if you're talking to me. What's in that glass?" - -"A good pick-me-up. I think you will find it just about right, Sir -Jocelyn." Sydney took the glass which the man advanced. Whatever its -contents, they were pleasant to swallow. - -"That's good, uncommon good. My word!" He had another drink. "I haven't -tasted anything as good as that since"--he hesitated--"since I don't -know when." - -"I thought you'd find it refreshing, Sir Jocelyn?" - -"Why do you call me Sir Jocelyn? Who are you? Where am I? How did I -come to be here?" The question was again ignored. - -"Her ladyship wished me to say that if you felt equal to it, Sir -Jocelyn, she would be glad if you would join her at breakfast." - -"Her ladyship! Who's her ladyship? Didn't you hear me ask you where I -am?" - -Perhaps it was because the man was busy with certain articles of the -gentleman's wardrobe that he did not hear what was said. - -"I thought you might like to wear this suit to-day." He was placing -three garments over the back of a chair, which Sydney felt, hazily, -were certainly not his. "Everything is quite ready, Sir Jocelyn." - -Why did the fellow persist in calling him by a name which was not his? -What had happened to him? What did it all mean? What was the matter -with his head that he felt so incapable of collecting his thoughts? He -had never felt so stupid before. Before he clearly understood what was -occurring, the bed-clothes were being removed from the bed, and he was -being assisted on to the floor as if he were a child or a sick man; -indeed, as his feet touched the ground he felt as if, literally, he was -a sick man. The room swam round him; his legs refused him support; had -not the other had his arm half round him he would have collapsed on to -the carpet. - -"What," he asked, with a sudden thickness of voice, "what is the -matter?" - -Had he been clearly conscious of anything he could scarcely have helped -but notice the keen scrutiny with which his attendant was observing -him. His manner almost suggested a medical man; it was so suave, yet he -treated Sydney as if he were an irresponsible patient. - -"You've not been quite well, Sir Jocelyn. You've had rather a bad -night. I think you'd better have another pick-me-up." - -Sydney was placed in an easy chair. Presently he found himself drinking -the contents of another tumbler. How good it was. And it did him good; -it seemed to relieve some of the heaviness which weighed down his limbs -and to render the confusion in his head less obvious, but it was very -far from restoring him to himself. The other dressed him, slipping on -garment after garment with a curious deftness, for Sydney seemed -incapable of giving him any help at all. Beaton was dressed actually -before he knew it in garments which he realised were not his, but which -somehow seemed to fit him. How he had come to be in them he could not -have told; yet so skilful was his valet that in a surprisingly short -time his costume was completed, even to his collar and his tie, yet he -had not once moved out of the arm-chair in which he had originally been -placed. - -The other took a final survey of his handiwork, standing a little back -to enable him to do so. He gave audible expression to his candid -opinion; he was plainly aware that the other was not in a condition to -resent anything he might either say or do. - -"You look very well indeed, Sir Jocelyn, quite remarkably well, -considering. You want one more pick-me-up, made a trifle strong, then I -think we'll take you downstairs, and breakfast with her ladyship may be -trusted to do the rest." - -For the third time Sydney Beaton emptied the contents of a tumbler -which was insinuated into his hand. Possibly because it was more potent -it had a more visible effect upon him than either of the other two. The -other watched the effect the liquid made on him with about his thin -lips that not quite agreeable something that was half a sneer and half -a grin. - -"Now, Sir Jocelyn, how are we feeling? Do you think you could manage to -stand up?" - -Sydney proved it by standing up there and then, but there was an -unsteadiness about the fashion with which he managed to keep his feet -which the other could scarcely fail to notice. - -"I'm all right," he said; "pounds better; sound as a roach; if -this----" He held out the glass with a hand that was shaky. "What was -the stuff you gave me? It's first rate, a regular corpse reviver." - -"It is rather effective, under certain conditions, in its way." The -man's tone, in spite of its suavity, could hardly have been drier. -"Now, Sir Jocelyn, I think you'll find that her ladyship awaits you." - -"Her ladyship? Why will you keep calling me Sir Jocelyn? That's not my -name. And who's her ladyship?" - -Once more the questions were ignored. The other placed his fingers -lightly on Sydney's arm, and Sydney found himself moving towards the -door. But whether he was moving of his own volition or in obedience to -the other's behest he would not have found it easy to say. The man -opened the door, led him through it, walked beside him down the -stairs--always with his fingers on his arm. At the foot of the stairs -he paused: - -"Now, Sir Jocelyn, how are you feeling?" - -For the moment Sydney really could not say; he was feeling very queer -indeed, incapable of expressing himself in articulate words. Had it not -been that the other's arm was again half round him he might have found -it difficult to retain his perpendicular. - -"Another taste, Sir Jocelyn?" - -It seemed that the man had brought the glass with him down the stairs -refilled. Sydney had it between his fingers without his quite knowing -how it came there. He took another taste; it had on him the same effect -as before, seeming to steady his limbs and to clear his brain. Before -the effect could pass away the man had led him to a door, had opened -it, and was ushering him into the room beyond. Someone advanced to him, -a woman, whom even in his hazy state he was aware was good to look at. - -"I am so glad to see you; you can't think how anxious I have been. I -hope you're feeling better, quite yourself again?" - -Sydney knew not what to say. The woman's voice was a pleasant one, and -was grateful to his ears; her face was lit by such a delicious smile, -it was grateful to his eyes. He had a feeling that this must be some -old and very dear friend. Yet he could not place her, he had not the -dimmest notion who she was; his memory must be playing him a trick. It -was part of the general haziness through which he was looking out upon -the world. But she did not seem to wait for an answer or to be hurt by -his silence. - -"Come," she said, "breakfast has been waiting quite a while. Will you -have the seat by the fire, or will it be too much for you?" - -"I'll sit wherever you please." - -He managed to get out that much. She laughed, as if he had been guilty -of a joke. She had quite a musical laugh. - -"Then you shall sit by the fire, and I will do the honours. For once in -a way I'll wait on you. I don't think you'll be required." The last -words were addressed to the man who was still standing in the open -doorway. They exchanged glances, of which Sydney was oblivious. The man -made a significant gesture with the empty tumbler which he was holding -in his hand, then touched his finger to his forehead. "I quite -understand," said the lady. "But I tell you again that I don't think -you'll be required. If I want you I will ring. In the meantime you may -go." - -The man went. Outside the door he paused; an odd look came on his face; -he knit his brows; he glanced about him quickly, back and front; then -he drew himself up straight and grinned. - -"It's a ticklish game she's got to play, but there's few can play a -ticklish game better than she can." - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - His Wife - - -To Sydney it was all as if it were part of a dream. He had not -dreamed--he did not know since when. This was like one of the dreams he -used to have when he was a boy; a delightful dream. The sense of -comfort which filled the room, the charmingly laid breakfast table, -glorious with pretty china and shining plate; the charming woman who, -with the most natural air, was treating him as one who not only had an -assured footing, but who was both near and dear. Whether in this matter -it was he who dreamed or she, he could not make sure. He wondered if he -had been ill. He had such a strange feeling that he very easily might -have been; he might have been ill for quite a long time; all sorts of -things might have happened, and he might have forgotten all about them. -It was the more possible since he could remember nothing; all he could -remember was that he had awakened and found the man at his bedside with -a tray on which was a tumbler. Before that, beyond that, his mind was a -hazy blank. - -But there seemed nothing hazy about his hostess, if she was his -hostess; he supposed she was. If she was not his hostess, then who was -she? She was ministering to his creature comforts in a manner which -made the dream seem still more delightful, and such a very real one, -too. - -Through the haze which served him as a mind there seemed to gleam -something which troubled him. The breakfast was excellent, the coffee, -the food, everything. Was that not, in part, because at some remote -period he had gone without breakfast, without--anything? He was -frantically hungry. There was a fragrance about the hot rolls which -recalled something. Was there not a time when he had wanted a hot roll -very badly, or something like it? The effort of recollection caused him -to stop eating, a fact on which the lady commented. - -"Of what are you thinking? You looked as if your thoughts were miles -away. Won't you have a little more bacon?" - -He had a little more. There was an exquisite flavour about that bacon -which made it seem fit food for a god. He ate and ate, while she sat -by, putting more food upon his plate as soon as it was empty or -replacing one plate with another. At last he ceased. How much he had -eaten he had no notion; he could eat no more. - -"Now," she said, "you must have a cigar and a liqueur." - -It did not occur to him to ask if it was usual to follow such a -breakfast as he had had with a liqueur; he was too full of physical -content to care. He watched her as she brought a box of cigars to the -table, choose one, cut it, put it between his lips, and, striking a -match, held it up to him. The first puff at that cigar was ecstasy, so -great as to be almost painful. What was the flood of recollections -which it brought back? How long ago was it since he had tasted such a -cigar as that--a cigar at all? What dreadful things had happened to him -since? She had poured something out of a bottle into a glass. She had -spoken of a liqueur; but it was not a liqueur glass which she held out -to him and from which he sipped. - -It was curious how willing he seemed to be to have everything done for -him; to eat and drink what was given to him; to have no taste of his -own; to behave almost as if he were a puppet, moving when she pulled -the string. And it seemed to amuse her to observe that it was so. One -felt that she was curious to learn how far in this direction she might -go, to what extent she could pull the strings and he would move. She -put almost the same question to him as the man had put to him upstairs: - -"Now, how are you feeling?" - -"I'm feeling--well, I can't tell you how I'm feeling. I'm feeling just -right. But do you know--I hope you'll forgive my saying so--but do you -know, it's a fact that I can't make things out at all." - -"What sort of things?" - -"Why--everything; all sorts of things." - -"Explain just what you mean." - -"I'll try; but somehow, you know, it doesn't seem easy." He took the -cigar from between his lips and had another sip from the glass which -was not a liqueur glass. Something in his manner seemed to be tickling -her more and more; each moment the smile on her face seemed to be -growing more pronounced; it was, apparently, only with an effort that -she could keep herself from bursting into a roar of laughter. He was -looking her straight in the face with something in his eyes which -seemed to cause her profound amusement. "Have I been ill, or--or queer, -or something? I don't quite know how it is, but I feel so--rummy, if -you'll excuse the word, that I feel as if I had had something." - -It was some seconds before she answered. She sat with her elbows on the -table looking at him with twinkling eyes. - -"Well, you have had something; indeed, I should say that you had -something now." - -"That's how I feel. You know"--he put his hands up to his forehead--"it -seems as if there was something wrong with the works. I can't think nor -understand. As for remembering--I can't remember anything at all." - -"I should imagine that that might be awkward." - -"It is; you've no idea. For instance--you laugh--but I can't make out -where I am, or how I got here, or--and that's the worst of it, it does -seem so ridiculous--but I can't remember who you are." - -"I'm your wife." - -She said it with a face all laughter. That the statement took him aback -was evident. He started and stared as if he could not make out if she -were in jest or earnest. - -"My--what?" - -"Your wife." - -"I suppose you're joking?" - -"Not at all; I've seldom felt less like it. Being a wife is a very -serious thing. Aren't you conscious of your weighty responsibilities as -a husband?" - -"I know you're joking." A strange something came on to his face which -might have been a smile, but, if it was, it was a pathetic one. She -smiled back at him. Into her smile there came, upon an instant, a -something which was hardly genial. - -"But I'm not joking. You are Sir Jocelyn Kingstone, and I am Lady -Kingstone, your lawful wife." - -"Now, I do know that you are pulling my leg, in spite of the something -wrong up here." He touched his forehead with his finger. "I do know -that my name is not Kingstone, and I'm just as sure that I'm not -married--no such luck." - -"Can't you regard yourself as married for, say, a few hours, perhaps -even less? Can't you act as if you were?" - -"What do you mean?" - -"Nothing much. But, you see, I've done you a favour--I don't want to -mention it, but I have--and couldn't you do me one in return?" - -"I feel you've done me a favour--I've a sort of consciousness of it in -my bones--but for the life of me I can't straighten things out." - -He presented an odd picture as he sat there endeavouring to get his -wits into working order; he seemed to be gradually collapsing under the -strain. Instead of being touched by his obviously piteous plight, it -seemed to add to her amusement. - -"Don't let's go into details; don't try, it will only worry you. I have -done you a service, and that's enough. Now I want you to do me one, and -as you're a gentleman, and all that sort of thing, I don't think I -shall need to ask you twice; you'll do it the first time of asking." - -"What is it you want me to do? I'll do what I can, but there's precious -little I can do; I'm so--well, you can see for yourself how it is with -me." - -"I've told you already what it is I want you to do. I want you to -consent to regard yourself as my husband for--probably only a very few -minutes." - -"But I don't understand. I don't see what good you're going to get from -my pretending to be your husband. A very poor sort of a husband I -should make." - -"You'll only be my husband _pro forma_--I think that's the proper term. -You see, I'm in a position in which I've got to have a husband, just -for a very few minutes; it doesn't matter what sort, so long as he's -fairly presentable, and you know you're quite nice looking." - -If he heard the compliment, it went unnoticed. - -"It may be my muddled head, but I still don't see what you're driving -at." - -"It's like this--I'll try to make it plain: There's a large sum of -money which is due to me, but I can't get it without my husband's -assistance. He's got to come with me to the banker's, and sign papers, -and things like that." - -"Sign papers, and things like that?" - -"That's all." - -"That's all?" Again he echoed her words, as if, by dint of doing so, he -was trying to get at their meaning. "But, signing papers, and things -like that, isn't that rather a deal? What sort of papers would he have -to sign?" - -"Oh, nothing very dreadful." The smile with which she regarded him was -a bewitching one. "You're not drinking your liqueur." She took up the -glass and put it into his hand. He sipped at it with that docility with -which he seemed to do all things. "You'd merely have to sign your -name." - -"Yes; but to what?" - -"I really can scarcely tell you. I'm not a lawyer or a banker. I don't -know what the forms are on such occasions, but I guess--mind you, it's -only a guess--that you'll have to say you are my husband, and sign for -the money after you've got it." - -"Wouldn't that be forgery?" - -"Forgery? How?" The smile did not fade, but a gleam came into her eyes -which hinted that the question had taken her a trifle aback; it is -conceivable that she had not supposed that he was sufficiently -clear-headed for it to occur to him. "What an extraordinary thing to -say! My dear man, it would be done with my authority, at my wish, and -in my presence." - -"Yes; but where is your husband?" - -"At this moment he is not easily accessible, or I shouldn't want to -worry you. I'd no idea that you'd have made such a fuss." - -She made a little grimace, which became her very well. There was -nothing to show that he observed it. He seemed to be struggling to -follow out the line of thought which had come into his head. - -"Is the money to be paid to your husband or to you?" - -"Nominally to him, but really to me." - -"Does he know about it?" - -"How do you mean, does he know?" All at once she rose, and came and -stood in front of him. "Young man, you're not to ask curious questions. -This is a very private matter; there's a lot about it which I don't -wish to explain, and which I don't think you're quite in a state to -understand if I did. I'll tell you exactly what it is I want you to do. -I want you to drive with me in, say, half an hour to the banker's. -There I shall take you into a private room, and I shall tell them that -you are my husband, Sir Jocelyn Kingstone; that you have not been very -well, and cannot stand much worry, so that they're to get matters -through as quickly as they can. If you like, you need not speak at all; -you can leave all the talking to me, and, I may add, all the -responsibility, too. Then, I imagine, they may ask you to sign a paper -of some sort--I don't quite know what, but it won't be very much--then -they'll hand you the money, and you'll sign for it, and then we'll come -away. You see that the whole thing won't last more than five or, at the -outside, ten minutes. We'll drive back here together, and in return for -the service you've done me I'll do anything you like--mind, anything -you like--for you. You'll find in me the best friend you ever had." - -She knelt beside him on the floor, cajoling him, whispering things -which he barely understood, but which were pleasant to hear. Somehow -the feeling of physical well-being seemed to dull his senses still -more. The dream became more dream-like; the woman's hands softly -smoothed his hair; her lips were close to his; her eyes bewitched him; -her words charmed his ears. She refilled the big sherry glass, and, -even unwittingly, he sipped the insidious liqueur. In short, she played -the fool with him, which, after all, was easy. At the best, after what -he had lately gone through, he was little more than the husk of a man; -but they had taken care that he should not be at his best. Her male -accomplice had, as they put it, "readied" him. It was true that they -had fed and washed and clothed him, but it was also true that they had -dosed and drugged him. Being helpless in their hands, they had played -tricks with him of which he had no notion and against which he had no -defence. - -After awhile the woman went out of the room. Without, suspiciously -close to the door, was the man. They exchanged a few hurried sentences. -She asked: "Is the brougham outside?" - -"It's been there ever since I brought him down." - -"I'm going to put on my hat. Give me his; I'll put it on for him. He's -in a state in which he's more in my line than in yours." - -The man grinned. He rubbed his chin as if considering. - -"How long shall you be?" - -"I ought to be back inside an hour. I shall come straight back." - -She began to ascend the stairs, the man watching her as she went. - -"I'll take care that you come straight back. You may have a card up -your sleeve which you mean to play; but I have another, which will -perhaps surprise you." - -These words were not spoken aloud; they were said to himself. He looked -as if he meant them, and as if they had a significance--an ominous -significance--which was a little secret of his own. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - Among Thieves - - -She sat very close to him as they went through the streets in the -brougham. She had persuaded him to have still another taste of the -liqueur before they started; the world seemed more dream-like than -ever. When the vehicle drew up, she helped him out into the street. The -air of the misty November morning seemed to add to the fog which was in -his brain. Nothing could have been more gracious or graceful than her -solicitude for his seeming incapacity to take proper care of himself; -no wife could have taken more tender care of a delicate husband. He did -not know what place this was at which they stopped, and she did not -tell him. When presently he found himself seated in an arm-chair, he -had only the vaguest idea of how he had got there, and no knowledge -whatever of the room in which he was. There was a gentleman who -occupied a seat behind a table who he had a dim feeling was observing -him with considerable curiosity. Something was said to him which he did -not catch, possibly because his hearing was unusually dull. The woman -at his side repeated it. - -"My dear Jocelyn, this gentleman is asking if you are my husband, if -you are Sir Jocelyn Kingstone." - -Sydney said something. He did not know what he said; he never did know; -but it seemed to be regarded as an efficient answer. Shortly something -else was said to him, which the woman again repeated. He had a misty -notion that she was doing a good deal of talking; that notion became -clearer in the days that were to come. She put her hand lightly on his -arm. - -"Come, Jocelyn." She led him nearer to the table, placing him on a -chair which was drawn close up to it. "This is what you are to sign. -They have given me the money; here it is." - -She held up what, although he did not realise it, was a bundle of -bank-notes. - -"Is it all right?" - -He did not know why he asked the question, but he asked it. It was the -first thing he had said consciously since he was in the room. He had -had an odd feeling that she wished him to ask the question. She smiled. - -"Quite all right. I will count it if you like, but I assure you it's -right. Would you rather I counted it, or would you like to count it -yourself?" - -"No; it doesn't matter, so long as it's right." - -He was conscious that a piece of paper was on the table in front of -him, and that he had a pen between his fingers, though he was not sure -how either of them had got there. She pointed to the paper with her -finger. - -"Sign here. Just put your name--Jocelyn Kingstone. My dear boy, how -your hand does shake!" - -He was aware that it shook, but he was not aware of the glance that the -lady exchanged with the gentleman who was on the other side of the -table, to whom, when he had made an end of writing, she handed the -sheet of paper. - -"What a scrawl! Jocelyn, your writing's getting worse and worse." Then, -to the elderly gentleman: "I'm afraid my husband's signature is not a -very easy one to read." - -The elderly gentleman surveyed the performance through a pair of -gold-rimmed pince-nez smilingly. - -"It isn't very legible, is it? Your signature is not very legible, Sir -Jocelyn; it would take an expert to decipher it. Would you mind, Lady -Kingstone, witnessing the fact that it is your husband's signature?" - -"Do I mind? Of course I don't." She laughed as if she appreciated the -joke of the suggestion. "There--'Witness, Helena Kingstone,'--I think -you will be able to read that." - -"That certainly is legible enough. You write a good bold hand, Lady -Kingstone, the sort of hand I like a woman to write." - -When the pair had left the room the elderly gentleman said to a younger -one who was seated at a table to one side: - -"That's a sad case, a very sad case indeed. That is quite a charming -woman, and not bad-looking; while he--he's the sort of person who, in a -better ordered state of society, would be consigned to a lethal chamber -at the earliest possible moment. Upon my word, I often wonder what -makes a woman marry such a man. Fancy, at this time of day, drunk." - -The younger man seemed to consider before he spoke. - -"It struck me that he was something else as well as drunk. He didn't -carry himself like an ordinary drunken man. He seemed to be under the -influence of some drug. She says that he's been ill; he looks it. I -wonder if they've been drugging him to bring him up to concert pitch." - -The elder man shook his head. He seemed to be weighing the other's -words. - -"It's a sad case, a very sad case, whichever way you look at it. Poor -woman! She may have had her own motives when she promised to love, -honour, and obey him, but it's a long row she has set herself to -plough." - -When the pair in question were back in the brougham, and the horse's -head was turned the other way, they had not gone very far before a -distinct change took place in the lady's manner. She was no longer -solicitous; she no longer sat close to her companion's side; indeed, -she seemed disposed to give him as wide a berth as possible, to ignore -him as completely as the exigencies of the situation permitted, and she -never spoke a word. She was, possibly, too engrossed with the -singularity of her proceedings to pay any attention to him. On her lap -was a pile of bank-notes which she was dividing into separate parcels; -these parcels she was bestowing in distinctly surprising portions of -her attire. She slipped one parcel in the top of one stocking, a second -into the top of the other; she took off her shoes, and placed a wad of -notes in each; she turned up the sleeves of her coat--into the lining -about the wrists, in which an aperture seemed to have been purposely -cut, she inserted quite a number. Loosening her bodice, she slipped -several into the band at the top of her skirt. With the residue she -performed quite a surprising feat of legerdemain. She produced a small -bag which was made of what looked like oil-skin, into which she crammed -the notes; raising it to the back of her neck, she gave her shoulders a -sort of hunch, it slipped down the back of her dress; one could see -from the movements she made that she was trying to get it to settle in -its proper place. Then, for the first time, she turned towards Beaton. - -Some of her performances had been hardly of the kind which the average -woman would care to essay in front of an entire stranger. She had been -as indifferent to her companion's presence as if he had been a -mechanical figure; and, indeed, when she looked at him, one perceived -that he might just as well have been. He seemed to be as devoid of -intelligence, as incapable of taking active interest in what was going -on about him; it was probable that he had been quite oblivious of what -she had been doing. But this time the spectacle he presented, instead -of amusing her, seemed to fill her with quite different feelings. She -addressed him all at once as if he had been a dog, her voice hard, -cold, strident, even a trifle vulgar: - -"Hullo--over there!" He remained still, clearly not realising that he -was being spoken to. She went on in the same tone: "Now then, wake up! -Haven't you been ill quite long enough? Try another sort of game. Do -you hear me speak to you?" Apparently he did not. "Don't you, or won't -you? Are you drunk? Now then, this won't do. I'm very much obliged to -you, but I've had quite enough of it." - -Leaning towards him, taking him by the shoulder, she began to shake him -with considerable vigour, considering he was a man, and a big one, and -she was a woman. The effect was, in its way--a grim way, ludicrous. His -hat first tilted forward over his nose, then dropped on to the floor; -his head fell forward over his chest. It seemed as if, if she kept on -shaking him, he would come to pieces. Perceiving this, she stopped, -eyeing him more closely, but still with no show of amusement, rather -with contempt and annoyance. - -"What's the matter with you? Are you ill, or is it the liqueurs -and--the other things? Anyhow, I've had enough of it; I'm not going to -have you ill in here. The time has come when we must part. Do you hear? -Wake up!" - -He did seem to wake up, in a kind of a fashion. He raised his head with -an effort, looking at her with lack-lustre eyes. - -"What is it?" - -"What is it? It's the key of the street, the same key you had before." - -A thought seemed all at once to occur to her. Stooping, she took off -her right shoe, from it the wad of notes; selecting one, she replaced -the others and the shoe. - -"When I first made your acquaintance you had nothing, and rather less. -Now, you've had a good night's rest, a bath, and other luxuries; you've -had good food and drink; you are rigged out in decent clothes from head -to foot; you've not done badly; but here's something else, as a sort of -tit-bit." - -She held out the note. He not only paid no heed to it, but seemingly he -had no idea of what it was, or of what she was talking. This time she -did seem to be amused; she laughed right out, as if his grotesque -helplessness tickled her. - -"Here, you're a pretty sort; I'll put it in your waistcoat pocket -for you. Mind you, it's a ten-pound note--do you hear, it's a -ten-pound note--for goodness sake do look as if you were trying to -understand--and it's in your waistcoat pocket; I've put it there; take -care, and don't you lose it; you'll want it before you're very much -older." - -She slipped the note into his waistcoat pocket without his showing the -slightest sign of interest in what she was doing; he seemed to be -mumbling something, for his lips were moving, but it was impossible to -make out what he said. - -"Now then, my funny friend, you'd better pull yourself together; we're -going to part--try to look as if you were sober, if you aren't." - -She tapped at the window; the carriage stopped; she opened the door and -descended. - -"This way, please." Taking him by the arm she drew him towards her, he -yielding with the old, uncomfortable docility. Somehow he joined her on -the pavement. "You've left your hat behind you, you can't go about -London without a hat." Picking it up from the floor of the carriage, -she placed it on his head. "That's not straight; there, that's better. -What a helpless child it is! Sorry I can't stop, but I've another -engagement; pleased to have met you; glad to have been able to do you a -good turn." - -She was re-entering the carriage with a smile again upon her face, when -the man who had acted as Beaton's valet came round from the back and -stood beside her; at sight of him her smile vanished. He raised his hat -to Beaton. - -"I also am pleased to have met you." He turned to the woman. "I think, -if you don't mind, or even if you do, that we'll keep that engagement -together. After you into the carriage." - -Evidently she found the sight of him by no means gratifying. - -"What's the meaning of this? What are you doing here? I thought it was -agreed that you should wait for me till I came back." - -"I had a sort of idea that I might keep on waiting; it even struck me -as just possible that you might never come back at all. After you into -the carriage." - -She hesitated; looked as if she would like to refuse; then, with a -laugh, which was hardly a happy one, she did as he suggested. He -followed her; the door was shut; the carriage drove off. Sydney Beaton -was left standing on the pavement; oblivious of what was taking place, -of where he was; as incapable, just then, of taking care of himself as -any inmate of an asylum. He remained standing where they had left him, -swaying to and fro. The fog had thickened; a drizzling rain had begun -to fall. It was not easy to make out where he was, but he was at the -corner of a street, in what seemed to be an old-world square, which in -that moment was as deserted as if all the houses round about it had -been empty and it was miles away from anywhere. - -But presently his solitude was broken; two men came round the corner, -doubtful-looking men, shabby-genteel looking men, in some queer way the -sort of men one would expect to find prowling about in such a place at -such a time. At sight of Beaton they paused; they exchanged glances; -one nudged the other. Then one spoke to him, with what he possibly -meant to be an ingratiating smile. - -"Nasty day, captain; looks as if we were going to have a real London -particular." When Sydney seemed to be unconscious even of his presence -his tone became a little insolent. "Waiting for anybody, guv'nor--or -are you just a-taking of the air?" - -The other spoke, with a glance at his companion which had in it -something which was evil: - -"Can't you see that the gentleman's taking of the air? What he wants is -someone to take it with him; what do you say to our offering the -gentleman our society?" - -Sydney remained speechless, motionless, save that he continued swaying -to and fro. They again exchanged glances. The first man said, with -ostentatious impudence: - -"I say, old cock, can you tell us how many beans make five?" Sydney was -still silent. The first man went on. "Here, Gus, you take one of the -gentleman's arms and I'll take the other: what he wants is a little -bright, cheerful society, and he'll get it if we take him along with -us." - -Each of this most unpromising-looking pair took one of Sydney's arms; -and without his attempting to remonstrate, or to offer the faintest -show of resistence, they led him away. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - The Sandwich-man - - -A bitingly cold afternoon towards the end of January. Six sandwich-men -trudged along the Strand, urged by the cutting wind to more rapid -movement than is general with their class. On the board of the last man -which was slung over his back were the words, "Look at the man in -front." On the board which was at the back of the man in front, to -which your attention was directed, was "for Warmth And Sunshine Try -Cox's Bitters." The legend was repeated all along the six. It almost -seemed as if it must be a joke, of a grim order, to compel such -unfortunate wretches to stare for hour after hour at such advice, on -such a day. One had only to glance at them to see how much they stood -in need of both warmth and sunshine; yet the chance seemed extremely -slight that they would have an opportunity of trying Cox's bitters. - -Some of the passers-by, who were in better plight than the six in the -gutter, seemed to be struck by the fact that a jest might be intended, -and where there were two of them together, they commented on it to each -other. - -"Poor beggars!" said one of the passers-by to the acquaintance at his -side. "It's pretty rough on them to make them carry about a thing like -that, when they're pretty nearly at death's door for want of the very -things which, according to their own showing, are so easy to get." - -The words were heard by someone who happened at that moment to be -passing them--a woman. Possibly, as is easy in London, the sight is -such a common one, she had been unconscious that the sandwich-men were -there. When she heard the words she glanced at them to see to what they -might apply. As she did so she started and stopped, as if she had seen -something which had amazed her. The sandwich-men passed on, none of -them had noticed her; they were probably too far gone in misery to -notice anything, each kept his unseeing eyes fixed on his fellow's -back. - -The woman stood still, seemed to hesitate, went on, then turned and -looked after the retreating sandwich-men. She seemed to be asking -herself if it would be possible to catch them up, they were already at -a distance from her of perhaps fifty yards. Then, as if arriving at a -sudden determination, she moved quickly after them. Yet, although she -walked so quickly, it was some little time before she caught them up, -so that she had an opportunity to consider whatever it was that was -passing through her mind. At last she was abreast of them again; was -passing them; she scanned the last man, the fifth, the fourth, and, -with much particularity, the third. Behind the others was probably all -of life that was worth having, if it had been worth having to them; it -seemed scarcely likely that the scanty, broken fragments of what -remained of it could be worth anything to them. Theirs would probably -be a continual tramp through the gutter, or its equivalent, to the -grave. - -But with the third man in the line it was different. He was young. In -spite of the grotesqueness of his attire--he was clad in ill-assorted, -ragged and tattered oddments of somebody else's clothing--there was -something in his bearing which suggested that he was still a man. These -others were but torsos. And although the hair beneath his greasy cap -stood in crying need of both a barber and a brush, and there was an -untrimmed, unsightly growth upon his cheeks and chin, a shrewd observer -might have ventured on a small wager that if his hair had been cut and -trimmed and he had been shaved and washed, he would not be altogether -ugly. - -One thing was noticeable, that though the woman stared at him he took -no heed at all of her--he did not take his eyes off the man in front of -him; and that although the woman kept step beside him in a manner which -the others began to mark. All at once, as if moved by an overmastering -impulse, she stretched out her umbrella and touched him on the -shoulder. - -"Hullo!" - -That was all she said, but it was enough; he turned his head. At the -sight of the eyes which glanced at her out of that dreadful face she -started again, not without excuse. This was the face of one of those -men of whom society has good reason to go in terror. Desperation was in -every line of it; something like madness was in the eyes. This was the -face of a man who had suffered much, and who, if opportunity offered, -would stick at nothing to get even with those who had made him suffer. - -He looked at the woman with, at first, no sign of recognition in his -glance. Then, a muscle moved; something came into his eyes which had -not been there before; all at once the fashion of his countenance was -changed. He stopped, bringing those behind him to sudden confusion. He -turned, the better to look at her; beyond doubt this was a woman of -nerve, or she would have shrunk from that which was on his face. One -felt that if, in that first wild moment, he had not been impeded by the -boards which bound him, he would have laid violent hands upon her, and -she would have fared ill. - -But the boards did bind him. With them there he could do nothing but -stand and stare. She met his gaze unflinchingly. Not only did she show -no sign of concern at the threat which was in it, something in the -expression of her own face suggested that it occasioned her positive -pleasure. Certainly she could not have been more completely at her -ease. - -"Take those things off and come with me." - -The man glared at her as if he wondered if his senses were playing him -a trick. - -"Come with you?" - -It was an interrogation conveying, it would seem, a world of meaning. -She smiled; at sight of the smile the gleam in his eyes grew more -pronounced, his face more threatening. But she was in no way troubled. - -"You heard what I said; you're not in the state in which you were when -I saw you last; but in case you didn't quite hear I'll repeat it. I -said, 'Take those things off and come with me.' And be quick about it, -please, if you don't want to have a crowd collect and mob us; you see -they're gathering already." - -There was a momentary, very obvious, hesitation, then he did what she -requested--he took the things off, meaning the boards which were -suspended from his shoulders. When he had them off he put a question: - -"What shall I do with them--shall I bring them with me?" - -From the purse she took out of her handbag she chose a coin, speaking -to the man behind him: - -"There are five of you, there's half a sovereign; that's two shillings -apiece. Take these articles back to their owner, and explain that the -gentleman who was in charge of them has been called away." - -She hailed a taxicab; at her suggestion he got in first, she followed, -and the cab drove off towards a destination the driver alone had heard. -The five remaining sandwich-men followed it with a chorus of thanks; -one of them exclaimed, "Good luck, old pal! I wish I was in your -place." He was a very old man, quite probably in the seventies, small -in stature, nearly bent double as if shrivelled by the cold. For some -cause his words, uttered in shrill, quavering tones, seemed to amuse -the bystanders. A crowd had gathered, a heterogeneous crowd which so -quickly does gather in a London thoroughfare; the five remaining -sandwich-men were explaining to the people, as best they could, what -had happened. In the taxicab nothing was said; the passengers were a -queerly assorted pair, offering even a more striking contrast than -when, on that first occasion, they had been alone together in the motor -in the park. Then it was she who looked at him; now it was he who -looked at her. - -She sat in her own corner of the cab, her glance kept straight in front -of her, so that she never looked his way. He, on the other hand, never -took his eyes off her; it was perhaps as well she did not see them, -they were unfriendly. His grimy hands were clenched in front of him; to -judge from his expression they might, in fancy, have been clenched -about her throat; no one watching him could have doubted that he was -capable of such an action; this was rather a savage animal than a -civilised man. - -The cab crossed Brompton Road into a street on the other side, and -after one or two turnings drew up in front of a small house which -formed one of a terrace of old-fashioned villas. The woman paid the -cab, opened the door with a latch-key, ushered the man into a room of -fair size, comfortably furnished, a bright fire made it seem a -veritable haven of refuge after the inclemency of the weather without. -For the first time she spoke. - -"Come to the fire and warm yourself; I should think you must be cold." - -He echoed her last word with a very different accent. - -"Cold!" He said it again in a tone of voice which was indescribable; in -the word as he uttered it there was a whole dictionary of meaning. -"Cold!" - -"Have a drink?" - -She was moving towards the sideboard on which there were bottles and -glasses. - -"The last time I saw you I had a drink at your expense, though I'm -always paying for it." - -"The world doesn't seem to have been using you very well since I met -you last." - -His speech was not a reply to hers. - -"At least you have courage." - -"Women of my sort have to; experience gives it to them. Without courage -where should we be?" - -"I wonder where you are sometimes even with it. Do you know that you've -scarcely ever been out of my thoughts more than an hour or two at a -time since we parted?" - -"That's very nice of you." - -"You think so. I've told myself over and over again that when I did get -within reach of you--that's just the trouble, I've never quite been -able to make up my mind what I'd do to you. I've told myself I'd kill -you; in some of my happiest moments, in imagination, I've been wringing -your neck; it was a delicious sensation." - -"For you?" - -"For me." - -"Very well, then, give yourself that delicious sensation in real -earnest--wring it. Here I am, quite close, ready to make things easy; I -promise that I'll do nothing to keep you from wringing it to your -heart's content." She had gone right up to him. He drew himself up -straight, with a look upon his face as if he were about to take her at -her word; but he stood still. Observing his indecision, she laughed. -"How long do you propose to keep me waiting? Are you going to wring it -now, or--it might be rather a nuisance in such a matter to have one's -moment chosen for one--would you rather wait?" - -"I'll wait." - -"Good; then while you're waiting won't you come closer to the fire and -have a drink? That's whisky and soda." - -She held out to him a tumbler. - -"Don't you give me that." - -"Why not? It's warming." - -"Last time you gave me something which was--warming." - -"I see." She laughed. "You're thinking this is the same as that. I -understand; or--are you very hungry?" - -"Don't you ask me questions; I'll take neither food nor drink from you. -I'll pay my debt and then----" - -He left his sentence unfinished. If his bearing was more than a little -melodramatic, hers was easiness itself. - -"Before we go any farther--and we are going farther, so you needn't -glare at me--we'll clear that up about what you call your debt. You -think you owe me one?" - -"Think! I've been in hell because of you; I'm in it still. Now I've a -chance I'm going to make it my business to give you a taste of it too." - -"There's nothing so silly as using extravagant language. I found that -out long ago; and I'm a woman, and women are supposed to be inclined -that way, and you're a man." - -"You're a woman? A woman!" - -"Yes, I'm a woman, a woman, a woman, and all the vitriolic bitterness -you can get into your tone won't alter that. Now just you keep still -and let me talk. You've your own point of view--of course, you would -have, being a man--and I've mine; before you start paying that debt -which weighs so heavily on your chest, you'll listen to what it is. -I'll be as brief as I can, and while I'm talking I'll lay the table; -I'm acting as my own maid just now. I may remark that you and I are -quite alone in the house, so that if you do feel like wringing my neck -you need fear no personal interference. I'm going to put some food upon -the table, because I'm going to eat something, if you aren't." - -Out of a drawer in the sideboard she took a tablecloth. - -"Now about that debt you were speaking of; but before I talk of it, I'd -better go and see what there is in the pantry that really is worth -eating. Wouldn't you like to come and help me? There will be a tray to -carry." - -She had laid the table, and now stood at the open doorway looking at -him with a smile on her face. Plainly he was in more than two minds as -to what to do; this woman was, so far, proving more than a match for -him. His tone was surly. - -"I'm not coming with you." - -"Aren't you? Very well, don't; stop there. I may as well go upstairs -and take off my hat and coat and make myself look decent, even if I am -to have my neck wrung directly afterwards. And then I'll go and forage -in the pantry. Until we meet again." - -With a saucy little nod she paused out of the room and shut the door. - -A student in pantomime would have been interested by the man's -proceedings when he found himself thus left alone, he was so evidently -at a loss. He stared, or rather glared, at the door through which the -woman had vanished; he seemed to be in doubt as to whether to go -through it and out of the house. Then his eyes moved round the room, -and stayed; as if it were all in such delightful contrast to what he -had been used to that he had to stay. He made a half-step towards the -fire, then drew back, with clenched hands and knitted brows; he would -not warm himself beside this woman's fire. Then he saw the tumbler on -the table, which she had left on the snowy tablecloth invitingly -beneath his nose; his hand moved towards that--it was harder to keep -that back, but he did. He saw, for the first time, the mirror above the -mantel; as if unwillingly he went to it; the action was significant, a -mirror had not been a necessary adjunct to his toilet for a -considerable time. - -He stared at the face that looked back at him as if it were that of a -stranger, as if he found it difficult to realise that it could by any -possibility be his, as if it were incredible that the man who had been -could be the man who was now. He took the greasy cap off his head, as -if the mirror had made him conscious that it was there. No woman could -have shown keener interest in a tale told by the mirror; so absorbed -was he by his own image that apparently he could not tear himself away. -He became aware that the fire was just beneath; he stretched out his -hands to the grateful blaze, then, remembered, glanced round him -shamefacedly, moved away towards the window. How cheerless it was -without, how cheery it was within. He twisted his cap as if he would -have torn it; his jaw was hard set; his eyes looked this way and that. -He moved from the window, this time towards the door, as if he were -trying to bring himself to the sticking point, to retreat in time. He -was nearly there when the door reopened and the woman appeared. - -"Now then, you really must come and help me carry this tray; it's -perfectly absurd to suppose that I can do everything while you do -nothing. My maid is out; I only keep one, and it's her day out. You -needn't eat anything; the fates forbid that I should press my food on -you or my anything. But surely you can help me to get something to eat -myself. Do you hear?" - -"Yes, I hear." - -"And you're not coming?" - -"No, I'm not coming." - -"You won't help me to carry the tray?" - -"I won't." - -"Then thank you very much. You know, you used to be a gentleman." - -She passed out of the room with her head in the air. He let her go, -waiting, grimly, for her return, the greasy cap between his hands. -Presently she was back, bearing a well-filled tray. - -"Won't you sit down? I should think even my chairs would not do you any -serious injury; but, of course, stand if you prefer it; I suppose you -can wring my neck better standing. I'm going to have some tea, the -kettle's boiling, and I feel like tea. I suppose it's no use suggesting -tea to you, but I've brought a second cup, which you can throw at me if -you care to use it for nothing else. It might amuse you to throw things -at me before you wring my neck, including the teapot and the tray." - -She was laying the table while she spoke. He kept his eyes turned from -her, which was perhaps the reason why she imparted to him information -which he declined to observe for himself. - -"That's a tongue; nothing of your tinned or glass things, but a -Portland and Mason; and that's a ham, a small Westphalian boned ham; I -like Westphalian ham, even if you don't; and that was a chicken at -lunch, and it's very nearly a chicken now, and there's honey, and -marmalade, and jam, and cakes, and bread, and lots of things which some -people wouldn't turn their noses up at, whatever others may do. I don't -know that I'm fond of a meat tea, or high tea, or whatever you call it, -as a rule; though after all we do have sandwiches, all sorts of -sandwiches, with tea; everybody does, so it doesn't make such a very -great difference. Anyhow, I'm going to eat meat--all sorts of -meat--with my tea this afternoon, and you can watch me. There are two -plates, and two knives, and two forks, and two of everything for two -people, and two chairs; if you should know of anyone who will do me the -honour to take tea with me, I'll be very glad of--his society. I'm -going to begin." - -She had placed a chair at one side of the table in which she sat, -making as if to pour out tea; then suddenly sprang up, turning to the -man who still stood twisting his cap between his fingers. - -"Do you think you're playing the noble pudding-headed hero in a Drury -Lane drama? Haven't you got sense enough to get in out of the rain? Do -you suppose I don't know you're starving? How long ago is it since you -had a square meal?" - -"Didn't I tell you not to ask me questions?" - -"You didn't tell me! It will need a very different person from you to -tell me things of that kind in my own house." - -"Then I'll leave your house." - -"No, you don't!" She interposed herself between him and the door. "I -say no, you don't; and you can glare at me for all you are worth. I've -been glared at by much more dangerous persons than you, and I still -live on. You wouldn't lay a finger on me if I'd treated you twenty -times as badly as I have done; you may think you would, but you -wouldn't; you may tell yourself that you will when you're all alone, -but you won't, and you couldn't; you're that kind of man. The devil may -get into you, but he won't get into you enough to induce you, when it -comes to the pinch, to lay violent hands upon a woman. You say you are -going to leave my house, and I say you're not. I say I won't let you; -there's a direct challenge. You won't touch me, but I shan't hesitate -to touch you. I am that kind. You understand, you are not to leave my -house without my permission; and in order that we may know exactly -where we are I'm going to lock the door and put the key in my pocket." - -"You shan't do that." - -"Shan't I? Well, we'll see." All at once her tone changed to one of the -most singular appeal. "Man, do you know that I've been starving, and -not so very long ago? Why, for years of my life I as good as starved; -but there have been times when I've gone without food for days -together, and known what it is to feel as you are feeling now." She -laid her finger-tips softly on his ragged coat-sleeve. "You're a much -stronger man than I supposed, but please don't be a fool; do sit down -and have some tea with me, and afterwards you can wring my neck; you'll -want lots of strength to do it properly." - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - The Drapery - - -He was persuaded, he knew not how; he never meant to be. The something -which was in him, the craving for food which was life, was on her side; -he did have tea with her, a gargantuan tea. He ate of everything there -was to eat, while she showed that the necessity that she should have -something to eat of which she had spoken was a fiction, by trifling -with odds and ends, while she watched that his plate was kept well -supplied, and kept on talking. She was even autobiographical. - -"Compared with what I have gone through, with my course of training in -life's hard school, what you've endured is nothing, and you see that -outwardly I'm none the worse for it. I used to think that there wasn't -such a thing in the world as laughter for me, that it was just as -improbable that I should have a good time as that I should jump over -the moon. Yet, I've learnt to laugh at times, nearly all the time; and -as for a good time, I've acquired the knack even of getting that. It -will be the same with you, and more." - -"I doubt it." - -"Of course, all green hands do; they take life too seriously." - -"Do they? When you left me I don't remember; when I remembered anything -again I was in the workhouse infirmary. I'd been found senseless and -practically stripped in an alley off the Gray's Inn Road. I'd been in -the infirmary more than a week before I came to my senses, after a -fashion; then they wanted me to account for myself. I couldn't, or I -wouldn't, they were not sure which, so they put me out again into the -street. I'm not certain, but I fancy that they gave me the choice of -that or of being an able-bodied pauper. It was snowing on the day they -turned me out; you should have seen the clothes I was wearing, and the -boots!" - -"I know the Christian charity of the parish and of the workhouse -master!" - -"It's rather more than two months ago, and since then I've never had a -square meal nor a comfortable night's lodging. You know what kind of -weather we've been having, an old-fashioned winter, the best skating -we've had for years. I don't know how I've lived through it, but I -have. And there are thousands who've been no better off than I have, -men, women, and children; I've herded with them. What a world! And for -what I've suffered I have to thank you." - -"That's not true." - -"That's a lie. I'm eating your food--I can't help eating it, I've got -to that--but don't you fancy that I'm under any obligation to you -because of it. I owe everything I've had to bear to you, and I'll pay -you for it. I've told myself that I would over and over again, and I -will." - -"You talk nonsense; would you rather I had let you go to gaol?" - -"What do you mean?" - -"Have you forgotten that when I first had the honour of meeting you I -saved you from the police? I came on the scene in the very nick of -time. In another minute they'd have laid you by the heels and marched -you to the station." - -He laid down his knife and fork. - -"So I was right." - -"About what?" - -"It's all been a haze; something must have happened to me, something -must have cracked in here." He laid his hand on his head. "I don't seem -to remember anything beyond a certain point. I don't remember how it -was I came to meet you. I know you took me to your house, and dosed and -drugged me, and dyed my hair and painted my face, and that while I was -still more than half stupefied by your drugs you made a catspaw of me -to enable you to bring off some swindle--what it was I've never -understood--and that then you left me in the street, as if I were -carrion that you were throwing to the dogs; but how I first came to get -into your house I have never been able to make out." - -"I have upstairs the watch, chain and purse of which you relieved an -old gentleman in Hyde Park, just before I came upon the scene. There's -his name inside the watch. I only have to communicate with the owner--I -know all about him--and you'll be sentenced to a long term of -imprisonment, during which you'll suffer much worse things than -anything you've had to bear because of me." - -"Is that true, that I did what you say?" - -"Perfectly, honestly; do you mean to say that you can't remember?" - -"Now that you speak of it I do seem to recall something; it's coming -back." - -"I should think that it probably was; it will all of it come back if -you give it time. I know all about you. I know your name, your record, -the whole dirty story; you were as deep in the gutter when I first met -you as you are now, and perhaps deeper--certainly you had no more -chance of getting out of it; men with your record never do, I know." - -"What's my name?" - -"Do you mean to tell me that you don't know?" - -"Not--not clearly; sometimes I nearly know, it's on the tip of my -tongue, I can see it written, somewhere; but the writing is not -plain--I can't quite make it out." - -"What do you call yourself?" - -"They call me 'Balmy."' - -"Who's they?" - -"Oh, some of them; some of the swine with whom I herd. I didn't know -what 'balmy' meant before they told me; it seems that it means a man -who's not right in his head--not quite mad, but very nearly. I don't -think I'm mad, or even nearly, but, looking back, I can't get beyond a -certain point--beyond you. What did you do to me that caused it? Can't -you undo it?" - -"Personally, I did nothing. There was somebody else there besides me; -can't you remember him?" - -"I do seem to remember someone; wasn't it a man?" She nodded. "I do -seem to remember a man, a black-faced man. I suppose he was your tool, -and what he did to me was done by your orders." - -"He certainly was not my tool. You say they tell you that you're not in -your right mind; you were not when I first met you. I should say that -you were practically starving and had been living the life of a London -gutter man; that bolt from the police finished you; we had to do -something to get life back into you. You certainly had your senses no -more about you than you say you had in the workhouse infirmary. I -declare to you that when I left you you were in a much better condition -than when I met you. You had your senses more about you; you had been -well fed, I believe the food I gave you saved your life; you were well -dressed, you had money in your pocket. I don't see how I can fairly be -held responsible for what happened to you afterwards; if you were in -your right mind now, you'd see I can't." - -"I don't know how much of what you're telling me is true. What do you -want with me now? Why have you brought me here, do you want to use me -as a catspaw again?" - -"Let me tell you my story, and then you'll begin to understand. Do you -mind if I have a cigarette? I can always talk better when I am smoking. -And won't you have a cigar?" - -"I had a cigar when I saw you last." - -"You remember that? Have another now that we meet again. You'll find -that there's nothing the matter with those cigars, they're good -tobacco." - -She placed a box of cigars in front of him. He glared at them as if he -would rather they had not been there, but the craving that was in him -got the upper hand again. He took and lighted one, puffing at it while -she talked. - -"My father was a country schoolmaster; I don't remember my mother, but -my father died when I was, I suppose, about fourteen. My only relative, -an uncle, found me a situation in a draper's shop, where I got no pay -because I was so young, but where they worked me from the first thing -in the morning till the last thing at night, and gave me in return my -food and lodging--such lodging and such food. When I had been there -three years they turned me out because I objected to the attentions of -the master's son. I knew my uncle wouldn't have me; I'd known that all -along. I should have been without a penny, absolutely, if it hadn't -been for one of the assistants who lent me a sovereign. With that I -came to town--I had ever an adventurous spirit. I went to a big shop, a -famous shop; they took me on at once. A sale was coming on, they were -in want of extra hands; with people of that sort they didn't want -references; the assistants there never had a chance of being dishonest, -they were too well looked after. They wanted no character when you -came, and they gave you none when you left; you were liable to be -discharged at a moment's notice, without any cause being given, and -assistants were being discharged like that continually, and they gave -you no character though you had been there ten years; they never do -give characters, it's a rule of the house. I was there rather more than -two years. I was in the mantles when I left. One afternoon just as I -was going down for tea, they called me into the office, gave me my -wages, and told me I could go; trade was slack, the season was over; -they gave me no reason, but that was the only one I could guess that -they had for sacking me." - -She stopped to knock the ash off her cigarette, smiling to herself as -she did so. - -"I got another berth after--well, after experiences something like -those which you have lately had; I was looking a nice sort of drab by -the time I got it. It was in a shop which did a cutting trade, a -low-class shop, an open-to-all-hours-of-the-night sort of shop, in a -low-class neighbourhood in which people did not start buying till an -hour when the shops ought to be closed. What a life I had there! You -talk about what you've been doing, and you're a man." - -Her thoughts seemed to be harking back, but she still smiled. - -"I've seen columns of gush in the papers about the woes of shop -assistants; if the British public only knew--if every woman had to -serve a term as assistant in some of the shops I could tell them of, -things would be altered pretty quick." - -She leaned towards him over the table. - -"You say you'd like to wring my neck; if you only knew the number of -people there were in that shop to whom I would have given almost -anything for the chance of wringing theirs--I almost did wring one -woman's, who was, ironically, called a housekeeper, and who was an -unspeakable thing! You talk of the swine with whom you've herded; -you've never had to associate with the likes of her, and be under her -thumb--and that's why I left." - -Restlessness seemed all at once to seize her. She rose from her seat -and stood in front of the fire. - -"I did some more starving, and--that sort of thing, then I got another -berth, no better than the other. They said my accounts were wrong--they -couldn't prove it, and I don't believe they were, but they sent me -packing that very day. You've no notion for how little, for nothing at -all, a draper's assistant, who may have given months and years good -service, is thrown into the ditch, no reason vouchsafed, no remedy -obtainable, no character to be had." - -She swept out her hands, as if she were brushing from her a flood of -memories. - -"Oh, I had all sorts of experiences; I was in the place you mentioned -for years, although I'm not an old woman now; you see, I got there -first when I was so very young; that does make a difference. Oh, I saw -the drapery in all its phases; to this hour I can't enter a draper's -shop without feeling a chill at the bottom of my spinal column; my skin -goes all goose-fleshy; I think of what drapers' shops once meant to me. -But there came a time when I had done with them--I'll take care that -it's for ever; that was when I reached the very lowest circle in the -pit. How many circles were there in Dante's hell? I'm convinced I -reached the bottom one." - - - - - CHAPTER X - - The Woman Tempted Me - - -"I'd been out of a berth for practically a year; not all the time--I'd -been taken on for a few days here, for a week of two there, as odd hand -when the rush of the sales was on; but for a year I had had no regular -work. How I lived I can't tell you; you know, I had to live, and--well, -you talk of the things you've endured, you have no conception how much -worse that sort of thing is for a woman than for a man. At last I came -down to selling flowers--yes I that was a nice profession, wasn't it?" - -She put her hands up to her brow, pressing back her hair; she presented -a sufficiently dainty picture then, with her well-fitting gown and her -look of perfect health. - -"One evening--I'd had a bad day--I was hawking in the Strand, just -where I met you when I saw you with those boards upon your back. How it -all came back to me! My flowers had not been in very good condition in -the morning, they had not grown fresher as the day went on. I offered -them to a man who came sauntering along; he stopped to look at them, he -soon spotted the state that they were in. 'Why,' he said, 'these things -are only fit for throwing away.' Then he looked at me. 'Bertha!' he -exclaimed, 'surely it must be you?'" - -She laughed. Turning, she stood looking down into the fire, tapping her -toe against the curb. - -"If I'd only had a peep at him in time I should have let him pass; I -shouldn't have tried to make of him a customer, but I hadn't. I had -just seen that he was well dressed and looked as though he had money, -and, in the dim light, that was all." - -She paused for so considerable a space of time that one wondered if she -proposed to carry the story any farther. When she did go on it was in -an altered tone of voice; she spoke very quietly, very coldly, as if -she wished to make a mere statement of facts. - -"In one of the shops in which I had had the honour of being an -assistant he had acted as shopwalker. We had been on quite decent -terms, which was not the case with most of the gentlemen of his sort -that I had come across. Rather than that he should have seen me, in my -rags, hawking faded flowers in the streets, I would--I would have done -anything. When I tried to get away from him he wouldn't hear of it. He -called a cab, put me in it, and took me home with him, to his wife; -they had quite a nice little house Peckham way. I recognised her as one -of the girls who had been at the opposite counter to mine. It was not -strange that he had married her; what was queer was that they should be -living in such a house, unless one of them had come into a fortune." - -Again she paused, staring at the fire as if she were seeking words -among the burning coals. Then, turning, she faced the man who was still -seated at the table. He had scarcely moved since she had begun her -story, as if he found in it a fascination that was not upon the -surface, as if he were looking forward, with eager interest, to what he -felt was coming. - -"Nobody could have been kinder to me than those two people. They gave -food, and drink, and clothing, and shelter, and, something more, they -gave me the secret of the philosopher's stone; told me how it was that, -though no one had left them a fortune, they came to be living there." - -Holding her shapely hands in front of her she kept pressing the tips of -the fingers together, and then withdrawing them. - -"A piece of silk was missing at the shop. She was charged with stealing -it. She assured me that she had not stolen it, that she did not know -who had, that she knew nothing at all about it; they had not the -slightest real evidence that she was the guilty party, but they sacked -her all the same. And because the shop-walker sided with her, they -chose to assume that he was at least in part responsible for its -disappearance, and they sacked him too. So they married. That's a funny -sort of love story, isn't it?" - -The man spoke, for the first time since she had begun her story. - -"It's as good as others I've heard." - -"No doubt, love stories are the funniest things. For what would you -marry?" - -She was looking at him with laughing eyes. - -"I shall never marry." - -"Sure? Nothing's ever a certainty in that sort of thing. It was only -after they were married that they thought of ways and means. They had -about twenty pounds between them; they tried and tried, but neither -could get a berth; so they decided to throw up the drapery--probably -because it had thrown them up--and try another trade. They had given -honesty a trial; they decided to try the other, and see if it couldn't -be made to pay. It paid uncommonly well; the house in which they were -living, the way in which it was furnished, the style in which they did -things, was proof enough of that. They told me all about it, quite -frankly; then they suggested that I should join them in their new -profession. The occasions were not infrequent on which they wanted a -partner of my sex, who had her wits about her, and upon whom they could -absolutely rely. I did not need much persuasion; like them, I had had -enough of honesty; and--here I am--flourishing like a green bay tree." - -"Do you mean that you're a thief?" - -"A professional thief, exactly; just as you're a gutter-snipe--a much -less creditable, and a very much less profitable profession than mine." - -She spoke in the airiest of tones, as if the thing that she admitted -was a trifle of no account. When she saw that he kept silent she went -on. - -"I'm about to suggest that you come into the business as a partner of -mine." - -"What prompts you to suggest it--affection?" - -"Not altogether--no." Her eyes were dancing. "What prompts a woman to -do anything? She seldom knows, really and truly; I don't believe there -ever was a woman who was able to give all the reasons which moved her -to do anything. I've had you in my mind ever since I saw you last. I -did not do you anything like the ill turn you seem to imagine; I vow -and declare to you that when we parted you were, if anything, better -off than when we met. But sometimes--oh, sometimes--I think that I must -be the very queerest woman that ever was; but then I know better, -because all women are queer, and, when she's in the mood, every woman -can be the very queerest that ever was." - -Quitting the fire, perching herself upon the side of the table, with -one foot upon a chair, she began to light another cigarette. - -"Sometimes I've felt very bad about you; I didn't like to think of what -might have become of you after we had parted. Then when I began to -learn certain little facts about your personal history, I was conscious -of feeling a sympathy for you which you might have found amusing. I -told myself that if ever chance did throw us across each other's path -again, I would, if I could, if you stood in need of it, do you a real -good turn. When I saw you just now, in that dreary procession of six, -and realised that it was you, I knew that my opportunity had come. So -now I hope you understand." - -"Only very dimly. I am still not so clear-headed as I might be. I want -to have things made very plain." - -"I will try to make them as plain as you can possibly want them. First -of all, I want a partner; do you want to know why?" - -"If it wouldn't be troubling you too much." - -"I'm not altogether without associates, though I do miss my two first -friends." - -"What became of them?" - -"They brought off a big coup, got bags full of money, went off with it -to America, where they started a business of their own, in which I -believe they are now doing very well." - -"Why didn't they take you with them? Didn't you get your share?" - -"Rather, and a first-class time I had with it; one of the times of my -life; and I may mention, between ourselves, that, of late years, I've -had some good ones. I may tell you about some of them one fine day." - -She seemed to be laughing to herself, as if the recollection tickled -her. He sat stark, stiff and silent, his strange hollow eyes fixed on -her face. She enjoyed her cigarette in silence for some seconds before -she went on. - -"And as for why they didn't take me with them, one reason is that I -wouldn't have gone. Why should I? I should have been in their way, and -they most certainly would have been in mine. We parted on the very best -of terms; we correspond; one of these days I'm going to pay them a long -visit. But, from a purely professional point of view, I've never been -able to fill their place, especially his. You've very nearly finished -that cigar. Won't you have another?" - -"No, thank you; I'm not at the end of this; I'm enjoying it--slowly." - -She watched the rings of her cigarette smoke ascending to the ceiling. - -"You see, in my profession, there are so very few gentlemen; and of all -the professions in the world, it's the one in which gentlemen are most -needed, the one in which they're sure to get the best reward for their -labours. There are one or two things in my mind, big things, things -involving quite possibly thousands of pounds, which I can't work alone, -in which I need the co-operation of a man whose birth and breeding, -whose knowledge of the manners and customs of good society are beyond -question. Now, you're the very sort of person I want; Eton and the -Guards; from my point of view there couldn't be a finer qualification." - -"How do you come to know anything about me?" - -"Your name--Sydney Beaton--was on the tab of that very well-worn coat -which you had on when first I met you. I know all about Sydney Beaton; -shall I tell you what I do know?" - -"You needn't." - -"I thought you said that you'd forgotten such a lot; that your mind, -beyond a certain point, was a blank?" - -She was eyeing him with a malicious twinkle in her laughing eyes; he -was grimly silent, meeting her look with what seemed to be a strange -defiance. - -"I'd rather not remember--now." - -"I see; it's like that, is it? I don't blame you. I've no wish to touch -your sore places, though never so lightly; I've plenty of my own which -I'd just as soon people kept their fingers off; I'm not pachydermatous -quite. But there's one thing which I should like to ask, if you will -let me, and it's this: Have you any expectation of getting back to -where you were?" - -"None." - -"I don't wish to push the knife in, but--do you think there's any -probability of your regaining the position you once held? I repeat the -question in another form because, as you said, I want to be plain; this -time I want you and me to be colleagues, not what we were before, to -run no risk of a misunderstanding." - -"Not only is there no probability, there is no possibility." - -"Not even a thousand to one chance?" - -"Nor a million to one. That side of me is dead; there can be no -resurrection. There is no person of the name you mentioned any longer; -some of my new friends call me 'Balmy'; I call myself James Langham." - -"Then, Mr. Langham, let me put it to you as a sound business -proposition, that you've everything to gain, and nothing to lose, by -becoming my partner in certain delicate matters which I have in my -mind's eye." - -"You're proposing that I should become a thief?" - -"Well, 'a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'" - -What might have been meant for a smile distorted his attenuated visage. - -"The sort of thing that I've gone through turns the whole world -topsy-turvy; the ladies and gentlemen with whom I have associated think -nothing of stealing; they've robbed me times without number of the -worthless trifles of which I could be plundered, and--I had to bear it. -I've said to myself over and over again when I've been mad with misery, -that I would rob a bank if I dared." - -"Yes, and if you had the chance. You would not see your way, for -instance, to enter, say, the London County and Westminster Bank attired -as you are, with the intention of coming out of it a wealthier man." - -"You're quite right, I shouldn't." - -"What I'm offering you is the opportunity to do that sort of thing with -perfect impunity; I'm not doing it out of philanthropic motives; at -least I'm not a humbug. I'll give you the means to replenish your -wardrobe, which needs it, and to live in comfort for a reasonable time, -on the understanding that you'll consider seriously certain -propositions that I shall make you, and, if you see your way, that -you'll give me your assistance in carrying them out, on sharing terms. -Is it a deal?" - -For the first time he moved, withdrawing himself from the table and -standing up; he was so thin, there was something about him which was so -little human, that the ill-assorted, filthy rags of which his attire -consisted seemed to be hanging on a scarecrow. - -"You feel that you can trust me?" - -"I am sure of it." - -"Knowing my record?" - -"Records like yours don't count in my eye. There's nothing in your -record which hints that you ever played false to a woman. I know that -you won't play false to me." - -"You expect me to tell you that I know you'll never play false to me?" - -"Not a bit of it; I know what you've got in your head quite well. I -don't ask you to trust me one inch farther than you can see. But at the -beginning, at any rate, the confidence will be all on the other side. -I'm willing to make an investment for which my only security is faith -in you. When you know what these little schemes are of which I have -spoken as being in my head, you'll see that it isn't trust I'm asking -for; that what I propose is merely a matter of plain and open dealing, -in which no question of trust or mistrust can arise on either side. -Once more, is it a deal? Are you going back to carrying sandwich-boards -in the Strand at a shilling a day in weather like this; with the -certainty of there being certain intervals in which you'll be even -without a sandwich-board; or are you willing to get something out of -the world in return for what it's done for you; to throw black care to -the dogs, and laugh with me? Which do you choose--the sty and the -swine, cold, hunger and misery; or as good a time as ever a gentleman -had? England was made by freebooters; I'm suggesting that you should be -a freebooter up to date. As things are, a man can choose no other life -which gives much promise of adventure." - -There was silence; although she waited for him to speak, the silence -remained unbroken. Presently he turned, and looked through the window -at the snow which had begun to fall fast, and was being driven here and -there by the shrieking wind; then he turned again, and looked at her -and at the fire. He still said nothing; but he shivered; and she said: - -"I see that you have chosen." - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - In the Wood - - -"I Don't think I need tell you that this is a very severe blow to -me; it almost knocks me out, but not quite; there's some fight still -left in me. There's one thing which I should take it as a very great -favour if you would tell me; have you said--what you have done, -because--there's someone else? I know I've no right to ask such a -question, but--I can't help it." - -Major Harold Reith looked as if he could not; a more woe-begone looking -gentleman of six-feet-two one could hardly expect to find. The most -absurd part of it was that he had been so very nearly confident. The -lady had been so kind--so very much kinder, perhaps, than he supposed, -but for that she had her reasons. Then her uncle, old Geoffrey -Hovenden, had been not only on his side but so delightfuly sanguine. -When the major expressed a doubt as to what the lady's sentiments might -be, Mr. Hovenden had pooh-poohed it. - -"Don't talk like a schoolboy, Reith; you know better than that; you -admit that the girl likes you--you can't expect to be told how much -till you give her a chance." - -Now he had given her a chance, and if he had not been told how much, -she had at least endeavoured to make it clear that it was not as much -as he wanted. Her answer to the question he had asked put an end to the -little remaining hope he had left. - -The proposal had been made in the wood. He had gone for a stroll with -her with the intention of finding an opportunity to ask her to be his -wife; being conceivably quite aware of his intentions, she had given -him one. It was the commencement of April. Spring promised to be early -that year. The wood was carpeted with primroses. She had been picking -them as they walked, and was arranging her nosegay as she talked. - -"Of course, on the face of it, no one has a right to ask a girl such a -question; she might be consumed by a secret passion which was not -reciprocated, which she knew never would be, and yet which she was -aware would render it impossible that she should ever listen to -another; by another I mean, for instance, you." - -"Is yours a case of a secret passion?" She had dropped some of her -primroses; he stooped to pick them up for her; a great bunch of them -she had, almost as large as her two hands would hold. - -"Thanks; no, I can't say that mine is; yet all the same--I've a -fellow-feeling for you." - -"That's very good of you; but in what sense have you what you call a -fellow-feeling, and to what extent does it go?" - -"It goes all the way. There go some of these primroses again; they are -such droppy things." - -"If you really mean what you say then I am a very happy man." - -"You may be or you mayn't; happiness is often largely a question of -temperament. For example, I ought to be a very unhappy girl, but I'm -not; somehow unhappiness doesn't seem to come easy to me." - -"You are very fortunate; what cause have you for unhappiness? I should -have thought that there were few people who had less. Has it anything -to do with the imagination?" - -"There's only one thing I want in this world, and it looks as if I were -as little likely to get it as if it were the moon; you may call that -imagination, but it's a fact." - -"And what may that one thing be?" - -"You were just now saying some pretty things about there being only one -thing you wanted, and that was the girl you loved, meaning me. I am in -the same delightfully romantic situation; there's only one thing I -want, and that's the man I love." - -A slight change took place in his face, as if a cloud had obscured the -sun. He looked at her in silence; it would have been hard to say which -was the prettier--she or the flowers. It was seen when he spoke that -the change had extended to his voice. - -"So there is someone?" - -"Oh dear, yes; there always has been, and there always will be." - -"Your uncle gave me to understand that the field was clear." - -"My uncle Geoffrey Hovenden is--I'm sorry to have to say it of a -relation of mine--a Machiavellian old gentleman. No one is better -acquainted with my piteous plight than he is; but because he wants you, -and wants me to want you, he says nothing about it. Do you mean to say -you don't know who it is?" - -"Do you suppose that if I had even guessed that there was another I -should have said what I have done?" - -"There's no telling; his own brother knew all about it, but that didn't -stop him." - -"Who is the lucky man?" - -"Lucky! Pray do let us keep clear of the language of exaggeration, but -I doubt if there is a more unlucky creature on the face of God's -earth." - -"You pique my curiosity; standing with you as he does I can hardly -conceive of him as unlucky. Do I know him?" - -"You did, if you don't now." - -"You speak in riddles, at which I was never any good." - -"Sydney Beaton." - -He seemed to start away from her. This time not only his face, but his -whole bearing, the entire man, seemed to change. - -"Miss Forster, are you in earnest?" - -His tone, his manner seemed all at once to have grown cold; he could -hardly have held his figure more stiffly erect. - -"And pray why shouldn't I be in earnest?" - -"You place me in a difficult position; what answer am I to give to -that?" - -"I know very well what you mean. No one knows better than I do that -Sydney is not all wisdom, but do you suppose a woman loves a man -because he is wise? Go to!" - -"I presume that there are qualities that a woman requires in a man." - -"What are they?" - -"Surely she looks for at least some of the primitive virtues, say, -common honesty, some sense of decency, and that kind of thing." - -"Well?" She paused as if for him to speak, but he was still. "Now how -am I going to tie these flowers together? I ought to have brought a -reel of cotton; as I haven't, you'll have to find me a nice long piece -of grass. Yes, I think that will do. Now, I'll hold the flowers if -you'll pass it round--so." - -While together they secured the primroses she went on. The exigencies -of the situation required that they should be very close together; her -nearness so affected him that he found it difficult to comment upon her -words as frankly as he might otherwise have done, which was a fact of -which she was possibly aware. - -"I know very well all about his having been supposed to have cheated at -cards; but I also know him much too well to believe for a single -instant that he ever did it; he couldn't, not Sydney Beaton." - -"Then--forgive my saying so--why did he run away?" - -"Oh, I'll forgive you anything; I want you to say just what is in your -mind; that's what I brought you here for. You brought me here to -propose; and I brought you because I wanted you to tell me things which -I could never find out from anybody else; you've done what you wanted, -so now it's my turn." - -"It's beginning to occur to me that your uncle is not the only -Machiavellian member of your family." - -"No? Perhaps not. I wish you'd pull that tighter--what big, strong -fingers you have got! Most of my information has been derived from what -I call tainted sources--from his brother, for instance. George Beaton -wants me to believe that his brother is an unutterable creature. He has -told me tales about him which have had quite a different effect to that -which he intended; it sometimes is like that when a man tells a girl -tales about another man. It seems to me that between you Sydney has -been very badly used indeed. His brother's behaviour has been -inconceivably bad, and so I took the liberty to tell him. And I'm -afraid you don't come out with flying colours." - -"What have I done? I am not conscious of having even mentioned his name -to you." - -"All those men against one; though I'll do you the justice to admit -that I think it's quite possible that you are ashamed of yourself." - -"I'm afraid I don't quite follow." Again his bearing had stiffened. - -"If you don't take care, all these primroses will fall, and then where -shall we be? That's better--tied at last. Thank you, Major Reith. -George Beaton told me all about the affair--how all you men set upon -one, and actually--according to Sir George--threw him out of the room. -I can't think whatever men can be made of, that you should still be -walking about with your heads in the air." - -"It's a subject, Miss Forster, which I'm afraid I can hardly discuss -with you; there are subjects which men do not discuss with women." - -"Is that so, Major Reith? And pray is that meant for a snub? That shows -the kind of treatment which I might expect to receive if I consented to -become your wife; because I'll have you know that this is a subject -that I mean a good many men to discuss with this woman, and, to begin -with, you're going to be one of them. What do you think I brought you -into the wood for? Didn't I tell you? Now you're in the witness box; if -you don't answer all the questions which are put to you I'll have you -committed for contempt of court. Sydney Beaton is alleged to have -cheated at cards; what is the exact act of which he is said to have -been guilty?" - -"He substituted one card for another." - -"Did you see him do it?" - -"No, but he was seen by others. The original accusation was made by -Anthony Dodwell--you know Dodwell?" - -"I know of him, Major Reith, and, thank you, that is quite enough. Was -Mr. Dodwell the only eyewitness?" - -"Draycott saw him also. Do you know Draycott?" - -"Mr. Noel Draycott? Oh, yes, I do know Mr. Noel Draycott. I daresay Mr. -Noel Draycott means well; I wish to speak ill of no one, but I've heard -him make some surprising statements, and I'm afraid I shouldn't believe -anything Mr. Noel Draycott said merely because he said it. Was he seen -to do this thing by anyone else?" - -"He was not actually seen." - -"What do you mean by that, Major Reith? Either he was, or he was not, -seen; surely in such a juxtaposition the word 'actually' is out of -place. Explain yourself; don't convey to my mind the impression that -you also are prejudiced." - -"I assure you that, so far as I am concerned, it is all the other way. -I should be only too glad to believe him innocent, but--Miss Forster, -it's a tall order." - -"Tell me exactly why; has he ever been suspected of such practices -before?" - -"Never. God forbid! To some extent I am inclined to excuse him as it -is; he had been drinking too much. I think that had as much to do with -it as anything." - -"My dear Major Reith, that is not an excuse, but an aggravation. I have -seen it written somewhere that when a man is drunk his real character -is seen, because he is no longer able to hide it. If what you suggest -is correct, then--Sydney Beaton must be past praying for. But it is -incorrect. I am convinced that Sydney Beaton, drunk or sober, is a man -of honour; else I could not love him as I do." - -"But what has become of him? Do you know?" - -"I do not, but I'm going to find out; so now you see why I ought to be -unhappy. All these months I've been wondering where he was--waiting, -longing, hoping to hear. Every post I thought would bring me news; -every time that there was a telegram my heart beat a little faster. I -made inquiries in my own way, but I've found nothing. All I know is -that one night his brother officers attacked him--about twelve men to -one. I have the charity to suppose that they were in a condition in -which they did not know what they were doing. Sydney was always apt to -do things first and think afterwards. I don't wonder that such -treatment caused him to lose his head; I should have wondered if it -hadn't. I can understand why he hasn't communicated with me; I know my -Quixote. But now that all these months have gone, and there's still no -news, I'm getting anxious." - -"I don't wonder. Has absolutely nothing been heard of him, by anyone, -by his brother?" - -"Sir George Beaton would be the last to hear, if Sydney could help it. -You can be trusted to keep a secret?" - -"Where you are concerned I certainly can." - -"I have been a bone of contention between those two brothers since -ever. George, being the head of the family, is of opinion that he has -the first claim on me; as I think otherwise, he shows what seems to me -to be the most unfraternal eagerness to think the very worst of Sydney. -And that seems to be the case with everyone. You all, when you come to -look into the matter, seem to have discreditable reasons of your own -for pretending to think ill of him." - -"Am I included among that 'all'?" - -"No, it happens that you're not, and that's why I'm talking to you now. -I'm going to look for Sydney; I'm going to leave no stone unturned to -find out where he is. I'm getting tired of waiting; and, while I'm -looking, I'm going to find out the truth of what took place on that -disgraceful night. You're going to tell me all you know; I'm sure that -will be the truth as far as it goes, but I'm afraid it won't go far -enough. I shall have to go to other sources to get at all I want, and -that is what I am presently going to do." - -"How do you propose to set about it?" - -"I have a friend--a very, very dear friend. You know Lady Cantyre?" - -"Who doesn't? Saving your presence, is there anyone better worth -knowing?" - -"Saving nothing, there isn't; and she's my very, very dear friend. She -knows the pickle I'm in and she's going to help me; this is between -ourselves, mind. I want to get at Mr. Noel Draycott under circumstances -in which he will find it hard to get away. She has asked him down to -Avonham, and I shall be there to meet him; before we part I shall find -out a great deal more about what Mr. Noel Draycott really did see, as -well as about other things, than he in the least anticipates." - -"I can quite believe it; when a man like Draycott is concerned, I -should imagine that you could turn him inside out like an old glove." - -"I don't know about the old glove, but I do mean to do something like -turn him inside out, and the process is going to begin next week. -Sydney has been too long under a cloud which was none of his making; I -am going to bring him out from under it into the sun. I am going to do -it single-handed; and it's because I am so sure that I shall do it that -I cannot be unhappy. Major Reith, I talk like a braggart of doing it -all single-handed; but all the same I am conscious that occasion may -arrive when I shall require some assistance; if I do, will you give -it?" - -"I will give you, very gladly, all the assistance which, in such a -position, a man may give to a woman." - -"Then--that's all right. Thank you, Major Reith." - -In her left hand she had the bunch of primroses, which she held close -to her face; her right she held out to him. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - "What Does it Mean?" - - -The night of the Easter Ball--the event of the year at Avonham. - -The Countess of Cantyre, on her way to the scene of action, looked in -on Miss Violet Forster. That young lady, apparently already fully -equipped, seated in an arm-chair, was studying what seemed to be a -small memorandum book. She looked up as the Countess entered. Her -ladyship came well into the centre of the room, drew herself to her -full height, which was less than she would have liked it to be, and -slowly revolved in a complete circle, by way of exhibiting her plumes -for the lady's inspection. When she had made an end, she prompted the -criticism which did not come. - -"Well?" - -"Excellent." - -"You think I shall do?" - -"Margaret, you're a dream of delight." - -"You really think so? You like the dress? I was afraid there was a -little too much on the bodice." - -"There is nothing anywhere which could be altered in the slightest -degree for the better; the gown and the wearer are perfectly matched: -they are both lovely." - -Her ladyship dropped a curtsy. - -"Thank you, that's just what I wanted you to say. Now you stand up, and -I'll give you my candid opinion." - -"Very much obliged, but I'm not sure that I want it; I'm not the -Countess of Cantyre. Who cares what I look like?" - -"You little humbug! It's only your conceit; it's simply that you take -it for granted that you always look your best, which couldn't be -improved." Her ladyship was arranging the drapery of her skirt as she -glanced in the mirror. "What have you got out of Noel Draycott?" - -"Nothing, as yet. I haven't tried; but I shall. I mean to drop a bomb -at his feet at the moment he least expects it." - -"If it's to be to-night, don't let it go off with too loud a bang. I -don't know if I told you that the whole regiment has decided to come. -They telegraphed this afternoon that they would all be able to get off, -as I understand, to a man. You'll have a chance of dropping a bombshell -at the feet of every one of them." - -"I should like to. Every time I look at Mr. Noel Draycott I feel--I -can't tell you what I feel." - -"Any news of the absentee?" - -"None; but I'm beginning to dream of him again." - -"You'd better be careful what you have for dinner; eat nothing for at -least three hours before you go to bed." - -"Last night I dreamt that he was starving; and to save himself from -starving he was doing something so awful that it woke me up, and I lay -wide awake, trembling with terror." - -"You poor child! You may congratulate yourself that it was a dream. Are -you coming? I must be off." - -"I'll follow in a minute or two; don't you wait for me." - -Left alone, the girl tried to resume her study of the small volume she -was holding; but the effort seemed in vain. Her eyes refused to be -fixed upon the page; they stared into vacancy at something which was -not there. She rose; placing the little book in a leather case which -stood upon the dressing-table, she pressed down the lid, which shut -with a spring. - -"It's very odd, but I seem to feel that something is going to happen -to-night; I wonder what it is?" - -There was a tapping at the door; a maid came in. She advanced towards -the girl with something held out in her hand. - -"Excuse me, Miss Forster, but is this yours?" - -It was a locket, attached to a slender gold chain. The girl looked -round quickly; she made as if to open the box she had just now shut. -Then she said: - -"I don't think it can be mine, but it resembles one I have; please let -me look at it." - -She took the locket and examined it closely. As she did so her face -changed, as if something had startled her. She looked at the maid, with -in her eyes what might almost have been a look of fear. Then, turning -her back, as if to hide the agitation which she could not help but -feel, she touched a spring; the locket came open. At the sight of what -was within she broke into a sudden exclamation; she swung right round -again. There was no doubt that something had startled her now; the -blood had come into her cheeks, her eyes were wide open, she trembled. - -"Where did you get this?" she cried. - -"If you please, miss, I found it on the floor outside your room. I was -coming along and I saw it lying there, and it was so close to your door -that I thought you might have dropped it." - -"When was this? When did you see it there?" - -"A moment ago, miss; as soon as I had picked it up, I knocked at your -door." - -"But it's inconceivable, incredible! It certainly wasn't there just now -when Lady Cantyre went out." - -"That I can't say, miss; I didn't see her ladyship." - -"But if it had been there she would have seen it." The girl moved a -step closer. "Who are you?" - -The maid seemed as if she did not know what to make of Miss Forster's -manner, which was peculiar; so peculiar that it might almost have been -described as threatening. - -"Me, miss? I'm Simmons." - -Miss Forster was silent, not, it would seem, because she had nothing to -say, but because she had so much that she didn't know how to say it. -All at once she moved towards the door of the room. - -"Come here; now show me, please, exactly where you found this locket, -the very spot." - -Opening the door, she allowed the maid to precede her into the passage. -As if, as was only natural, disconcerted by the young lady's manner, -the maid did what was required. She pointed to the floor. - -"I can't, of course, miss, say which was the exact spot--nobody could; -but I should say, as near as possible, it was just there." - -"Then Lady Cantyre must have seen it as she went out; if she had she -would have brought it to me; she would have done something." - -"As to that, miss, I cannot speak." - -"You say that your name is Simmons?" - -"Yes, miss, Jane Simmons." - -"Have you been here long?" - -"No, miss; I'm one of the new servants who came in just before Easter -when the family returned from town." - -"What made you think that the locket had anything to do with me?" - -"I didn't, miss. I didn't think anything at all about it; there was the -locket and there was your door. I thought that someone who was the -other side of the door might have something to do with the locket. I -didn't know that you were in your room, miss; I thought that you might -have dropped it going out." - -"There's something about this that I don't understand; but, for the -present, that will do. I may have some questions to put to you later, -Jane Simmons. You can go; when I've spoken to Lady Cantyre, you will -probably hear from me again." - -Violet Forster, back in her room, stared at the locket as if it were -some strange, terrible mystery; which to her, in a sense, it was. - -"My locket; the one I gave him; the double of the one he gave me." - -Unlocking the leather case which stood upon the dressing-table--from -what was perhaps intended to be a secret receptacle at the bottom, she -took a locket which was attached to a slender gold chain, comparing it -with the one the maid had brought. - -"It's my locket--there are my initials--my portrait inside; they are a -pair--only I'm in one and he's in the other. He told me that mine -should never leave him; that if it wasn't about his neck, it would -always be somewhere about his person; how came it to be there, where -that woman said it was? Is this the something which I felt was going to -happen? What does it mean? Is it a message? From whom?--from him? I -feel--I feel--Sydney, where are you?" - -She swung suddenly round, gazing round the brightly lighted room with -startled, staring eyes, as if she did not know for what she was -looking. Then she caught sight of something which was lying on the -floor almost at her feet. - -"What's that?" She picked it up. "Where did that come from? Surely it -was not there just now; what--what does it all mean?" - -It was an envelope which she had picked up from the carpet; she was -holding it gingerly between her finger and thumb as if it were some -dangerous thing. - -"What's written on it? 'Sydney Beaton's card'--what! There's something -inside it." Tearing it open, she took out what it contained. "It's a -playing-card, the ace of clubs. What does it mean?" - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - The Alcove - - -The ball was a great success, it was generally admitted. Miss Forster -could have danced each number on the programme with half a dozen -different partners if she had chosen. She danced with Mr. Noel -Draycott; when it came to sitting out, he found her manner a little -disconcerting. He was of the fatuous type of young man, a better dancer -than conversationalist. He had a sort of cut-and-dried routine on such -occasions, saying the same things, as much as possible, to each of his -partners in turn. New ideas would not come to him quickly, especially -when he was talking to women; if they would not keep to the subject -which he felt was appropriate to the occasion, he preferred not to talk -at all. - -Miss Forster treated him in that respect quite badly. When he tried to -make one of his orthodox remarks, which were meant to be compliments, -she ignored him utterly. She not only said things which worried him--to -him it always was a labour to find an answer to a remark that was -unexpected--she asked him questions which puzzled him still more, -questions which he felt that she had no right to ask; particularly of a -man in the middle of a dance. - -When he had quitted her, before seeking his next partner, he unburdened -himself to his friend, Anthony Dodwell. - -"She's a top-hole dancer, Miss Forster, and as pretty as paint, but -when it comes to asking a man if he likes liars I draw the line." - -"Did she ask you if you liked liars?" - -"She asked me much worse things than that. She was just asking me, when -I hooked it, what I thought was the most shameful way in which a man -could treat a friend. If I hadn't hooked it, I don't know what she -wouldn't have asked me next; she's taken the stiffening out of my -collar, talking to a man like that, between a two-step and a waltz." - -When his friend had left him, Dodwell advanced to the lady of whom they -had been speaking. - -"May I have the pleasure of a dance, Miss Forster?" - -She had her hand on the arm of the partner who was about to bear her -off; looking Captain Dodwell up and down in a fashion which, to say the -least, was marked, she said, in a tone of voice which was clearly -audible to those around: - -"In any case, Captain Dodwell, you would have been too late." She -looked him straight in the face, then she turned to her partner. "Will -you please take me away?" - -It was not strange that, as the pair moved off, Anthony Dodwell did not -look happy; if she had flicked a whip in his face her intention could -hardly have been plainer. He was conscious that while there were smiles -on some of the faces about him, and while some observed him with -curious eyes, there were others who kept their eyes carefully averted. -On the whole, he carried the thing off uncommonly well. He strolled -away, and presently was dancing with a lady whose charms were not so -obvious as they possibly once had been. While he danced he was saying -things to himself which would have surprised his partner if she could -have heard them. - -"What the devil did the little cat mean by that? What have I ever done -to her? I swear I've done nothing. I expect that the tale is being told -all round the room at this moment; people will be taking it for granted -that I've behaved to her like--God alone knows what. I'll have an -explanation from her before the night's out--and an apology. I should -like to force her down upon her knees before everybody who heard her, -the little----" - -He left the sentence unfinished, even though he was only speaking to -himself; as if he could not find words which would give adequate -expression to his feelings. His partner asked him a question, he -answered it; but even while he was speaking, as he steered her round -the room, he was thinking of Violet Forster. - -A little later Miss Forster was dancing with another of his brother -officers, Mr. John Tickell, better known as Jackie. Mr. Tickell was not -only still a subaltern, he was a junior subaltern; it was his habit to -mention the fact, with an air of grievance, to persons of the feminine -sex, after a very brief acquaintance, if they showed signs of being -sympathetic. As he was quite a nice boy, and not bad-looking, as he -would himself have expressed it, when he "struck" a girl, nine times -out of ten, he found her as sympathetic as he could possibly have -desired. He had made Miss Forster's acquaintance for the first time -that night; had booked a dance with her with the brightest hopes, which -were destined to be blighted. There was no mistake about her dancing, -their steps went perfectly together; it was in other directions that -disappointment came. He led her, when the music ceased, to a spot on -which he had had his mind's eye all along. In the passage outside the -ballroom there was an alcove, quite a small one; it was screened by a -palm in a wooden tub, a sensible-sized palm, with plenty of leaves, -which really did do service as a screen. Behind this palm there were -chairs, two chairs; no more. Any two persons who sat on them would be -in the midst of the crowd; there was a perpetual procession up and down -the corridor; and yet as much alone as the most sensitive young man who -was in need of sympathy could possibly desire. Mr. Tickell made -straight for that alcove, rather hurrying the lady. - -"I know a first-rate place for sitting out, if only someone isn't there -before us." - -No one was; they placed themselves in the two chairs. Mr. Tickell gave -a little sigh of satisfaction; the young woman beside him was -distinctly a find--as he would himself have phrased it, "a ripping -dancer, awfully well turned out, and a dazzler to look at." He had no -doubt that he was in for an extremely good time, and therein showed -that the prophetic eye was certainly not his, because he had been there -only a very few minutes before he began very ardently to wish that that -alcove had been occupied by a dozen, or even twenty, people, instead of -being left invitingly open for him. - -"Are you fond of dancing?" - -He also had his methods of commencing such conversations; this was one -of his stereotyped openings; he liked to lead up to the sympathetic -point by routes with which he was acquainted. - -"Don't I dance as if I were--is that what you mean?" - -This was not at all the sort of answer he had expected; from his point -of view, it was not playing the game. While he was still floundering -about for a suitable answer, she put a question to him on her own -account. - -"What are you fond of?" - -He would have liked to say that he was fond of her. He had had partners -to whom he would have said it without the slightest hesitation; but -somehow he felt that this was a partner with whom the remark might not -have the success it deserved; and before he spoke she again went on. - -"Are you fond of gambling?" - -"Gambling?" He stared at her with startled eyes, it seemed to him to be -such a singular question to have hurled at him. - -"I mean, for instance, are you fond of poker?" Again she went on before -he could speak, taking an answer for granted in a fashion which he -found a trifle disconcerting. "But, of course, I know you are; I have -heard of some of your performances at poker." - -He really did not like her tone at all; there was something in it which -made him conscious of a vague discomfort. What could the girl be -driving at? - -"Particularly I've heard of one." - -She said it while she was glancing at him over the top of her fan, -which she was opening and shutting. - -"Which one?" - -"Weren't you playing some months ago when one of your brother officers -was accused of cheating?" - -Small wonder if his eyes seemed to grow rounder, the bad taste of such -a remark! To say nothing of its unexpectedness. - -"Really, I don't know to what you refer." - -"Oh yes, you do. You know perfectly well; if you don't, I'll explain." - -"Thank you very much, but if you don't mind, I'll take you back to the -ballroom; there's someone whom I've just thought I ought to be behaving -nicely to." - -"You'll behave as nicely as you can to me before you try your practised -hand on anybody else. You've presence of mind, Mr. Tickell, but it -won't do. You sit still until I let you go." - -Except by violence, he could hardly have got away; he saw now why she -had expressly directed him to take the farther chair. He could scarcely -get out of the alcove without passing her; he did not see how he could -do it if she did not choose to let him. - -"At the game of poker to which I wish to call your attention, right at -the close, you were betting against Mr. Sydney Beaton." - -"If you don't mind, I'd much rather not talk about it; I don't -know how you came to know anything about it, but you'll understand -that it's rather a painful subject to me. What do you think of the -floor--first-rate, isn't it?" - -If he hoped to get her to confine her conversation to what he regarded -as proper topics, his hope was doomed to disappointment, as she at once -made plain. - -"There was a good bit of money in the pool, at the point on which I -wish to refresh your memory--over a thousand pounds, I've been given to -understand, at the moment when Mr. Beaton covered your raise--you had a -straight, king high; Mr. Beaton had a full, three aces and a pair of -knaves, a much better hand than yours, and yet, I'm told, you claimed -the pool." - -"Then you've been misinformed. Excuse me, Miss Forster, I don't know -what all this has to do with you." - -"It has a very great deal to do with me. You claimed the pool----" - -"I did not claim the pool; really, Miss Forster, I don't think this is -the sort of thing to talk about at a dance." - -"You took the pool, you conveyed its contents to your pockets." - -"It was adjudged to be mine. But with all possible apologies, Miss -Forster, I must decline to discuss the subject with you, especially at -such a moment as this. May I take you back to the ballroom?" - -He stood up, his face a little flushed; if he thought that she would be -overawed by his air of determination, he was mistaken. She also stood -up, in such a way that without an actual tussle it would have been -impossible for him to escape--that well-screened alcove had its -drawbacks. - -"You will not leave me, Mr. Tickell, till you have given me certain -explanations which I am about to require from you. Sit down." - -Nothing could have been more dictatorial than her manner, or more -uncalled for; his visage sufficiently expressed the amazement he felt. - -"Miss Forster!" - -"You have done me a very serious injury, Mr. Tickell, a wrong which no -man with any pretensions to decency would do any woman; if you decline -to sit down, if you try to leave this place, there'll be a scandal, -because I shall follow you into the ballroom, and wring an explanation -from you there. I am not friendless; I will take care that you don't -leave this house till I have it." - -The young gentleman sat down, with every appearance of the most extreme -discomfiture. His words came from stammering lips. - -"I--I--I never heard such a thing in my life; I--I've done you a wrong? -Why, Miss Forster, I never met you before. Of course, I've heard of -you, everybody has; as--as to doing you a wrong, I'd no more think of -doing you a wrong than--than---- Whatever makes you think I have?" - -She resumed her seat beside him with an air that was much more -commanding than he had ever seen worn by his colonel. - -"Be so good as to answer the question which I put to you just now, Mr. -Tickell: why did you convey to your own pockets the contents of the -pool which properly belonged to Mr. Beaton, since he had won it?" - -"I do not know why you are talking to me like this, Miss Forster--I -give you my word I don't--but if you know so much you must know the -chaps said he cheated." - -"What chaps?" - -"All the chaps." - -"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Tickell, on your honour, that all the men -who were present in the room accused Mr. Beaton of cheating?" - -"That's what it amounts to, but, of course, it began with Dodwell." - -"I am perfectly aware that Captain Dodwell made a certain statement for -which Mr. Beaton was only kept from knocking him down by the rest of -you--brave men! What I want to know is if you were all in the -conspiracy. Did you yourself see, with your own eyes, Mr. Beaton -cheat?" - -"I can't say that I did." - -"You were watching him the whole time?" - -"I suppose I was." - -"Did you see anything in the least suspicious about anything he did?" - -"I'm bound to say I didn't, at least, not to notice it." - -"Had you any suspicions of him?" - -"Not the faintest shadow of one, we were chums; I would as soon have -suspected myself." - -"So, except for what Captain Dodwell said, which was, after a fashion, -corroborated by Mr. Noel Draycott, you had no reason to suppose that -Mr. Beaton had been guilty of the slightest irregularity?" - -"I suppose I hadn't, if you look at it like that." - -"You would unhesitatingly have handed the pool to Mr. Beaton, without -even the slightest feeling of having been ill-used?" - -"Of course I would; he had won it; his hand was better than mine." - -"He denied having done what Captain Dodwell stated?" - -"Rather; as you said, he wanted to knock him down; he was as mad as a -hatter." - -"Would you have behaved with perfect calmness in the face of Captain -Dodwell's hideous accusation?" - -"I don't expect I should, especially as we were all of us pretty warm -to begin with." - -"Would you want to knock a man down who said that kind of thing of -you?" - -"You bet, I should want to kill him." - -"Because Mr. Beaton felt exactly as you would have done, his brother -officers, chivalrous creatures, threw him out of the room--you assisted -them?" - -"Upon my word, I hardly know what I did do, it was a regular -rough-and-tumble; Beaton fought like ten wild cats. I daresay I did -bear a hand." - -"Oh, you dare say? I congratulate you, Mr. Tickell, on the courageous -assistance you lent your brother officers; was it twelve or twenty -against one? They could scarcely have done without you. Cowards! And -having assisted your friends in getting rid of the rightful claimant, -you had no scruple in placing Mr. Beaton's money in your pocket, and, I -presume, paying with it some of the more pressing debts which I -understand you owed?" - -The young gentleman winced, the lady's thrust had gone home. - -"That's all I want from you, Mr. Tickell; I am obliged to you for the -confession you have made. I advise you to consider your position, and -to ask yourself, when you are dancing with your next partner, if a -person who has behaved as you have done is entitled to show his face in -such a house as this. Mr. Beaton cheated no one; he is incapable of -such conduct as yours; you cheated him, having first joined yourself -with some twelve or twenty of your friends to get him out of the way. -Think over what I have said to you, Mr. Tickell, instead of whispering -soft nothings to your partners, and remember that I shall be watching. -Now you may go." - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - "Who is Simmons?" - - -Miss Forster was strolling by herself along the corridor; she had -declined to permit Mr. Tickell to accompany her, and the youth had -seemed glad enough to get away. She examined her programme; she had it -in her mind to cut the next dance, not from one of the reasons which -usually prompt that nefarious course of action, but because she had a -strong feeling that for a few minutes she would like to be alone. She -passed into the conservatory through a door which was at the end of the -corridor. The music for the next dance had already commenced; the -sitters-out, to whom the conservatory is a haven much to be desired, -had gone. She moved to a couch which was flanked on either side by -towering ferns. She had just sat down and was congratulating herself -upon the prospect of remaining, for at least a brief period, -undisturbed, when a voice addressed her. - -"I am fortunate, Miss Forster, in finding you alone." - -The speaker was Captain Anthony Dodwell. She said nothing, but, rising, -made as if to go away. He treated her as she had just treated Mr. -Tickell; he interposed himself so as to render it difficult for her to -pass. - -"Pardon me, Miss Forster, but, as you are aware, there is an -explanation which you owe me, and which you will be so good as to let -me have before you go." - -"Stand aside, sir." - -"A short time ago you more than suggested that I was not the kind of -person with whom you cared to dance--with whom, indeed, any decent -woman would care to dance. You did this publicly, in such a way that -your treatment of me is, at this moment, a common topic of conversation -in the ballroom. What explanation have you to give?" - -"None; you are not the kind of person with whom any decent woman would -care to dance, or talk. Are you going to stand on one side, or am I to -call for assistance?" - -"What grounds have you for what you just now said--what have I ever -done to you that you should say it?" - -"Captain Dodwell--it seems incredible, but I believe you still do hold -that rank in the King's service--you are a liar, a coward, and, I -believe, a thief. That you are not, in any sense, an honest man, is -certain; to what extent your dishonesty goes, you know better than I -do, though I hope to make the thing quite clear before very long. Do -you really imagine that an explanation is required as to why a decent -woman is unwilling to dance, to talk, or to be associated in any way -whatever, with a person of that kind?" - -"You are taking advantage of your being a woman, Miss Forster; can you -give me the name of any man who will be willing to be associated with -you in what you just now said?" - -"On an infamous occasion, Captain Dodwell, you found one man, Mr. Noel -Draycott, who, for reasons of his own, was so base as to be willing to -be associated with a foul lie which you uttered; but before very long I -confidently hope that every man who was then present will be associated -with me against you. Will you let me pass, or would you prefer that I -should repeat what I have just now said in the presence of the dancers -who are now leaving the ballroom?" - -He let her pass. The music had ceased, couples were streaming in; among -the first was Lady Cantyre on the arm of her attendant cavalier. At -sight of the girl she started. - -"Haven't you been dancing?" She glanced towards Dodwell, whose attitude -scarcely suggested riotous enjoyment. As her eye caught Violet's she -seemed to have a glimmer of understanding. She turned to her partner. -"That was a perfect dance she's missed, wasn't it?" Then, to Violet, -"And, by the way, I think I heard a certain gentleman inquiring for -you--with an air!" - -Miss Forster danced through the rest of the programme--no other of her -partners had occasion to complain of her in any way whatever. Her -demeanour could not have been more orthodox; she behaved just as a -young woman ought to who is having a first-rate time at a delightful -ball. During the dances and in that more critical period between them, -she was all that her partners could possibly have desired; lucky men! -No one, to look at her, or to listen to her, would have guessed that -anything had happened to crumple a single rose leaf, to mar in the -least degree her night's enjoyment. - -Only when dancing with one partner was a word said which was not, -perhaps, altogether in keeping with the spirit of the hour. The partner -was Major Reith, and, in the beginning, the words came from him. That -scene in the woods, far from weakening, had rather strengthened their -friendship. He was years older than she; what had passed between them -on that occasion seemed to have produced in him the attitude, say, of -an uncle, who was on the best terms with his niece. He said the word, -after the dance was over, when they had settled themselves on chairs -which were in full view of the whole assembly; there was evidently no -thought of the privacy of the alcove for them. - -"What's this I hear you've been saying to Anthony Dodwell and to Jackie -Tickell?" - -"How can I tell what you hear behind my back?" - -"Exactly; how can you? And you can't guess either?" - -"Did I ever pretend to be any good at guessing?" - -"It seems that you said something to Dodwell, when he asked you for a -dance, which has set people's tongues wagging; you alone know what you -said to Jackie, but he's going about with a face as black as his -shoes." - -"My dear Major Reith, I understand that you are sleeping here to-night. -If you ask me in the morning for information, I will give you all I -can; but, while I may remark that I have said to both the persons you -name only a little of what I propose to say, I would rather not tell -you what I have said now. This is a ball; I want that to be the only -fact in my mind for the remainder of the night." - -"One more question and it shall. Have you heard anything of Beaton?" - -"I haven't; but I may have. Something has happened that I don't -understand, which puzzles me; but ask me about that also in the -morning. As Mr. Tickell said when he wished to change the conversation, -isn't it a capital floor?" - -The major took the hint, which was more than she had done. The rest of -the conversation was more in harmony with the moment; that is, they -talked of nothing in which either took the slightest real interest. - -The ball had come to the end to which all balls come at last, and Miss -Forster, having retired to her room, had gone through, with her maid's -assistance, the preliminary stages of unrobing, when, Lady Cantyre -entering, she informed the maid that her services would no longer be -required--and the friends were left alone. The countess, who was -attired in a mysterious garment of sky-blue silk, which became her, if -the thing were possible, even more than the dress which she had worn at -the ball, had placed herself in an arm-chair, and was toasting her toes -at the fire. - -"Violet, I'm told that you've been going it." - -"Haven't we all been going it?" - -"Yes, but not quite, I hope, on the same lines as you. You practically, -it seems, treated Captain Dodwell to a whipping in the middle of the -ballroom. That is not exactly the sort of treatment that one expects -one guest to mete out to another." - -"Margaret, I am more than ever convinced that Sydney Beaton has been -the victim of a conspiracy. Something which was on Captain Dodwell's -face during the brief interview I had with him, which he forced on me, -made me absolutely certain that, for some purpose of his own, which I -intend to get at the bottom of very soon, he was guilty of a deliberate -falsehood on that horrible night; that he's a liar and a coward, as I -had the pleasure of telling him." - -"Oh, you did. No wonder that I had a feeling that he looked as if he -had not altogether enjoyed the night. That was not a pretty thing for -you to say. Vi, take care; be very sure of what you do. Things, from -your point of view, are pretty bad already, you don't want to make them -worse." - -"I'm not going to make them worse--I couldn't. Margaret, something has -happened to Sydney--something dreadful; something which I don't -understand. Look at this. Do you know anything about it?" - -She handed the countess something which she had taken out of the -leather case upon the table. - -"Isn't it your locket, the one he gave you, with his picture? Why do -you ask if I know anything about it?" - -"It's the one I gave him. You remember that you came to see me before -you went downstairs; when you went out, did you see anything lying on -the floor just outside my room?" - -"Not that I'm aware of. Why?" - -"Did you see that locket?" - -"I certainly didn't; why am I being cross-examined?" - -"Do you know anything about a maid in your employ named Simmons?" - -"I don't; is there such an one?" - -"Almost directly after you had gone a maid, who said that her name was -Simmons, came into the room with that locket in her hand, and said that -she'd picked it up off the floor just outside my room. Margaret, how -could that locket have got there?" - -"I don't believe it was there when I went out; I remember, quite well, -looking up and down to see who was about. I could hardly have helped -seeing it if it was there. But what's the mystery?" - -"When we became engaged, we gave each other a locket; here's the one he -gave me, that's the one I gave him; he said that it should never leave -him. The last time I saw him--you know, I told you all about it--I -showed him my locket, where it was; he put his finger inside his -collar, he hooked up that chain, and on it was that locket; he declared -it had never left him since he had had it, and that it never should. I -am quite sure that he took it away with him that night; how came it to -be on the floor outside my door?" - -"It does seem odd." - -"I should say it's as certain as anything could be, that that -locket has been with him all the time he's been away. As you know, -I've had no communication with him of any sort or kind, in spite -of all my efforts; I've not had the faintest clue to his whereabouts. -Isn't it an extraordinary thing that that locket--from which he was -inseparable--should be picked up on the floor just outside my room by a -complete stranger, especially as it couldn't have been there before she -came on the scene, or you'd have noticed it?" - -"Simmons? I don't remember the name; and I rather pride myself on the -fact that I do know the names of all the maids. Perhaps she came with -one of the other women." - -"No, she told me that she had been here only a few days, and that she -came with some other new servants last week from town. Margaret, I've a -feeling that that woman brought the locket with her; that she'd never -found it as she pretended, that she knows more about it than she chose -to say--the feeling was strong on me as she stood there with her -smiling face. This locket came into her possession in some queer way. I -saw it on her face, although she kept on smiling. If I hadn't been -going down to the dance, I'd have had it out of her." - -"Had what out of her?" - -"The truth! If you only knew how I feel that everything--everyone--is -against us; against me, and against Sydney; if you only knew what I've -had to bear at home, from uncle, and other ways--from myself. Sydney is -in some desperate plight; I'm as convinced of it as if he himself had -told me. If I could only get at him to help him! But I can't! I can't! -I don't know where he is! And now that woman brings me his locket, from -which I'm perfectly certain he would not allow himself to be parted -unless he were at his last gasp--unless something worse than death -stared him in the face. I do believe he'd stick to it--yes, Margaret, I -mean it. I know Sydney, as no one else does, as no one else can; he has -his faults--no one need tell me that, but I know he loves me, and that, -having said what he did say about that locket, he'd stand to his word -while the breath was in his body, unless--mind!--unless some awful -thing has befallen him, and that's what I'm afraid of. You may laugh, -but there's something here"--the girl pressed her hands to her -side--"which tells me--if you only knew how afraid I am--oh, Margaret, -if you only knew!" - -The girl sank on to her knees at the countess's side, she hid her face -on her ladyship's silken lap--and she cried. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - 'Twixt the Dark and Daylight - - -The night had gone, the morning was well advanced, the day would soon -break, the countess had long since gone, and still Miss Forster had not -gone to bed. There was something which kept her from placing herself -between the sheets; and now that at last she was beginning to have -thoughts in that direction, something occurred which banished sleep -still farther from her eyes. - -She was just about to remove her dressing-gown, and really make herself -ready for bed, when the silence of the night was broken by a sound. - -"What was that? Wasn't it in my passage?" - -She stood in an attitude of listening. - -"There it is again. Isn't it just outside my door? I wonder if there's -anyone there at this hour of the morning? I believe there is." - -Altering her intention, she suffered her dressing-gown to remain where -it was. Rapidly crossing the room, she stood close up to the door and -listened. - -"There is someone. Who can it be, at this hour of the morning? Whoever -it is, is running away." - -She suddenly opened the door and looked out. There was no one there. -She went into the passage. Although the lights were out, she was still -able to make out dimly that a figure, but whether of a man or a woman -she could not be sure, was moving rapidly along the passage, to vanish -round the corner. - -"I wonder who that was?" - -She hesitated, returned into her room, and shut the door. - -"It might have been anyone. It certainly might not be any business of -mine; people can move about the house at any hour they please without -consulting me. What was that? It sounded as if someone was calling. -There it is again. And there is someone running past my door again. I'm -going to see what this means." - -Reopening the door, she returned into the passage. - -"There's someone running down the stairs as if in a very great hurry. -What's that? That's a queer noise. Someone calling again; someone -calling for help. There's something queer going on downstairs. Someone -is quarrelling. I'm going to find out what it is. I don't care if it is -no business of mine; people shouldn't make a noise like that at this -time of night. It's everybody's business when they do." - -She went a few steps down the darkened passage. When she got out of -range of the electric light shining through her open door, it was not -easy to find her way; she had to touch the wall with her outstretched -fingers and feel it. - -"I ought to have brought some matches, or something; the place is as -dark as pitch. Shall I go back and fetch them? Whatever was that? -There's a light downstairs; someone is still up. That's a man's voice. -I seem to know it. Whose can it be? I know it quite well. And that's -another man's voice. They're quarrelling. I believe they're fighting. -What are they doing? They're making noise enough. Surely, I'm not the -only person in the place who hears them--a noise like that; it sounds -as if they were fighting like two mad dogs." - -She had reached what she realised to be the head of the great -staircase. A faint light streamed in through the stained-glass window. -She hesitated; she might have been frightened by the noise that was -going on below. A strange sound was coming through the darkness, as if -furniture was being upset in all directions by persons who were chasing -each other round the room; then--surely they were blows. Then a voice -exclaimed, in a tone which suggested that the speaker, stricken with -sudden, dreadful fear, was fighting for his life. The words which, in -his agony, he uttered were destined to keep ringing in her ears: - -"Beaton! My God!" - -The sound of a blow, heavier than any of the others; the noise of a -heavy body falling to the ground, and bringing articles of furniture -down crashing with it. Silence, except for the light footsteps of the -girl who was flying down the staircase as if for life. Beaton!--that -was what he had said. Someone had called upon her lover's name in that -terrible voice. What did it mean? She was rushing down to see. As she -neared the bottom she caught her heel in her dressing-gown; striving to -disentangle it in her haste, in the darkness she missed her footing, -stumbled, went bungling to the foot of the staircase. Luckily, she had -only a short distance to fall, but it was far enough; the thing was so -unlooked for. She had fallen clumsily, heavily; the shock had nearly -stunned her. For some moments she lay in doubt as to what really had -befallen her; then, rising, not without difficulty, to her feet, she -found that she was trembling, that her whole frame seemed to ache, that -her right ankle pained her so that she could scarcely stand on it. - -But it was no time to consider her bruises, what had happened to her; -there was something else for her to do. She listened, but all was -still; there was no sound of voices, of struggling, of falling -furniture, or blows--no sound of anything. The silence, after what she -had heard, in itself was ominous. Something terrible had happened. - -She went limping across the hall, wincing each time her right foot -touched the ground. All sorts of unseen things were in her way. The -hall was used as a sitting-room; the household had its tea there. It -was crowded with all kinds of impedimenta; it was not easy, by mere -instinct, to find her way among them. She did not know until she had -come in sometimes painful contact with them that the things were there. -Presently she tripped, with her bad foot, over what doubtless was a -footstool; she would have gone headlong to the ground had not an -arm-chair saved her. It was an arm-chair; she was in doubt as to what -it was at first, but when she perched herself upon its friendly arm she -knew. She had been unable to keep back a cry of pain; the jerk to her -twisted ankle had sent a shock all over her, as if red-hot needles were -being driven into her limbs. - -How it hurt her as she sat there; it really was excruciating agony. The -foot was dangling in the air. How much worse it would be when, putting -it back upon the ground, she would have to use it to stand and walk -upon. She essayed a little experiment: putting it gingerly down, -resting her weight upon it as lightly as she could. She flattered -herself on her capacity to bear pain, but that was too much even for -her. A sound, which was half wail, half sob, came from between her -lips. - -She had a feeling as, back again upon the arm of the chair, with an -effort she held her breath, that someone had heard the cry which came -from her lips. She peered about her; it was impossible to make things -out, to see what was there and what wasn't. She might have been -surrounded by a dozen people without her eyes even hinting that a soul -was there. There was something which did her better service than her -eyes--perhaps it was her ears--some subtle sense which she would have -been unable to define. She felt sure that she had been overheard -by--she did not know by whom or by what--by someone, something. It -might have been a man, or a woman, or an animal--a dog. It could -scarcely have been the latter; it is not the canine habit to preserve -such silence when the sense of hearing is assailed. It was something -human. She was not alone; someone else was with her in the hall. - -She adopted the simplest way of finding out. She asked: - -"Who's there?" - -No answer. She had a feeling that her question had put the unseen -person on his--or her--guard; that someone had withdrawn farther from -her, and was awaiting a chance to effect a safe retreat. She was -persuaded that there had been a just audible movement, that someone had -been quite close to her, and had drawn away. While she waited, with -straining ears and bated breath, uncertain whether to speak again or -what to do--her foot was causing her such pain that walking was beyond -her strength--there came what was undoubtedly a sound of an -unmistakable kind. Someone had come hastening into the hall from the -direction of the suite of rooms which was on the other side, someone -who was pressed for time. Although he moved with a curious -noiselessness, as if his feet had been shod with velvet, she felt sure -that it was a man. She doubted if he was able to see any better than -she could; the fashion of his progress suggested it. He seemed to be -making for the side of the hall on which she was, and to be following -her example by coming into contact with most of the objects which he -met upon his way. She heard him mutter something beneath his breath -which might have been an oath. She was sure it was a man. Plainly he -was as blind as a bat; he was floundering closer and closer; he was -nearly on her, came into actual contact with the chair on which she was -perched. That was too much. She had to speak. - -"Who are you? Take care--oh!" - -This last was a cry of pain wrung from her much against her will. The -chair on which she was resting had received a sudden push; she was -precipitated forward, on to the bad foot. The result was anguish; her -feelings escaped her in spite of herself. Whoever had done it was -evidently as much taken by surprise as she was. There was a muttered, -distinctly masculine ejaculation. Then, as she continued to wail--there -can be few things more painful than a twisted ankle, and the pain of -that was really unendurable--all at once a light was shining in her -face. Her unintentional assailant was carrying a dark lantern; turning -the shutter, he flashed it on her. For a second or two the effect it -had on her was to make her blinder still; then the hand of the person -who was holding it swerved, a pencil of light passed across his face so -that she caught a glimpse of it--only one glimpse, but that was enough. - -"Sydney!" she cried. "My darling! Thank God, it's you." - -In the first wild rapture of the recognition she forgot everything--her -foot, the singularity of the fact that her lover should be there at -all; all she thought of was to reach him. Even while she was speaking -she moved quickly towards him. That same instant the light was -darkened, her foot gave way beneath her. As she sank to the floor she -was conscious that the bearer of the lantern, instead of sharing her -rapture, of coming to her assistance, of rushing to take her in his -arms, was retreating with so much expedition that things were being -overturned in all directions in his haste to get away. She had been -aware that, as he started back instead of forward, something had fallen -from his hand on to the seat of the chair on whose arm she had been -resting. He had not stopped to retrieve it, whatever it was. Her hand -came into contact with it as she tried to raise herself. It was a -leather bag of some sort, so much she learnt from the sense of touch. -She found the handle, tried to lift it; it was oddly heavy. - -As she was still trying to lift it she became conscious that someone -else was coming down the stairs. Her heart was heavy as lead within -her. She was filled with a great fear; the presence of that bag had -frightened her more than anything else. A cushion was on the ground -beside her; she picked it up, using it to cover the bag to the best of -her ability so that its presence on the chair need not be at once -detected. - -The person who had descended the stairs had paused at the bottom. A -match was struck. If she had only brought a box of matches with her, -how much might have been avoided! The holder of the match moved forward -towards an electric switch; immediately a light was shining down at -her. A voice addressed her: - -"Miss Forster! What on earth are you doing here?" - -She looked up at the kindly, friendly face which was bending over her. - -"Major Reith!" - -Then something came to her. All at once the world was whirling round; -for the first time in her life she had fainted. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - The Lacquered Club - - -There was a sort of self-consciousness in her brain, even though she -swooned; something which told her that this was the moment in all her -life in which it was most necessary that she should keep her wits about -her--and here she was losing them. They were willing to slip still -farther away; with comfort she could have remained, to all intents and -purposes, unconscious for quite a considerable length of time; but she -would not. So it came about that her faintness endured but for a -moment. - -Major Reith's ideas as to what to do with a young lady who had fainted -were vague. His impulse was to return upstairs and alarm the household; -but before he could put his impulse into practice the lady relieved him -of his difficulties by sitting up and returning to life. - -"Oh, Major Reith, I've hurt my foot." - -He thought that he had never seen her looking prettier. He probably -never had; that dressing-gown became her. - -"I'm very sorry." His tone was gravity itself. "Is it very bad? Let me -help you to get up." - -He helped her; would have placed her on the chair on which was the -cushion and, underneath, the bag, but she managed to make him -understand that she preferred another. He was all sympathy. - -"Can I do anything for it, or would you rather that I let the people -know?" - -"Thank you, I would rather that you didn't. It is painful for the -moment, but I shall manage; it's the first twinge. Did you hear a -strange noise upstairs?" - -"I did, and wondered what it was; it was that which brought me down." - -It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what had brought her down, but -he refrained. Where she was concerned he was a man of quick perception. -He was already conscious that there was something in the situation -which he did not understand, which, possibly, she would rather that he -did not understand. - -"What did you hear?" - -"I thought I heard someone in the hall just now, but I suppose it was -you." - -"I expect it was. I heard something, and I came down to see what it -was, tripped on the stairs, and I've been behaving like a goose ever -since." - -"As I came round the corner from my room I saw a light flashing down in -the hall. Was that you?" - -"A light? What light?" She went on without giving him a chance to -answer the questions she asked: "Did you hear a sound as if someone was -quarrelling?" - -"That's what roused me. First of all, I heard someone running up and -down my passage----" - -"So did I." - -"I looked out to see what was up, thinking that someone might be ill; -then I heard a din as if a free fight was taking place downstairs." - -"Did you hear anyone call out?" - -"I heard voices." - -"More than one?" - -"I should certainly say that there was more than one. I couldn't hear -what they said, but it seemed to me that two men were slanging each -other at the top of their voices for all they were worth. Then I heard -something which brought me down." - -"What was it? I don't know; it's no good your looking at me as if you -thought I did. I've been able to get no farther than where you see me -now. Like you, I heard what seemed to me to be two men quarrelling, so -I came down hoping to prevent mischief being done." - -"It was very plucky of you to come down all alone. And you don't know -what's happened?" - -"No more than you. I'm not very well up in the geography of the house, -but I thought that the argument was taking place in one of the rooms on -the other side; but before I could get down it had stopped. It was the -sudden stopping I did not like." - -"Nor I, to be frank. Shall I help you upstairs, or will you stay here -while I go and see? We may both of us be false alarmists; let's hope we -are." - -She seemed to be considering. - -"I think you had better leave me where I am, only--mind you're not -long. It's very silly of me, but I don't feel as if I'd care to be left -alone too long." - -She watched his tall figure, shrouded in a long grey dressing-gown -which covered his pyjamas, across the hall. Directly he was out of -sight she rose from her chair; leaning on the back of it, standing on -one foot, she looked eagerly about the hall. The one electric light -illumined the spot on which she stood; it scarcely penetrated the -shadows beyond. She hesitated whether to switch on other lights, to -make sure that no hidden eyes were watching, but it was only with -difficulty that she could move; there was not time, the major might be -back at any moment. She took the bag from underneath the cushion; -considering it was only a small, brown, brief bag, it was curiously -heavy. All the time she had been talking to Major Reith she had been -wondering what would be the nearest convenient place in which to hide -it, if opportunity offered. Against the wall, within a few feet of -where she was standing, was an old oak chest, which was sometimes used -as a seat, which was covered with a piece of dark blue velvet, -embroidered almost as if it had been an altar cloth. Lady Cantyre had -told her that it was half-full of things, but she herself did not know -what they were; no one ever looked inside. If the lid was open, there -might be room for the bag; it would be the very place. - -She managed to get as far as the chest, hopping, for the most part, on -one foot. The lid was open. She raised it. Pressing back the velvet -cover, she saw that there was room. She thrust in the bag, lowered the -lid, and returned to where the major had left her. She would have liked -to sink into the chair, only to relieve her foot; something stopped -her. She might have been guilty of some crime, her bearing was so -strange. She pressed her hand to her side, as if to calm the beating of -her heart. She endeavoured to peer into all the shadowy places in the -great hall; there were so many places in which, in that light, a spy -might be hidden. Suppose she had been seen? - -Why was the major so long? She had expressly requested him to be quick; -it seemed to her to be a frightful time since he had gone. What could -be keeping him? She would have liked to call to him, but she did not -dare. Something must be keeping him which perhaps she ought to know. -She was suddenly afraid of what the major might have learnt. She would -go and see what it was. She hobbled across the hall, ignoring the pain -which each movement gave her, bent on being stayed by nothing. She -passed into the room through whose door the major had vanished. It was -brightly lit. He had switched on the lights, but he was not there. She -listened. All was so still. He might be in the room beyond. - -She had walked thirty miles with much greater ease than she traversed -those less than thirty feet. More than once she had to stop. It needed -all her self-control to keep from crying out; she was conscious that -beads of perspiration were on her brow, induced either by the effort or -the pain. When she came to the door leading to the other room she had -to lean against it on one foot, the agony of putting the other to the -ground had become so great. She turned the handle and, somehow, went -through. - -That room was also lighted, the electrics serving to show that it was -in a state of singular confusion. The fine old furniture was all -anyhow; chairs, tables, ornaments were overturned; scarcely anything -seemed in its place. But she had found the major. He was on his knees -about the centre of the room, leaning over something which was -recumbent on the floor, something by which he was so engrossed that, -plainly, her entrance had gone unnoticed. His unconsciousness of her -presence affected her unpleasantly. - -When he continued to ignore her, her heart stood still. She stole -closer towards him, again resolute to disregard her suffering foot. She -came to a point at which she could see what he was looking at--and she -saw. - -On the floor, in the centre of a sort of circle formed by ill-used -articles of furniture, a man was lying--very quietly. It was Mr. Noel -Draycott. - -"Is he dead?" - -Although she asked the question in a whisper, it seemed to be more -audible than if she had shouted it. Major Reith looked up at her, -showing no signs of being startled or of being taken unawares. His eyes -met hers steadily. - -"I'm afraid he is." - -He could hardly have spoken in more even tones, yet one knew that it -was not because he was unmoved. There was silence. Her glance was -wandering round the room. What she saw was eloquent; its condition so -plainly showed what a scene of violence it had witnessed. She pressed -her hand again to her side. She tried to speak, but the words would not -come. He saw something of what she was enduring. - -"You can do nothing. You are in pain. Let me take you to your room." - -She shook her head. Then words came; she spoke as if her throat had all -at once grown dry and husky. - -"How did it happen?" - -"He was killed with this." - -He picked up from the floor what looked like a lacquered Oriental club; -there was something gleaming on the end of it. - -"Could it have been that I heard?" - -"Who can say?" - -"Was he like that when you came in?" - -"He was lying a little more over on his face; I turned him over to see -if there were any signs of life left in him." - -"You are sure--that no one else--was in the room?" - -For some reason there was a perceptible interval before he answered; -they looked at each other, as if each were reading something which was -in the other's eyes; then his glance dropped, and he said: - -"There was no one else in the room when I came in." - -Somehow she felt that his words conveyed much more than was on the -surface; neither spoke; it was as if each were occupied with thoughts -which would not be denied. - -All at once the stillness was broken in a manner which was sufficiently -startling; what sounded like the report of a firearm rang through the -silent room. The major sprang to his feet. Her face was turned in the -direction from which the sound had come. - -"What was that?" she asked. - -"That was a revolver--someone fired a revolver." - -"Where?" - -"I should say in the next room; it was certainly very close." - -He started to move towards the adjoining apartment. She stopped him. -"Where are you going?" He turned to her. - -"I'm going to see who fired that shot." - -"Let me come with you; don't leave me here--with him. If you let me -lean upon your arm, I can get along quite well." - -He stood eyeing her, as if in doubt what was the right thing for him to -do. His tone was stern, perhaps unconsciously so. - -"You know you ought not to be here; this is no place for you--you ought -to be in bed." - -"I know, but what's the use of talking like that? You're not going to -leave me here--alone? You shall take me with you. Give me your arm; I -don't believe I can move without it, or I would; give me your arm." - -He did as she asked, crossing the open space in which Mr. Noel Draycott -lay to do it. Not only did he give her his arm, he put it round her, so -that she was supported rather by his shoulder. Together they made what -haste they could. - -This was a suite of rooms opening one into the other; they passed into -the next. It was in darkness. - -"I fancy the switches are against the wall by the door here." - -The surmise was correct, he switched the light on. When he had done so, -they were conscious of two things; one was an open window, the other -was the smell of powder. - -"It was in here that the shot was fired." - -"But by whom? The room is empty; who fired it? And why?" - -"Whoever fired it may have gone through the open window. Sit down on -that chair; I must look into this." - -He withdrew the support of his arm, but she did not sit down on the -chair, she leaned on the back of it; perhaps she feared that if she sat -she would not be able to rise unaided. He advanced towards the open -window, then gave an exclamation, stooping as he did so. - -"Here, at least, is the revolver." He held up the weapon for her to -see, and examined it. "One of the chambers has been discharged, that -was the shot we heard; the others are still loaded." - -He seemed to be about to say something else, but all at once, stopping, -he stood at attention. It was she who spoke. - -"You heard?" - -"Wasn't that someone moving?" - -"It was someone in the next room--there's someone in there -now--listen!" - -"Good gracious!" - -There unmistakably was someone--a woman's scream rang out. There still -seemed to be another room beyond, or, at any rate, there was another -door. The major dashed towards it; this time he was through before the -girl had a chance of stopping him. - -She was left alone--to listen. And, clinging to the chair, she stood on -one foot, and she listened. She never forgot those few moments. There -was the dead man behind her; some strange thing had happened where she -was; what was taking place in front? Her helplessness rendered her -position so much worse than it need have been. She tried to move, but -she had done too much of that already; the moment she put her injured -foot to the floor a shock went all over her which made her shut her -eyes, and the room swam round. She could not even get to a bell to -summon assistance if it were needed; all she could do was to stand--and -wait. - -She was aware that she was in that state of mind and body in -which it was quite possible that her imagination might play her tricks. -Was it her imagination which made her fancy that such strange things -were going on about her; which made her think, as she glanced towards -it, that a face had been looking through the open window, which had -been quickly withdrawn as she turned her head? The sounds she -heard--were none of them real? The footsteps outside the window; the -mutterings--surely they were mutterings--was that not someone speaking -in whispers? She felt sure that they were footsteps, that someone was -speaking. The horror of it--but she was too incapable of movement to -make sure. - -And then, in the room behind her, where he lay, with the lacquered club -beside him, amid the broken furniture--was this another trick her -imagination played her? Were those not real movements which she heard; -was it only that she fancied that voices were speaking? Again she felt -convinced that it was not imagination only; there was something going -on which it behoved her to see--in the room behind her, outside the -window--she knew not where besides. What was Major Reith doing? Had he -not found the woman who had screamed? He pretended to be her friend, to -care for her--did he not understand what she must be enduring, in that -room, helpless, alone? - -If he was much longer, she would have to scream, as that woman had -screamed. Flesh and blood has its limits; she had really reached them. -She would either have to scream, or go mad--or something would happen -to her; she had never felt like that before, never. - -In the nick of time, when it seemed to her that something would have to -go, that she must break down, Major Reith returned. - -"I am very sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but I can't help -thinking that someone has been playing tricks with me." - -"Haven't you found her--the woman who screamed?" - -It sounded so strangely in her ears that she did not know her own -voice. - -"I found no one. I believe my attention has been diverted with some -ulterior purpose. Have you heard nothing?" - -"What haven't I heard? I believe there has been someone in the next -room." - -"We will soon see about that--come. I'm going to take you into that -room on the road to bed; and I shall have to rouse the house, but first -I shall see you safe to your own chamber." - -Only with the greatest difficulty, even with his support, could she -return to the adjoining apartment. The instant the door was opened they -made a discovery. - -"You see," she cried, "it wasn't only imagination, someone has been -here--the lights are out." - -What she said was correct; the room, which they had left lighted, was -in pitch darkness. There appeared to be switches by every door, and it -took Reith but an instant to have the room as radiant as before. Both -their glances travelled in the same direction. This time it was the -major who exclaimed: - -"Good God! Draycott's gone!" - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - Sleepers Awakened - - -It was a fact: the dead man's body had disappeared, in so brief a space -of time that Major Reith and Miss Forster did not find it easy to -credit the evidence of their own senses. They had been out of the -room--how long? At the most, three or four minutes. They had gone into -the next room, been there not more than a minute when the woman was -heard screaming. Although circumstances had made the time during which -Miss Forster had been left alone seem infinite, actually it was -probably only a minute or two. During those fleeting minutes what -had--what could have happened? Had the dead man come back to life and -taken himself away? - -There was nothing to show that anything had happened. There was the -club, the furniture, apparently in exactly the same confusion in which -they had left it; only a dark red stain, that was still wet and shiny, -marked the place on the floor where something had been lying. And that -stain was eloquent; the man from whom so much blood had come must have -been in a parlous condition, certainly in no state to pick himself up -and walk unassisted from the room. For he would probably have been -bleeding still; his progress would quite possibly have been marked upon -the carpet. Which way could he have gone? There were two windows and -three doors--all of them were shut. Reith looked to see if there were -signs of him on the other side of the doors. There was nothing. - -It was while he was standing at the door looking out into the passage -that there was, for the first time, anything to show that the -happenings downstairs had been heard above. A gentleman in a -dressing-gown came along with a candle in his hand, followed by -another, in the same attire, without a candle. The one in front was the -Earl of Cantyre; the other was Sir Gerrard Ackroyd. The earl broke into -exclamation at the sight of the major. - -"Hullo, Reith! Have the beggars woke you, too?" When he saw the girl, -on his good-humoured face there came a comical expression. "What! -Violet Forster! What on earth's the matter?" He was looking round the -room. "Who has been knocking the furniture about like this?" He turned -to Ackroyd: "That must have been the noise you heard." - -"I told you it sounded as if somebody was throwing the furniture about. -Somebody's been having a lark all over the house." - -"Lark, you call it? If someone has been having a lark, I call it jolly -bad form at this hour of the morning." His lordship's tone was one of -grievance. "What's the meaning of all this? I suppose the beggars -disturbed you, too--nice thing! Wasn't there a pistol-shot, and someone -screaming, and I don't know what besides? Lark, indeed!" - -"I wish," said the major, "that I could think that it was only what -Ackroyd calls a lark. I'm afraid there's been something very like -murder done." - -"Murder! Reith--you're joking." - -"Does this room look as if I were joking? You see this great patch upon -the floor, still wet, and what's upon this club? When Miss Forster and -I came into this room Noel Draycott was lying here--dead." - -"Dead? Draycott--I say! How did that come about? What have you done -with him?" - -"What someone has done with him is what Miss Forster and I were trying -to ascertain when you came along. He was here perhaps not five minutes -ago, and now--where is he?" - -"Where's who?" - -"Hullo! Now here is the whole jolly crowd! I knew how it would be. Why -do all you people want to come downstairs? You were just as well off in -your beds, and a lot more comfortable." - -The earl's words were prompted by the fact that through the door by -which he had entered were coming a stream of people, his own wife in -the van. It was she who had put that question. Behind her were all -sorts and conditions of people, some of them in surprising costumes. -There were ladies, old and young; some of them were guests, some -servants. They had one thing in common: that they were all in a state -of considerable excitement. There was the same miscellaneous collection -of men. The guests, for the most part, seemed disposed to treat the -affair as a jest. The male servants were more serious; it might be that -under no circumstances could they see a jest in anything which involved -their being roused from well-earned slumber. - -It was the countess who was the first to reply to the earl: - -"My good Rupert, did you imagine that, after your rushing out of the -room like that, I was going to stop in bed to be murdered? What has -been going on? What a state this room is in! And, my dear Violet, what -is the matter with you? You look as if you'd seen, not one ghost, but -several!" When the lady saw that there really was something the matter -with the girl, her flippant tones became suddenly earnest. "Violet, are -you ill?" - -"I twisted my foot coming down the stairs, and--it is pretty bad." - -"You poor child! It's plain you can't stand; and you oughtn't to. -We'll have you carried upstairs. There's a carrying chair in the hall. -But"--her ladyship's glance was wandering round--"whatever has been -going on in here? Is that---- What's that on the floor?" - -Major Reith spoke: - -"If you'll forgive me, Countess, I don't think, at any rate, that you -ladies ought to come in here." - -"And, pray, why not, Major Reith; what has happened?" - -The major signalled with his eyes to the earl; the countess caught him -in the act. - -"It's no good your trying to tell the earl that I'm to be got rid of. I -insist, Major Reith, upon your telling me what that mark on the carpet -means." - -"I'm afraid, Lady Cantyre, that there's been foul play." - -The major was plainly embarrassed. - -"At Avonham? In my house? Foul play? What do you mean?" - -The major's embarrassment did not grow less, which she seemed to -resent. - -"What is it you are trying to find words to hide? Violet, you at least -are my friend. What is it that Major Reith does not wish me to know? -Tell me, in two words, what has happened." - -"Mr. Noel Draycott has been murdered." - -There burst a chorus of exclamation from all the assembled people. One -or two of the more sensitive feminine spirits shrieked. One elderly -lady pressed boldly to the front, heedless of the fact that the state -of deshabille that she was in disclosed an amazing absence of hair on -her head: - -"I don't know about anybody having been murdered, but I know that I've -been robbed." - -The hostess turned to her. - -"Duchess!" - -"Every bit of jewellery I brought with me has been stolen." - -A feminine voice exclaimed: - -"What! the Ditchling diamonds?" - -"You saw that I was wearing them to-night at the ball? Well, they're -gone--stolen--every one!" - -"But--are you sure?" The hostess was regarding the hairless lady with a -look of very genuine concern. - -"I was fast asleep when something woke me. I couldn't think what it -was. I always sleep with the lights out. I could see nothing, but I had -a feeling that there was somebody in the room. There's an electric -light over my bed; I tried to turn it on, but it wouldn't come. I -suppose the noise I had made had been noticed. I heard someone moving -quickly across the floor. I sat up in bed. 'Who's there?' I asked. The -only answer was that the door was opened. I got out of bed--I'm not so -young as I was, and I'm not built for rapid movement; getting out of -bed takes me some time. By the time I was well planted on my feet I -knew quite well that whoever had been in my room was gone. I turned on -the light at the door. As I expected, the room was empty, the door was -shut; and, also what I expected, my jewel-case was lying empty on the -floor. I thought I had heard something fall, and that was it. -Everything was taken out of it; from what I saw, not so much as a ring -had been left. I was just going to ring the bell, though whether any -good would come of it I doubted--I have rung an electric bell in the -middle of the night for an hour at a time, and no one has paid the -slightest attention--but just as I was going to do it someone went -rushing past my door, and, of course, I opened it to see if it was the -thief, and a gun went off somewhere downstairs, and all the other -bedroom doors seemed to open at once, everyone came out of them, and -there was a pretty to-do, and then they went downstairs, and I came -with them. I don't know what it's all about; all I do know is that -every bit of jewellery I had has been stolen." - -The duchess's somewhat incoherent narrative was greeted by a chorus of -feminine voices: - -"I've been robbed, too!" - -"So have I!" - -"Everything I had has been taken!" - -"I've been stripped of every single thing!" - -It would seem as if all the guests at Avonham had suffered from a -series of mishaps. The host thrust in his word: - -"By George! Do you know, Margaret, I shouldn't wonder if you had been -robbed." - -"Rupert!" - -"That's what woke me--the feeling that someone was in the room, or, -rather, had just gone out of it. I had an idea the door had just been -shut. I had it so strongly that I got up and went out into the passage -to see if there was anyone about. Then I heard a fine how-d'ye-do going -on downstairs, and I went back into the room and switched on the light, -and you woke up." - -"Of course. Do you think I'm one of the Seven Sleepers? You'd have woke -the dead. I asked what was the matter, and, instead of answering, you -kept cramming yourself into your dressing-gown, and I could hardly -credit my senses when, without a word, you rushed out of the room, and -left me all alone." - -"I'll bet a penny that somebody had been in the room, and that it -wasn't fancy my thinking that someone had just shut the door. Where -were your jewels?" - -"They were in the case on the table." - -"I'll lay a trifle that they're not there now. It looks very much as if -the place had been plundered on a wholesale scale. What's that you said -about Noel Draycott?" - -This inquiry was addressed to the major, who explained to the best of -his ability. The earl continued: - -"I heard what seemed a jolly row going on downstairs--that's what -brought me. But--could it have been Draycott? What could he have been -having a row about, and with whom?" - -A suggestion came from Sir Gerrard Ackroyd. - -"He might have heard the thief, chased him, and have brought him to -bay, and in the row which followed he might have got the worst of it. -That sort of chap doesn't stick at trifles." - -"But this is the most extraordinary thing of which I have ever heard: -that anyone should have had the audacity to go into the bedrooms, one -after the other. In each case it looks as if he knew just where the -jewels were kept; and look at the risks he ran! Then he comes -downstairs, and meets Draycott. Could Draycott have fired that shot?" - -Again the question was addressed to the major. - -"It could not have been. It was after we had found him lying dead that -the shot was fired, and it was while we had gone to see who fired the -shot that the body vanished." - -"His body? You talk as if you were sure that he was dead, but was he?" - -"I've had some experience of dead men. I ought to know one when I see -him. I had an opportunity of examining him before Miss Forster came in. -I should have been prepared to assert positively that he was dead, and -I'm prepared to do so still. I do not believe that in such a matter I -could have been so mistaken." - -"But, my dear man, if he was lying dead upon the floor, he could not -have picked himself up and walked away, could he?" - -"Presumably not." - -"Presumably! Did you ever hear of a dead man that did? Very well, then. -And you say there wasn't time for anyone to come in and carry him off; -and, mind you, it would have taken a good many minutes. Someone would -have seen them, wouldn't they? The whole house was up and about by -then. Two people can't walk about carrying a corpse without being -noticed; and, even granting it, they must have planked him down -somewhere. The only question is, where?" - -"I should say that the thing to do is to go up to Mr. Noel Draycott's -room, and see if he is in it--alive or dead." - -This practical suggestion, which came from Sir Gerrard Ackroyd, was -acted on then and there. Noel Draycott's room was empty. More, it -seemed that it had never been occupied; at least, since he had dressed -for the ball. There was a tweed suit, which he had exchanged for dress, -lying just as it was extremely likely he had placed it. It was the same -with all his other garments. There was nothing whatever unusual about -the appearance of the room, nothing to show that anybody had entered it -since its occupant had gone down to dance at the ball. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - In Bed - - -"Violet!" The Countess of Cantyre came dashing into Miss Forster's -bedroom--the word "dashing" fairly describes her method of entry. "I -have been robbed." - -Miss Forster was in bed, though very far from asleep, or even inclined -to slumber. She had been borne upstairs in the carrying chair, her foot -had been bathed and bandaged by sympathetic hands, and she had been -placed between the sheets. She was given stern injunctions that she was -on no account to move; the doctor would be sent for at the earliest -reasonable hour, and until his arrival she was not to move. But when -her ladyship made that announcement, she sat up immediately. - -"Margaret, you don't mean it?" - -"Don't tell me that I don't mean it when I know that I do. I went -straight to my room when I left you----" - -"That's only ten minutes ago." - -"The first thing I saw when I entered my room was my jewel-case lying -on the floor. I had clean forgotten all about what Rupert had said till -I saw it; really, I am not sure that I quite believe the stories that -those other women have been telling; but when I saw it--there, of all -places--of course, I dashed at it and--Violet, it was open, and it was -empty; practically all the Avonham jewels have been walked off with." - -Her ladyship, flouncing down on to a chair, presented quite a charming -picture of feminine agitation. - -"So Rupert is right?" - -"Of course he is--that's the worst of it. He seldom is right, but when -he is, it is nearly always when it would have been much better if he -wasn't. While we were fast asleep in our beds, some dreadful creature -must have had the incredible impudence to come into our room, and, -under our very noses, walk off with everything. He has taken, from my -room alone, nearly a quarter of a million's worth of jewels." - -"Margaret!" - -"Oh, it's all very well to say 'Margaret,' but I know he has. And the -most maddening part of it is that to a certain extent it's my fault--as -I shall be told before I'm very much older. I would have all the jewels -out of the bank; between ourselves, I knew the duchess was going to -wear her diamonds, and I had heard tales of what other people were -going to wear. I've got diamonds as well as other people, and if I -didn't wear them I meant to let them know it." - -"You hadn't them on to-night." - -"My dear, was it likely? I left that sort of thing to other people. But -I meant to have my case down in the morning, and let those other people -see what was in it. Talk about the Ditchling diamonds! You've never -seen the Avonham diamonds, not the whole lot of them together, but they -are--well, now they aren't, because they're stolen. And shan't I hear -of it! Cantyre was quite unpleasant when I told him about having them -all down here; in fact, he doesn't know that I did have them, and -that's another thing. Oh, won't there be things said! I know I shall -have to take to my bed for a month; it's only when I take to my bed -that Cantyre thinks he's gone too far." - -The excitable lady bounced up out of her chair and was trotting about -the room--she was so very short that her longest steps could hardly be -described as strides. Suddenly she stood still, and she turned to her -friend. - -"Violet--honour bright! What do you know about all this?" - -Possibly it was because the assault was so unexpected that such a very -singular look came on the young lady's face. - -"Margaret! Whatever do you mean?" - -"Oh, don't let's humbug each other any more, my dear! I was watching -you downstairs, and I've been watching you all the while since, and I'm -absolutely certain that before the duchess said a word about her having -been robbed you knew she had been. Now, what do you know? I don't want -to be horrid, and I'm not going to be, but you and I have been friends -ever since we were tiny mites. You see what an awful hole I'm in. Not -only have I been robbed myself, but practically all my guests--I do -think if you can do anything to help me, you ought to. Now, don't -trouble yourself to go in for denying; I know you through and through, -just as you know me, but I'm perfectly convinced that you have some -inkling into the meaning of what has taken place to-night--haven't you? -On your honour. I know that your honour is as dear to you as to a man, -and that what you say upon your honour that's the truth. You are -silent." - -And, indeed, the young lady was. Her excited hostess's sudden appeal -seemed to have taken her singularly aback. The countess was quick to -draw her own conclusions. - -"My dear--you've answered me; I can see it on your face, in your eyes, -as I've seen it all along--you do know something. Now, what do you -know? I've helped you in more than one tight place, now you help me--a -clean breast, my dear." - -Thus assailed, the young lady made an obvious effort to evade the -direct issue which the other was presenting, as if she were aiming a -pistol at her head. - -"Really, Margaret, to listen to you, one would think that I had stolen -the jewels myself. Are you suggesting that I'm a thief? If so, pray -don't beat about the bush; do be candid." - -"No, Vi, you don't. I know how difficult it is to get from you a plain -answer to a plain question, if you choose, but I'm going to get one -now. It's not necessary for me to say that I don't think you stole the -jewels yourself, but I do think that you've some sort of knowledge as -to who did." - -"Margaret!" - -"It's no use your saying 'Margaret'--out with it." - -"Out with what?" - -"Vi, shall I have to shake you in spite of your bad foot? Have you any -suspicion as to who stole my jewels? Answer me now--yes or no--on your -honour." - -"I shan't answer you." - -"Thank you, you have answered me." - -"I've not answered you, and I'm not going to. Margaret, will you please -go away?" - -The young lady laid herself down in bed, drew the clothes up over her -shoulders, and turned her face from her friend. The countess observed -her proceedings with something in her eyes, the meaning of which it was -not easy to understand. - -"Yes, my dear, I will go away, but that will make no difference to -you--you'll feel as if I were at your bedside all the time; it will be -worse for you than if I were. But I don't at all mind giving you an -opportunity to think things over. You've told me something of what I -want to know, and I rather fancy that when I see you again, you will -tell me all the rest. Good-night, Vi; pleasant dreams; I hope that your -foot won't keep you from sleeping. Shall I turn out these lights? You -won't be able to sleep amidst all this illumination, and you've got -that one over your bed." - -The girl said nothing, but the lights went out; the one above her was -not on, so that when the visitor had departed the room was in darkness. - -Something kept Miss Forster from sleeping, and it was not her foot; it -was her thoughts. The countess had prophesied truly: her going made no -difference; she might as well have stayed, for all the peace she had -left behind. What, the girl asked herself, as she lay there wrestling -with the thoughts which banished sleep--what had she said; what had she -admitted; what would she be made to admit when the countess could get -at her again, before she was allowed to quit Avonham? What was more to -the point--what had she to admit; what did she know? - -That was where the iron entered into her soul, so that she hid her face -on the pillow, and would have sobbed, only the tears refused to come. -What did she not know? And, from what she knew, what did she not -surmise? The leather bag in the old oak chest--what was in it? Did she -not know as well as if the contents had been spread out in front of -her? And it had been in Sydney's hand! - -It was Sydney. She had tried to tell herself that it was not; that she -had made a mistake; that there was a doubt about it; she could not be -sure--how could she be sure when she had only seen him for an instant -in a light which, after all, was no light at all? It was absurd to -suppose that anyone could be certain, under such conditions, of another -person's personality. Yet she was certain; she was sure. - -It was Sydney; and it was he who was the thief. It was at this point -that she dug her nails into the palms of her hands, and would have -liked to tear her own heart out, and to have died. - -It was Sydney who was the thief; it was his footstep she had heard -hurrying past her room. By what odd chance had he not visited her? He -had visited so many of the others. Could he have known which rooms it -would be worth his while to visit, and which to leave alone? - -Had he come to her--if he had!--with the leather bag in his hand, he -would have found her still up. What a meeting that would have been! - -It was not easy for her to reflect, but it was borne in upon her -presently that this act of which he had been guilty was one of -astounding daring. She had not gone to bed; others might have still -been up; it was extraordinary that he had only gone to the rooms in -which the people were asleep. How had he known--that they were asleep? -The problem set her thinking. - -She recalled the feeling she had had that she had not been the only -person in the hall. If that was the case, who could that other person -have been? It was not Sydney; she had distinctly heard him, as she -believed, rushing from one of the rooms beyond. What had he been doing -in there, and what was the explanation of the voice which, in its -anguish, she had heard addressing him by name? Could it be he who had -been quarrelling with Noel Draycott? - -She did not dare to try to find an answer to that question; it had come -upon her unawares--she did not dare to put it to herself again. She was -a young woman of strong will--with all her might she put it from her. -As it were, she passed her mind into another channel--she thought of -the bag. - -Two things occurred to her; the one was the almost uncanny feeling that -she had had that she was being observed as she hid it in the chest; the -other was a sudden hideous terror that if the bag was found, there -might be something about it, in it, which would associate it with--its -owner. This fear became all at once such a terrible, mastering -obsession that it possessed her whole being; all else was -banished from her tortured brain but that one thing--the bag. -Suppose--suppose--something happened to the bag? - -She would not risk it, she could not. The only chance she might have of -getting it into her own keeping, where it would be safe, was--now. In -the morning, in an hour or two, it would be too late. Servants would be -about, then members of the household; she would never dare to go to -that chest for the bag while a single soul was about. That would be -impossible; that might be--to bring ruin to Sydney. She could not take -the risk--she would not; the only thing to be done was that she should -go and get it now. - -She got out of bed to get it. She did not switch on the light. A grey -gleam was coming through the sides of her blinds; the morning was come; -there would be light enough for her to see. Her foot hurt, but it was -not so painful as it had been; she could move on it, enough to serve -her purpose. She got into her dressing-gown and she went to the door of -her room. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - The Two Women - - -Curiously quiet the house seemed to be as, in the cold, grey light, -Violet Forster made the best of her way along the passage. At the head -of the great staircase she paused; now it was possible to see; she -wondered which was the stair on which, in the darkness, she had caught -her heel in her draperies and stumbled. Her ankle was better, yet, in -spite of the caution with which she descended, it gave her a twinge at -every tread. How comfortless, how even ghostly the great hall seemed, -as the first glimmer of the day came shimmeringly through the painted -windows! - -At the foot of the stairs she stopped--to listen. A curious quality -which was in the air seemed to affect her nerves, which were already -sufficiently highly strung; she was affected by the feeling which she -had had in the darkness that there was someone in the hall already. She -went out into it to look about her; there was no one to be seen, -certainly nothing to be heard; she told herself that it was utter -nonsense to suppose that anybody was watching her. It was not yet broad -day, but there was light enough to render it difficult for anyone to -keep from being seen, unless someone was cowering down behind one of -the tall chairs, or hiding behind a hanging. She had a mind to search -behind each piece of furniture, behind each curtain; she might have -done it, too, had it not been that her foot rendered movement very far -from easy. Ordinarily she would have peered into every nook and cranny -in a dozen seconds; it might take her minutes as things were. - -Realising that her doubts meant waste of time, she moved towards the -chest under its velvet cover. She lifted the cover, had it nearly off, -was about to raise the lid when--was that a sound? With one hand upon -the velvet, the other on the chest, she stood and listened; this time -her fancy was not playing her tricks, it was a sound. Someone was -coming down the stairs, quickly, yet quietly--who could it be? On the -instant she let the cover fall back into its place; with a rapidity of -which a moment before she had not thought she could have been capable, -she slipped behind a long curtain which hung against the wall, -suspended to a rod, which could be moved at will so as to form a sort -of cosy corner; but quick though her movements had been, they had not -been at all too fast. No sooner was she behind the curtain than she -became conscious that someone had come down into the hall, and had done -as she had done--stopped to take a good look round. Then the footsteps -began again; they seemed to be moving directly towards where she was; -they were--she was sure they were each instant coming closer. She held -her breath; what did it mean? Could she have been observed? Even if she -had been, it seemed impossible that her retreat behind the curtain -could have been noticed. And yet--the footsteps were making straight -for where she was. Her impulse was to come out before she was -discovered; she was about to do it, when the footsteps again were -still. - -A thought all at once occurred to her which diverted her mind into very -different channels; was it possible that the new-comer's errand was the -same as hers had been, with the old chest as an objective? That would -mean that someone had been in the hall when Major Reith had switched on -the single light; that her suspicions had been well founded, that there -had been some interested watcher who had seen what she had put in the -chest. - -In that case the person who was within a foot or two of her, on the -other side of the curtain, was probably the interested watcher. Whoever -it was must be standing very close to the chest; was possibly, at that -very moment, raising the velvet cover; would in a second or two have -lifted the lid, and taken out the bag. What was she to do? It was a -very knotty problem which so suddenly confronted Miss Forster in her -hiding-place. - -One thing seemed clear--that it was in the highest degree essential -that she should know who it was with whom she had to deal. As matters -stood the position was too one-sided. If her proceedings with the bag -had been witnessed, then she had been recognised; but while her -identity was known to someone, she had not the dimmest notion who that -someone was. Since, in a sense, she was at someone's mercy, it was -surely of the first importance that she should know whose. It might -be--in an instant half a dozen different names flashed through her -mind; any one of half a dozen persons might hold her--should it be -written reputation?--in the hollow of a hand. The thought was -unbearable. She must know with whom she had to deal; she would. - -This presentation of the problem to her mind occupied a scarcely -appreciable space of time; thoughts move quickly. To her it seemed -longer than it was, for while she considered the position, what was -being done on the other side of the curtain? - -She heard something; when she had begun to raise the lid, she had been -conscious that it creaked, though ever so slightly; that was a creaking -she heard, which meant---- - -She did not stop to tell herself what it meant; there was an end of -thinking; she decided before she knew it. Brushing the curtain aside, -she stepped from behind it. - -Whom she had expected to see she could not have said; she had told -herself that it might be any one of half a dozen; yet when she saw who -was there she knew it was the one she had expected. - -A woman was bending over the chest; she had the velvet cover raised, -and the lid an inch or two; she had come on the scene at what had been -delicate moment for Violet Forster, and that young lady had returned -the compliment in kind. She retained her presence of mind in a very -creditable manner. One felt as one looked at her that she might be used -to being found in delicate positions. She said nothing, but she never -moved--she kept just still, and she looked Miss Forster in the face -with eyes which betrayed no hint of nervousness. Even the scornful -something which was in Miss Forster's tone when she did speak, did not -seem to cause her the least discomfort. - -"I thought it was you." - -"Did you really?" - -The thing was said so demurely that it was hard to tell from the tone -alone if the intention was to be impertinent. - -"What are you doing there?" - -"I was just going to see what it was that I saw you put in this chest -last night." - -"So you did see? I thought that also--I begin to understand." - -There was something in the girl's tone which the other seemed to -resent. - -"I confess I don't; but I hope to presently. Pray, miss, what do you -begin to understand?" - -"You were in league with him last night; you were--his confederate." - -"His confederate, Miss Forster! What do you mean? With whom was I in -league?" - -"Oh, you do it very well; I've no doubt that this is the sort of thing -in which practice has made you perfect. Now I understand how you came -to be in possession of my locket." - -The woman seemed to have a trick of repeating the girl's words. - -"How I came to be in possession of your locket? I don't understand, -Miss Forster, what you are talking about; will you please to make -yourself plainer? I never did like insinuations." - -"Was he concealed in the house last night, or did you let him in? But -you must have seen him earlier in the day, or you could hardly have had -the locket when you did." - -It was a second or two before the other answered; when she did, it was -in a tone which hinted resentment at Miss Forster's manner. - -"I don't understand you, Miss Forster, but I should like you to -understand me clearly. I was awakened early this morning by hearing -someone running along the passage outside my room. Thinking someone -might be ill, I got up to see if I could be of any use; I just caught -sight of the skirt of a woman, who seemed to be running for all she was -worth. And I heard a queer noise coming from downstairs; I waited, -thinking it would stop, but as it continued, and kept getting queerer, -I thought I would go down and see what was the matter. I came down in -the hall here, and it was pitch dark; there wasn't a sound, and I was -more than half afraid, and told myself I was a fool for coming. Then I -heard someone coming down the staircase as if he didn't want to be -heard. I said to myself that what was going on was probably no business -of mine, and I tried to get away; but before I had a chance, someone -came down into the hall, passing me so close that her skirts touched me -as she passed." - -Miss Forster interposed. - -"I had a feeling all the while that there was someone there, but my -ankle was so painful that all I could think of was finding something to -lean upon." - -"Of course I didn't know who it was----" - -"I suppose not." - -"How could I? The feel of the skirts told me it was a woman, and I -fancied from the way she moved, that she must have hurt herself; but I -couldn't see, and though I don't mind owning that I wondered what was -up, I didn't want to be caught in what looked like prying, though no -idea of doing anything of the kind had entered my head, and my one wish -was to get quietly away. Then something did happen which took my breath -away." - -"What was that? I should imagine you are not the kind of person whose -breath is easily taken away." - -"I heard someone, who, I had no doubt, was a man from the noise he -made, come rushing along, though I couldn't think from where. I heard -him go rushing towards the someone who had just passed me, and I heard -him speak to her." - -"That's a lie, not a word was spoken." - -"Then if that's so, I must have dreamt it, and it's one of the funniest -dreams I ever had; because I thought I heard him say, 'Here it is, take -it. Look out--there's someone coming!' In my dream I heard him say it -as plainly as I hear myself speaking now." - -"Each word you utter makes me understand you more clearly." - -"That's what I want you to do, miss; to understand me. Then off this -whoever it was went tearing, and along came somebody else, who turned -on one of the lights, and I saw it was a tall, middle-aged gentleman, -with a moustache. I got down behind a chair, so that I couldn't hear -quite all that you said to each other; then he went off, and you took -something which was under a cushion on the seat of the chair by which -you were. I could see that it was a leather bag, and I said to myself, -'That's what that other party gave her,' who I'd heard speaking in my -dream. You put the bag in the chest by which I am standing, and when -you went after that tall gentleman, I wondered what it was; but, as -I've said, it wasn't any business of mine, and I didn't like to take -the liberty of looking." - -"I appreciate the feelings by which you were actuated." - -"But when, as I did later, I heard about all that lot of jewellery -which had been stolen from the different ladies' rooms, that set me -thinking. Miss Forster, would you mind my seeing what is in the bag -which you put inside this chest, which you came downstairs to give the -man I never saw a chance of passing on to you? Do you mind?" - -The woman stood with her hand resting on the chest as if she waited for -the girl's permission to raise the lid. - -"I perceive," said Miss Forster, "now, for the first time, what a -dangerous woman you really are. Do you actually suppose me to be so -simple as to be taken in by your acting?" - -"Explain yourself, Miss Forster, as plainly as I've explained myself to -you. If you'll excuse my saying so, I'm only a servant, but I've got my -character to lose--there's something in your tone that I don't like." - -"What was your last situation, Jane Simmons?" - -"Never you mind what was my last situation, but I was in it for seven -years, and a seven years' character is good enough for anyone." - -"You expect me to believe that also?" - -"I don't care what you believe. May I see what's in the bag that you -put inside this chest?" - -"Am I also expected to believe that you don't know from whom that bag -came?" - -"I know it was a man, but who he was I know no more than a babe unborn. -Am I to see what's in it, or would you like me to ring the bell and let -others have a look?" - -"Can't you realise what a foolish game you're playing? You're seeming -to suggest that I was associated with what I have no doubt was an act -of wholesale robbery; I know that you were." - -"You know that I was what?" - -"You call yourself Jane Simmons, but I don't suppose that that's your -name; you probably assumed it when you entered this house." - -"Well, I never did." - -"You talk about being seven years in one situation. I doubt if you ever -did any honest work in your life. I believe you to be a thief, and the -associate of thieves; I have no doubt that what took place last night -was carefully planned by you and your confederates; and you have the -assurance to stand there and pretend that you think that I was -associated with it, in any way whatever." - -"Oh, that's it, is it? Now you have spoken plain, now I do understand -what you are driving at. Miss Forster, I will rouse the household, and -I'm going to tell them what I saw you do; and you'll be able to -explain, if you're as innocent as you're trying to make out, why you -hid that there bag inside this chest, and who it was that gave it to -you; then we'll see." - -"We shall. My record is known to every person in this house; I'll have -careful inquiries made into yours--you will be able to give details -about that situation in which you stayed for seven years; how you will -come out of such an inquiry, you know better than I. You foolish woman! -To think that sheer impudence will enable you to win at such a game of -bluff; don't you know perfectly well that the attempt to fasten your -guilt on me will make matters much worse for you?" - -For some seconds there was silence; the woman by the chest seemed to be -summing Miss Forster up. She did not change countenance, the smile did -not fade from her eyes; yet, somehow, something seemed to have fallen -from her; she seemed to have ceased to play the part of servant, and to -have become a different creature altogether. When she spoke again it -was very quietly, coldly, as if she were measuring the meaning of each -word before she allowed it to pass her lips. - -"Suppose, Miss Forster, that I do not alarm the household, what then?" - -"I am afraid that I don't quite grasp your meaning." - -"Oh, I'll make it plain enough; you and I had better be plain with each -other--it will be good for both of us. There's a leather bag inside -this chest; what's going to become of it?" - -"It depends on what it contains." - -"Oh, you know what it contains; there's jewels in that bag worth -fortunes." - -"And you ask me what is to become of it; you have that courage?" - -"I even have courage to ask it again; if I don't alarm the household, -what is to become of that bag?" - -"Its contents will be returned to their various owners." - -"By whom?" - -"By me." - -"Oh, I see; and where do I come in?" - -"I rather fancy that will be a point for the consideration of the -police." - -"Oh, that's what you fancy, is it? Now again we are beginning to -understand each other. Does that mean that you're going to give me -away? If it does, let me beg you to be careful; you'll be giving -yourself away much more than you'll be giving me; just think." - -"Are you now suggesting that I have been in collusion with you?" - -The woman smiled as if the question had been a funny one; the girl -could not but see that the smile became her, and that she was not -ill-looking. - -"Hardly; I can assure you that you are not the sort of person I should -choose as a partner if I wanted one; but I was serious when I said to -you 'Just think.' For instance, you saw the person who came rushing -into the hall last night, and unwillingly left in your charge that -leather bag; you have to think of that. You recognised him, didn't -you?" - -"Who told you so?" - -"He did." - -The girl started; for the first time something which the other had said -had gone home. - -"When did he tell you?" - -"I didn't time it, but I should say about a minute afterwards." - -"Then you saw him again?" - -The woman raised her eyebrows, as if with a faint surprise. - -"Of course I did. I went straight to where he was; I knew where to find -him. The first thing he said to me was, 'Vi Forster saw me.'" - -"He said that to you?" - -"His very words. I said to him, 'You don't mean that she recognised -you?' 'She did,' he said. 'Then,' I said, 'we're in the soup.' 'She's -got the bag,' he groaned; I could see that that was what worried him -more than the recognition. Then something happened which turned his -attention in another direction. You know as well as I do that the man -who came into the hall with the bag, which he dropped on to the seat of -that chair in his surprise at the sight of you, was Sydney Beaton." - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - The Leather Bag - - -The girl had known it, but there was something brutal in the way the -woman said it which affected her almost as if she had thrown something -in her face; she shrank back--shivered. The woman seemed to be enjoying -her obvious discomfiture; she smiled, as if the joke had grown still -funnier. - -"You see, that's what made me say that you had better think. Suppose -you do give me away; after all, I'm not the person whom you saw in -possession of the bag, and you did see someone. That someone was a -gentleman friend, whose name, I am sure, you don't want to have shouted -from the house-tops. Now do you?" - -The girl seemed to be reflecting; her cheeks had grown whiter, trouble -had come into her eyes; her bearing was in striking contrast to that of -the woman in front of her, who could not have seemed to be more -completely at her ease. - -"How long have you known him?" - -"Oh, some time. We've been in one or two little matters together, out -of which we have done very well." - -"You mean that this is not the first time, that he has done this sort -of thing?" - -"Gracious, no; he has been in the business quite a time; but I'm not -going to give him away, never fear." - -She laughed right out, while the girl winced. - -"Where is he to be found?" - -"I beg your pardon." - -"I asked where is he to be found?" - -"And you may ask; do you suppose I'd tell you? What, for you to give -him away? He'd get--well, he'd get penal servitude for this alone; and -then there's that Captain Draycott, or whatever is the name, to whom he -owed one." - -Again Miss Forster shivered; she glanced about her, as if fearful that -the other's words had been overheard. - -"What do you mean--about--Captain Draycott?" - -"Why, of course you know it was he who did it; you don't want me to -tell you that. You know what cause he had; it was he who put him in the -cart at that little game of cards." - -One could see that Violet Forster made an effort at self-control; but -the hideous picture conjured up by the other's careless words was too -much for her. She put her hands up to her face; she sank on to a chair, -so helpless before the stress of emotion which seemed to be raging -within that she sat swaying to and fro. The woman, still smiling, stood -and watched; then she said, her voice seeming to be broken by laughter: - -"Why, I never thought that you'd take on like this, if you really are -taking on, and it isn't put on for my special benefit; it can't be any -news to you, you must have known. You saw the man lying dead there; you -knew the cause he'd given--the person whose name we won't mention--to -out him. What's all the fuss about? This sort of thing won't improve -your looks, you know." - -If the woman paused expecting Miss Forster to speak, she paused in -vain; the agony which seemed to be tearing at the very sources of her -being had bereft her of the powers of speech. The spectacle she -presented, instead of moving the other to sympathy, seemed to divert -her thoughts into channels of bitterness. The smile passed from her -face; her tone became hard. - -"What has Sydney Beaton to do with you that you should take on like -this about him? Let me tell you something about him, which may be a -piece of genuine news. If anyone ought to take on about him, it is I, -since I'm his wife." - -There was silence; then the girl did begin to regain some vestiges of -self-control. She ceased to sway to and fro; the dry sobs which seemed -to be rending her bosom grew less insistent; she withdrew her hands -from her eyes, she looked the speaker steadily in the face. - -"That I do not believe." - -The words were uttered with an air of quiet conviction which the other -resented. - -"What don't you believe?" - -"I do not believe that you are Sydney Beaton's wife; your statement -that you are makes me doubt all that you have said. I am sure that you -are not his wife; I believe him to be incapable of marrying such a -creature as you. He may have sunk low, but I do not think that he could -ever fall quite so low as that. The fact that you have told me that one -great lie makes it obvious that you have probably told me others; I -doubt that he is the kind of person you make him out to be." - -"Oh, you doubt it, do you? Very well. Then rouse the household; they'll -soon be getting up without your doing anything to rouse them; hand over -the bag and tell your story--give me into custody if you like. Unless -you perjure yourself, and I don't think you'll do that, you haven't one -shred of evidence against me, as you're perfectly aware. All the -evidence you have is against my husband; you could send him to penal -servitude. I daresay you could hang him if you set your heart on it; -but--I really don't see what good that will do you. By the time the -whole story is told, you'll be in almost as bad a mess as he will be, -and you know it." - -"You steal to get money; I'll give you an opportunity of getting money -without stealing. I want to be placed in immediate communication -with--the person you know; for what sum of money will you tell me where -he is to be found?" - -"How much will I take to sell him, that's what you mean!" - -"I mean nothing of the kind--and you know it well enough. I simply wish -to have an interview with him." - -"What good do you expect to get from that?" - -"That's my affair." - -"Oh, is it? You seem to be forgetting that he is my husband." - -"I'm not. No harm will come to him, or to you, even if he occupies the -position towards you which you say he does." - -"Tell me plainly just what it is you want me to do." - -"Give me an opportunity of having an interview with him in the next -twenty-four hours, or at the earliest possible moment, and I will give -you any sum, in reason, you like to ask." - -"You're a fool--you must excuse me speaking plainly, but you are. Even -supposing your intentions are all that you pretend they are, can't you -see for yourself what harm you'd be doing him? You don't know much -about the ways and dodges of the police, that's pretty plain. -Now--well, now, you know nothing--to speak of; and particularly you -don't know where he is, if anyone was to ask you, and mind you, it's -quite possible that someone will before very long. But if you were to -see him, and were to get out of him anything of what I'm dead sure you -would try to get, then the situation would be changed altogether. As -things are, no one can do anything to you, even if you do hold your -tongue, because you don't know anything, whatever you may--well, we'll -say suspect. But have you ever heard of an accessory after the fact? If -you got anything out of him of what you'd try to get, that's what you'd -be, an accessory after the fact, if you didn't give him away straight -off; and with the best will in the world you wouldn't find it so easy -not to do that as you suppose. No, take my word for it, Miss Forster, -this is a case, if you don't know it, in which your ignorance is his -bliss, and, for both your sakes, it would be folly for you to be wise." - -"All of which means----?" - -"It means that you'll get no information out of me concerning a certain -person who happens to be my husband, if you were to give me all the -money you have. Now we'll drop the subject, if you please; time is -passing. You don't want to have all Avonham interrupting our -tête-à-tête. What's going to happen to this bag? It's his bag. As you -pretend to have some sort of feeling about him, and I know he is an old -friend of yours, why don't you go back upstairs to bed, and keep from -interfering in what, after all, is no concern of yours? I give you my -personal assurance that there isn't so much as a ha'p'orth of anything -in that bag that belongs to you. For his sake what you don't want is a -fuss; he'll never forget the debt he owes you if you keep from making -one; you may be the death of him if you do; let me give you my arm to -help you up the stairs." - -"Let me invert the proposition--you go upstairs, and leave me here." - -"And take the bag with me?" - -"Empty." - -"What will you do with what's inside?" - -"The entire contents will be returned to the Countess of Cantyre." - -"And if the Countess of Cantyre asks questions?" - -"What is that that someone says about the Countess of Cantyre asking -questions?" - -The inquiry came from the staircase just above them. Before either of -them could move, or speak, a small figure came running into the hall. -It was the Countess of Cantyre herself. - -"Violet!" she exclaimed, "what on earth are you doing here? And--who -are you?" The last inquiry was addressed to the woman; but, without -waiting for an answer, her ladyship continued: "Do you know, Violet, I -couldn't sleep; I haven't had one single wink of sleep, and at last I -couldn't stay in bed any longer, I had to come to you. I had a feeling -that you mightn't be getting much sleep either; but I didn't expect to -find your bed empty, especially considering the state that your foot -was in when I saw you last. I prowled about to see what had become of -you, and then I heard voices down here, and perhaps now, Violet, you -will tell me what this new and most extraordinary behaviour of yours -may mean, and who is this woman?" - -"This woman," Miss Forster replied, "is the person who calls herself -Jane Simmons." - -"And pray what may Jane Simmons be doing here, at this hour of the -morning, with you?" - -"If you please, my lady," replied Jane Simmons, "I heard Miss Forster -in the hall, and knowing that she had hurt her foot, I came down to see -if I could be of any use to her." - -Nothing could have been more becoming to a person of her station than -her manner of saying this. Her ladyship eyed her askance. - -"Is that so? Well, Violet, has she been of any use to you?" - -"None whatever." - -"Then, Jane Simmons, I should think that you could go." - -The woman went, swiftly, noiselessly, with downcast eyes, across the -hall, towards the service stairs. When she was out of sight, she turned -towards the direction in which they were; she did not look pleased, and -she said, quite loudly enough to have been audible to anyone who might -have been standing near: - -"I've as good as half a mind to get him hanged, to spite the two of -you." - -The countess, in the hall, regarded her friend; it was now much -lighter, so that it was easy to see how white and worn the girl was -looking. It is possible that the consciousness of the pallid face -beside her softened the asperity which the lady had meant to mark her -tone. She just spoke two words, in the form of a question. - -"Well, Vi?" - -Miss Forster's reply was still briefer; she merely echoed the other's -first word. "Well?" - -Her ladyship waited; the girl continued still. - -"Is that all you have to say to me?" - -Miss Forster sighed, the long-drawn sigh of the sick at heart. Her tone -was in tune with the sigh. - -"Margaret, if I were to start telling you all there is to tell--and I -am so tired. I feel as if I hadn't slept for years, and as if I should -never sleep again." - -Her ladyship's tone was practical. - -"That's all very well, my dear; I can see you're not feeling yourself, -but don't you think you ought to tell me something?" - -"I'll do better than tell you, since actions speak louder than words." - -Miss Forster raised the blue velvet cover, and she opened the chest, -this time without interruption; from within she took a brown leather -bag and held it out to the countess, who observed it with doubtful -eyes. - -"What bag is that?" - -"Take it and see." - -The countess took it, a little gingerly, as if she feared that -unpleasant consequences might come from touching it. - -"Vi, what are you playing at? Whose is this bag, and how did it get -into that chest, and why have you given it to me, and what is in the -thing?" - -"I cannot tell you quite, as I've only seen the outside of the bag, and -that for a moment only, but I can guess what it contains." - -"Then it's not yours?" - -The girl shook her head. - -"Then why have you given it to me?" - -"I fancy, if you look inside, its contents will supply the answer." - -"But whose bag is it?" - -"That I cannot tell you." - -"But what right have you to give me permission to look into a bag that -certainly doesn't belong to you?" - -"Don't be silly, Margaret; I fancy its contents will explain why you -should not stand on foolish points of etiquette; open it." - -The countess did as she was bid--then broke into exclamation. - -"Why, Vi, whatever is all this?" - -"That's what I want to know." - -"It looks as if it were a diamond necklace." - -"I shouldn't be surprised if there were more than one." - -"Vi, it's stuffed with them!" - -"I thought so; I fancy, when you come to make inquiries, that you will -find all those precious things whose loss your guests are bemoaning." - -"Was it Jane Simmons who took them?" - -"That is a subject on which I would rather you asked me no questions; I -cannot answer them." - -"But, my dear child, what reason have you for screening her?" Miss -Forster merely shook her head. "But in the face of this you can't -expect to be allowed to take up an attitude of silence. What -explanation am I to give?" - -"Give any explanation you choose; you'll find that the people will be -too glad to have their things restored to bother you with questions." - -"That's all you know; each one of those women will insist on knowing -how I was able to restore them, and if I can't give a satisfactory -answer they'll begin to think unpleasant things of me. I must tell them -something--what am I to tell them? Am I to tell them that I found them -in a leather bag which you handed over as if it were a cup of tea? If I -do, then for the history of the bag they'll refer to you." - -"Then they'll not get it. I'm very sorry, Margaret, but if you knew how -I feel you'd let me off, at least for a while; talk to me later on. -Mayn't I go upstairs, and try to get a little sleep? I believe that if -I could I'd be better able to talk to you than I am now." - -Shutting her eyes, the girl pressed her fingers against the lids as if -they ached with weariness. The countess did show some signs of -sympathy. - -"My poor dear Violet, do get between the sheets, and get all the sleep -you can; sleep the clock round, if you like. Is your foot still bad? -Shall I come up and help you into bed?" - -"No, thank you, Margaret; my foot isn't all that I could wish it to be, -but I think I can manage. If you only knew how much I want to be -alone!" - -There was a pathetic something in the girl's voice which touched the -other's heart; there was such a ring of sincerity in the expression of -her desire to be alone. - -She suffered the girl to go, so conscious of her wish to escape the -scrutiny of even friendly eyes that she did not turn to look at her. -When the pit-pat of her slippered feet had died away, her ladyship said -to herself, with rueful visage: - -"That girl's in a mood for anything; I'm not sure that I was wise to -let her go alone; but how could I thrust myself upon her craving for -solitude? I only hope she'll do nothing worse than she's done already. -Now, who's that? Is she coming back again, or is it Jane Simmons? Those -steps belong to neither--that's Rupert; he's found out that I'm -missing, and he's coming dashing after me." - -The lady's surmise proved to be correct; someone was "dashing" after -her, two or three stairs at a time--a gentleman who, rushing out into -the hall, looked about him; then, espying her, exclaimed: - -"Margaret! You little wretch! If you only knew what a fright you gave -me. What the dickens made you get out of bed, out of the room, at this -time of the morning and slip down here?" - -"Business." - -"Business! What in thunder do you mean by business?" - -The gentleman approached close to the lady's side; she was looking up -at him with the demurest smile. - -"Rupert, I've had a dream." - -"You've had a what? What's that you're holding?" - -"That's the dream." - -"The dream? What are you talking about--it's a bag." - -"Precisely, it is a bag, and the bag's the dream." - -She observed him with a look in her big, wide open eyes which made them -seem almost as if they were a child's. - -"Are you dreaming still, or am I?" - -She replied to his question with another. - -"Rupert, do you always believe every word I say?" - -"Well"--he made a sound as if he might have been clearing his -throat--"that depends." - -"At least you must believe every word I am going to tell you now; you -hear, Rupert, you must. You know what those people said last night -about the things they had lost?" - -"Am I likely to have forgotten? Am I ever likely to forget?" - -"Rupert--now this is the part which you have to believe--I dreamt that -all those things were in a leather bag which was in this chest." - -"Great Cæsar's ghost!" - -"The dream was so real that, when I woke, I had to come downstairs to -see if it was true--and it was." - -"You don't mean it!" - -"There is the chest; in it was this bag; and in the bag I do -believe are all the jewels which were lost--including my own. Isn't -that--wonderful?" - -"It's more than wonderful, young woman, it's----" - -She put her small hand up to his lips and stopped him, commenting on -his sentence as if it had been finished. - -"I quite agree with you, Rupert, it is delightful; nothing more -fortunate could possibly have happened." - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - An Envelope - - -What the various ladies who had spent the night at Avonham thought when -their presence was desired in Lady Cantyre's boudoir, and they found -spread out upon a table an amazing assemblage of triumphs of the -jeweller's art, and the countess told them that story about the dream -and the bag, was not quite clear. Because, in telling her tale, the -countess made it plain, not only that criticism was not invited, but -also that questions would be resented, and, more, not answered. - -When each lady was requested to choose her own property there ensued an -animated scene. It was a regrettable fact that discussion actually -arose as to who was the owner of certain trinkets. There were three -diamond brooches; three ladies had lost a diamond brooch; the question -arose as to which of those brooches belonged to each of them; before it -was solved some very undesirable things had been said, and worse had -been hinted. Nor was that the only instance of the kind; there were a -couple of diamond pendants over which two ladies nearly came to blows. -As one of them was unmistakably much the better of the two, it is -difficult to evade the conclusion that one of them must have been a -conscious liar, and, it is to be feared, even more than that. - -The countess, when her guests would let her, was content to look on and -smile; only when she could not help it did she essay the part of -peacemaker. Although the choosing of each one's property ought to have -been the simplest thing in the world, it would seem, when the task of -selection was done, as if no one lady was on the best of terms with any -other; a fact on which it is inconceivable that the countess had -calculated as likely to prevent any undesirable discussion of her story -of the dream. - -"They can talk as much as they like about it afterwards," the countess -had said to her husband, "but they won't have a chance of talking to -me; because you and I are going for a yachting cruise which will occupy -us all the spring and summer." - -"What! Aren't you going to spend the season in town?" - -"I am not." - -"But you've had the house done up, and--no end!" - -"Rupert, my health will not permit it. You are going to wire to your -captain man to have the yacht ready to-morrow. I am going to see Sir -James Jeffreys, and he is going to order me on board at once, because I -must have sea air, and Violet Forster is coming with us." - -"Is she--is that because that ankle of hers must have sea air too?" - -"Surely you must be aware that there is nothing so restful to an -injured ankle as the sort of life one leads on board a yacht. Please -send your wire, or shall I?" - -This conversation took place before the lady and gentleman had yet -quitted their own apartment; he was dressed, and she had dismissed her -maid. When she said that about the wire he began to snap his thumb-nail -against his teeth, which was a trick he had when he was worried. - -"Aren't you forgetting one thing? It's all very well for you to have a -dream about that blessed bag, but I can't have a dream about that -fellow Draycott. I can't start off yachting while that's in the wind." - -The lady was standing, with her hands behind her back, looking down -with a contemplative air at the toe of her tiny shoe as it peeped from -under the hem of her dress. - -"I don't see why not. Our Easter ball has not been, in all respects, -the success I had hoped it would be, and usually is; but I don't see -what is to be gained by your hanging about while somebody is looking -into that very unpleasant affair. Indeed, it seems in itself to be a -sufficient reason why you should go yachting." - -The gentleman was still worriedly clicking his thumb-nail. - -"It's all very well for you to talk, but things are not going to be so -easy for me as they've been for you. I tell you I can't dream about a -bag; I don't at all suppose that I shall be able to get away with -anything like decency--not what you would call get away--for, at any -rate, some days to come." - -"Very well, then Violet and I will go alone; we will chaperone each -other; and you will join us when you can. I presume you don't suggest -that it is necessary that I should stay?" - -His lordship pulled a rueful face. - -"It certainly isn't necessary, because I don't suppose you'll be able -to do anything, but----" He gave a little groan. "Well, I expect you're -right, and after all perhaps you'd better go, and, of course, if you -like, take Vi with you; she'll be a companion. I shouldn't wonder--I've -a feeling in my bones that there will be a fuss made about Noel -Draycott; and if there is, you'd certainly better be out of it. Upon my -word, I wish we'd never had this ball; I've a kind of a sort of a -feeling that the Easter ball at Avonham is going to bulk rather largely -in the public eye; I see myself figuring in the public prints, and I -certainly don't want to have you there. I'll wire to Slocock right -away." - -Captain Slocock was the officer in command of the Earl of Cantyre's -well-known steam yacht _Sea Bird_. - -The prophet was justified, there was a fuss; nothing had yet been heard -of Mr. Draycott. It became a moot point whether something ought not to -have been done in the matter, even in the dead of the night; it might, -more than one person in the establishment became presently aware, -become a very awkward subject for unpleasant future comment. - -His lordship's point of view was easy to grasp; there really had been -nothing to show that anything serious had happened. - -Scandal was the thing most to be avoided; if the police had been called -in, there would have had to be a scandal, and nothing might have suited -Noel Draycott less. There might, his lordship put it, have been a -discussion between Noel Draycott and, say, someone else, of a strictly -personal kind, in which Draycott might have got the worst of it. It was -a most regrettable incident, that such a thing should have occurred at -Avonham, on the night of the Easter ball. Mr. Draycott owed an apology -to his hosts and their guests; he would be called to a severe account -at the very first possible moment. - -Of course, Major Reith had been under a misapprehension. In the first -shock of his surprise at finding the man in such a dreadful condition -on the floor, he jumped to the not unnatural conclusion that he was -dead, which, though natural, was absurd. Who had ever heard of a dead -man picking himself up and taking himself off? Which was what Noel -Draycott had done. - -Where he had taken himself to was another story. He was not at the -barracks, as they had learned on the telephone, but then it was hardly -likely that he would be there. In that discussion with someone else, he -had been pretty badly knocked about; the major's story made that clear. -He would doubtless be ashamed of himself; there was probably something -not nice at the back of it all. He would probably have preferred to -take his broken head somewhere where there was a chance of his wounds -being healed without their ever coming to the knowledge of his brother -officers. What had to be ascertained was the hiding-place in which he -had taken shelter. - -And here something a trifle awkward cropped up; it seemed possible that -he had never been either at Avonham or in that part of the country -before. Then, in his state, at that hour of the night, for what quarter -could he have set out, and how? - -The presumption was that he had got out of the window, and shut it -after him, which was in itself to presume a good deal; but as it seemed -impossible that he could have gone wandering about the house--they had -searched it from cellar to basement, to make sure that he was not -hidden in it somewhere--he could have gone no other way. But after he -had got out of the window, what then? In his then state, in the -darkness, in a strange place, for what goal could he have been aiming? - -The obvious answer seemed to be, none. He could not have had any -cut-and-dried scheme formulated in his brain. The probability was that -he had gone wandering, aimlessly, on. Then, in that case, he could -scarcely have gone far; not beyond the park which extended for vast -spaces about the house; he would never have found the way, even if he -had been able to go the distance. - -The conclusion therefore was that Noel Draycott must be somewhere -within the precincts of the park, so search parties were sent off in -all directions to look for him. There were quite a number of houses in -the park; inquiries were made at each of these without result. One -small fact did leak out, if it could be called a fact. At one of the -keepers' cottages, a small child, a girl of eleven or twelve, declared -that she had been awakened in the night by the noise made by a -motor-car. If the child's tale was true, then it must have been after -half-past three in the morning, probably after four. Her father had -been kept up by the ball at the house; he had had something to do with -expediting the departing guests. It was half-past three when he went -home; the child was then awake, had spoken to him. She said that after -her father had left her she fell asleep, and was disturbed by the -motor-car; the cars and carriages, she said, had been waking her up all -through the night. No one could trace that motorcar, whose it was. At -that hour what could it have been doing there? The last vehicle had -borne away the latest guests long before then. No one seemed to have -observed the hour, but it was probably about that time that Major Reith -had found Noel Draycott lying on the floor--to lose him directly -afterwards. Had the belated motor-car, which that small girl asserted -she had heard, anything to do with the loss? - -It was not an easy question to answer. - -The problem which the Earl of Cantyre, and in a lesser degree, his -friend, had to solve, was, what was to be done? Should they wait for -news of Noel Draycott, emanating probably from himself, or should -communication be made with the police? The latter all the parties -seemed to be most unwilling to do. It meant publicity. The news that -the police had been summoned to Avonham would be flashed all over -England inside an hour. It was just the spicy sort of tale the public -would like. "Strange Occurrence in a Nobleman's Mansion": the earl -could see that sort of headline staring at him from the principal -news-page of a dozen different journals. "The Avonham Mystery"--that was -the kind of title which some inspired journalist would fit to a -commonplace, vulgar, sordid incident. - -No, thank you. His lordship decided that he would not risk that sort of -thing until compelled by circumstances. He would have inquiries set on -foot, in a quiet way, in every possible direction; if nothing came of -them it would be time to speak to the police. - -One small, yet curious occurrence did, however, induce in him a -momentary qualm of doubt as to whether it was really the wisest course -which he was pursuing. - -They had been talking in the hall--the amount of talk which was got -through at Avonham that morning was beyond credibility. The earl was -just marching off to his own particular sanctum, wishing with all his -heart that the people would go, and that there might be peace, when he -saw in the hand of a bronze figure which stood on a pedestal--an -envelope. It was so placed that he could not help but notice it; as he -came along it caught him full in the eye. He had passed that figure -only a minute or two before; the envelope had not been there then, or -he would certainly have seen it. He took it from the fingers of the -outstretched hand. It was inscribed, in Roman letters which had been -formed with a soft pen, "To the Earl of Cantyre." - -He glanced around; no one was in sight who seemed likely to have put it -there. It struck him, even in that moment of irritation, as a little -odd. He tore it open. Within was a sheet of his own notepaper. On it, -again in Roman letters, formed with the same soft pen, was written: - - -"Who stole the Ditchling diamonds? - -"Sydney Beaton. - -"Who killed Noel Draycott? - -"Sydney Beaton. - -"If in doubt apply for information to Violet Forster." - - -His lordship had but time to get a cursory glance at these singular -questions and answers, when his wife, coming along with the Duchess of -Ditchling beside her, snatched the piece of paper from his hand; it was -done with a laugh, but it was none the less a snatch. - -"My dear boy," she cried, "what have you got there which makes you pull -such faces?" - -She glanced at the paper she had captured--and her countenance was -changed. Something was flashed to each other by the married couple's -two pairs of eyes. Then the countess crushed the sheet of paper in her -hand, and, without a word to her husband, went on with the duchess. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - The Countess and Violet - - -Miss Forster's bedroom door was gently opened, and the Countess of -Cantyre went softly in. She closed the door as gently as she had opened -it, and, remaining motionless, looked inquiringly about her. All was -still. The curtains had not yet been drawn. In the apartment, despite -its size, was the stuffy smell which comes to a bedroom when the -windows have not been opened through the night. Her ladyship, crossing -the room, drew the curtains and threw the windows wide open. It was a -lovely day; the clean, fresh air came pouring in. The room looked on to -the park, over a waving expanse of green which stretched as far as the -eye could reach. She stood for a moment to enjoy the glory of the -morning. - -"That's better," she said out loud. Then she turned to the bed. - -Miss Forster's form was dimly outlined beneath the clothes. She had not -moved when her visitor entered, or even when the windows were thrown -open. She was either sleeping very soundly or she refused to allow -herself to notice what was going on. - -The countess, going to the side of the bed towards which her face was -turned, stood waiting for her to show some signs of life. Presently -there was a slight movement beneath the clothes, and a faint voice -inquired: - -"Who's that?" - -"You know very well who it is." - -"Margaret, is that you?" - -"You know very well it's me. Who but me would take the liberty of -coming into your room, drawing the curtains and opening the windows and -letting in the air? If you only knew what an atmosphere you've been -living in! Do you always sleep with your windows closed?" - -The only answer was a sound which might have meant anything, followed -by a movement beneath the clothes. - -"How's the foot?" - -"It seems better." The words were whispered rather than spoken. - -"How are you?" - -"I'm all right." - -"You don't sound as if you were all right. What's become of your voice? -And, if you are all right, what are you doing in bed at this hour of -the day?" - -"I was just going to get up." - -"Were you? That's good news. There were no immediate signs of it that I -could see. Vi, you and I are going yachting." - -"Going what?" - -"Yachting. I said yachting. Do you want me to shout? We are leaving -here to-day; we are starting on the _Sea Bird_ to-morrow for wherever -Captain Slocock likes to take us; you and I alone together." - -"Are we?" - -"Yes, we are. Is that the dying-duck-in-a-thunderstorm sort of fashion -in which you take my surprising piece of information? Move some of -those bedclothes and let me see your face, or, if you won't, I will." - -Her ladyship did. It was a white, wan face which looked out at her from -between the sheets, so white and so wan that her ladyship was quite -startled. - -"Vi, what do you mean by telling me you're all right? You look like a -ghost." - -"I wish I were." - -"What does the child mean! Whatever for?" - -"If I were a ghost I should be dead." - -"I see, that's it; and a good, sound, healthy idea, especially for a -young woman who is scarcely more than a child." - -Her ladyship, drawing forward a big arm-chair, placed herself, not on -the seat, but on the back; her feet she placed on the seat. She was -such a small person that if she had occupied the position which people -usually do upon a chair, Violet, on her high spring mattress, would -have been above the level of her head, and she, for the purpose she had -in view, at a disadvantage. Balanced on the top of the back of the -chair, she was at least on a level with the girl in the bed. - -"Vi, I am going to talk to you. I wish I'd been made a foot longer; -then I shouldn't be forced to take positions on furniture which people -were never meant to take. You're going to tell me all about it. You and -I have had our share of troubles in our time, and we've always made a -clean breast of them to each other. Now start confessing to me." - -"It's easy for you to talk." - -"Of course it is; and it will be easy for you when you've once got -going." - -"You don't understand." - -"Oh, yes, I do. Sydney Beaton was here last night." - -"Margaret! How do you know?" The girl threw the bedclothes off for -herself, starting up from her pillow. "Has that wretch told you?" - -Her ladyship regarded the girl attentively; then shook her dainty head. - -"No one has told me anything. I just guessed, though perhaps you've -told me as much as you very well could." - -"I told you? What do you mean?" - -"My dear Vi, consider. Could your conduct have been more suggestive? -Don't I know you? Aren't I aware that you're the coolest, calmest, most -levelheaded of young women? Do you suppose that you acted up to that -character last night? My dear Vi, something was wrong with you, so -wrong that it had turned the girl I knew into one I didn't. What could -it be? We know all about each other that there is to know, so that I -knew that there was only one thing which could have on you such a dire -effect. How did you know that leather bag was in that chest? Mind you, -I'm not asking a question; I'm not trying to force your confidence; I'm -only putting it to you if it isn't obvious that there was only one -conclusion I could draw?" - -The girl was sitting up in bed, white-faced, wild-eyed. - -"Then, now you know why I wished that I was a ghost." - -Again her ladyship observed her closely, her head a little on one side. - -"Aren't you--doesn't it occur to you as being just barely possible that -you're a goose?" - -"Why am I a goose?" - -"May I speak?" - -"I can't stop you. You've evidently come here for that express -purpose." - -"I know you will misunderstand me, and fly at me, and scratch me, and -do all sorts of pretty things." - -Her ladyship sighed; her tone breathed resignation. - -"You needn't be afraid." - -"I'm not; only--Vi, if you only knew how sorry I am for you." - -"I don't want your sorrow." - -"Vi, I am afraid that your Sydney Beaton is a bad lot." - -"Don't you dare to say it--you!" - -"You can't believe that he isn't." - -"I can, and I do." - -"Was he Jane Simmons's catspaw, or was Jane Simmons his? I presume they -were confederates. Only that could explain the little talk you had with -her." - -The girl clenched her fists; she drew a great breath. - -"Margaret, I want to tell you just how it is with me." - -"Tell on." - -"I'd give--I'd jump at the chance of marrying him to-morrow." - -"I'll do you the justice to say that I don't believe you. Even if -you're a lunatic, you can't be absolutely raving." - -"Let me explain." - -"With pleasure. Your remark will need all the explanation you can lay -your hands on." - -"Do you know what it is--to love a man?" - -"I'm rather fond of mine." - -"Fond!" Nothing could have exceeded the scorn which the girl's manner -was meant to convey. "Do you know what it is for your love for a man to -have become so part and parcel of your being that life means nothing -without him?" - -"I'm glad to say I don't." - -"Then, I do. So that, you see, is where we differ." - -"Poor Vi!" - -"Don't talk nonsense, Margaret; there's no poverty in such a state as -mine. I'm far richer than you, because I have the only thing which life -has to offer worth having. Don't speak; let me continue. You've read -the fairy tale in which the heroine gets the gift of sight--it's an -allegory. She meets one person in whose nature there is nothing hidden -from her; she can see into his very heart. Now start laughing: I can -see into Sydney Beaton's very heart." - -"My dear, I'm very far from laughing. You're not the only girl who has -thought she had that gift where a particular man was concerned. What -would the police have said if they had caught the gentleman you name in -the very act? You know, they don't consider motives, or peer into -hearts; they only deal with facts." - -"You don't understand." - -"Well, make me." - -"Aren't I trying to? But you will keep interrupting. Sydney has never -been exactly wise----" - -"So you've told me." - -The girl took no heed of the interruption; she only glared. - -"But I will answer for his standard of honour, and honesty, as I would -for my own." - -"I wouldn't." - -"That's because you don't know him, as I do. They lied when they said -he cheated. I spoke to some of them last night. Mr. Tickell, who was -playing against him, admitted that he knew nothing about it, that he -saw no wrong in anything that Sydney did, nothing in the least -suspicious in his behaviour. Captain Draycott as good as owned that, in -supporting Anthony Dodwell's accusation, he might have been in error; I -could see for myself that that consciousness was weighing on his mind. -Major Reith tells me that it was all done in the hurry and whirl of a -few mad moments. They talked it over after Sydney had gone; they were -all agreed that they would have liked to have him back, to have -questioned him when he was cooler and they also. I haven't seen Colonel -Sandys, who, you know, was in command of the regiment. I haven't had a -chance. He's been abroad ever since. But I've been given to understand -that, although he wasn't present, he expressed himself on the matter in -terms which were unflattering to all concerned; and I've a suspicion -that his feeling on the subject had something to do with his retiring. -Anthony Dodwell has not become more popular since; I believe, that if -the mess was polled, they'd exchange him for Sydney to-morrow." - -"Not after last night, my dear." - -"I'm coming to that. Until now I've not felt that it became me to -interfere. I felt that Sydney might resent my interfering; that he -would prefer to take the matter up in his own way, at his own time. But -after last night I see how mistaken I may have been. Margaret, if you -were a man of honour, consider what your feelings would be if those -whom you had esteemed your friends treated you as those men did -Sydney." - -"It's not easy for me to put myself into such a position; but if I had -been in his place, and been innocent, I think I should have recognised -the danger of my position, have kept calm, and have had the matter -thrashed right out." - -"My dear Margaret, you don't seem to realise that all these men were -half beside themselves. I can quite fancy what men can be in such a -moment. Sydney wanted to fly at Dodwell's throat. I'm sure that I can't -blame him; I should have wanted to do the same, wouldn't you?" - -"Well, that depends. I can't say that the little I have known of -Captain Dodwell has moved me to affection. But, that apart, how do you -explain last night?" - -"Don't I tell you that I'm coming to that? Margaret, have patience. -Sydney left the barracks that night with, it is nearly certain, very -little money, and half mad with rage and shame and grief. Then the -curtain falls; we know nothing of what happened to him afterwards. But, -in the light of last night, can't you imagine?" - -"That's the pity of it--I can." - -"Yes; but from one point of view only. Can't you conceive of there -being another? Can't you imagine what he may have suffered in what, to -him, was a new and hideous world--hopeless, helpless, friendless, -penniless, alone? I can't think of any way in which Sydney could have -earned a farthing, circumstanced as he was. When his money was gone, -which probably lasted only a very little time, he perhaps went hungry. -Oh, you don't believe that men do go hungry! My dear, since Sydney -went, I've seen crowds of men, in London streets and parks and -public places, who, I am convinced, go hungry nearly all the time. -Margaret--again I give you permission to laugh--as I've been lying here -between the sheets I've seen Sydney starving in rags. I'm sure it has -been like that. When a man of his position gets down to that, what is -there for him to do?" - -"That sort of thing would be pretty rough on him, I grant. But, you -know, Vi, you're taking a very great deal for granted." - -"I've admitted that Sydney was never the wisest or the strongest of -men. It is quite possible that in those depths he met those who were -even more desperate than himself, who pointed out to him a way of at -least getting something to eat. There's something about that woman -Simmons which convinces me that she has known something of the sort of -thing of which I speak." - -"Do you mean that she has known what it is to starve?" - -"I shouldn't wonder. There was something about her when she came into -this room last night which struck me. When I was talking to her this -morning in the hall I saw what it was; it kept peeping out. Margaret, -that woman has stood at despair's very gate; she has never forgotten -it, and never will. It's taken from her something which you and I have, -but which she will never have again; she is not a woman in the sense we -are. Although she may not know it, she is as some wild creature which -has its back against the wall, and which fights, straining every nerve -and every faculty it has, against what must prevail." - -The countess was regarding her with her eyes wide open. - -"I always have credited you with imagination, but I certainly never -guessed that it amounted to this. I must take a look at Simmons myself, -and see what my imagination does for me. I don't want to be beaten in a -game of that kind." - -"I told you you could laugh, and so you can. If I had had my wits about -me, I should have stopped Sydney last night; I should have stuck to him -tight; I should have made him understand that, whether he would or -wouldn't, I would stay by his side, lest worse befell him. I am going -to do that now; I am going to leave no stone unturned to find him. When -I have found him I'll not lose sight of him again. He has not been very -wise; but the world has used him ill. I will stand by his side against -the world." - -"My dear, you talk as I've always fancied young women talk in plays -I've never seen, the sort of plays which I have been given to -understand were popular at the Adelphi once upon a time. It may be very -beautiful, but it's frightfully silly. Suppose it gets generally -known--and these things do get out--that the gentleman in question -committed what was really an act of burglary last night, do you imagine -that even the most catholic-minded people will want to cultivate his -acquaintance, even with you at his side? And, Vi, you know there may be -worse than burglary." - -"What do you mean by that?" - -"Hasn't it occurred to you as just possible that he may have had -something to do with what happened to Captain Draycott, who, by the -way, is still nowhere to be found? Rupert tries to pretend that he -thinks everything is all right, but I can see that he is oppressed by a -feeling that he is lying at the bottom of the lake." - -"I'm not going to talk to you, Margaret; I can see that it's no use. -I'm sure that if Sydney had anything to do with Captain Draycott, that -gentleman brought it on himself." - -"My dear girl! But will the police think that?" - -"Margaret, I'm going to get up. It's no use our continuing the -discussion. We not only look out of two different pairs of eyes; we -look on two entirely different worlds. In yours it's roses, roses all -the way; in mine it's thorns, thorns, thorns. Are you going, or must I -dress while you're here?" - -The girl, slipping out of the bed, stood before her in her night -attire. - -"My dear, you often have, but I'll go if you'd rather. Shall I send -your maid?" - -"Send no one. I'll dress myself; I will do all things for myself in -future. And, while you're here, I'll say good-bye. While I've been -lying there I've been planning what to do to find Sydney. We're not to -see much of each other while I'm doing that, and when I've found him -we're likely to see still less. As you put it, he and I are not the -sort of persons with whom you and your friends might care to claim -acquaintance." - -"Then you won't come yachting?" - -"Thank you, I will not." - -"Vi, don't be a pig! I'm on your side." - -"I doubt it, nor, under the circumstances, do I see how you could be." - -"But I am, you idiot! I've something of the sort of feeling for you -which it seems you have for him, and though I've no doubt whatever -that you're more foolish than a goose--because a goose is quite a wise -bird--all the same, I'm going to stick as close to you as you talk of -sticking to him. So perhaps, before I quit this room, you'll promise -that you won't leave the house till you've had another talk with me." - -"What will be the use of that?" - -"Never mind; you promise." - -"Oh, I'll promise; but I shall leave the house this morning all the -same." - -"You can, and my prayers will go with you; but you're not going in your -present frame of mind towards me--that I tell you straight. You've had -no breakfast, and it's lunch time. When you're dressed, suppose you -come to my room and have something with me; I'll see that we're alone." - -"If you like, I'll come, but it will be on the understanding that you -will not even try to persuade me not to do what I am going to do." - -"I won't try to persuade or dissuade you--only you come." - -When the countess was again in the pretty sitting-room which she called -her very own she took a sheet of paper from between the buttons of her -blouse: it was the sheet of paper which had been contained in the -envelope which had been presented to the earl by the bronze figure on -the pedestal. The little lady read it carefully through; then she -struck a match, and lit it at the corner, holding it in her fingers -while it flamed, and she asked herself: - -"I wonder who wrote it--could it have been Jane Simmons?" - -When the paper had been utterly consumed, dropping the ash on to the -floor, she pressed it into the carpet with her shoe, so that none of it -remained. Then she rang the bell. To the man who answered it she said: - -"There's a maid in the house named Simmons--Jane Simmons. Tell them to -send her to me here at once." - -Some minutes elapsed, during which the countess, taking her ease on a -couch covered with pink satin, opened, one after the other, a number of -envelopes which were in a tray upon a table. For the most part just -glancing at their enclosures, she dropped them from her on to the -floor, and was still engaged in doing this when the man returned. - -"It appears, my lady, that Simmons has left the house." - -"Indeed?" The countess just glanced up from still another enclosure she -was dropping to put the question; no one would have supposed she was -interested in the least. - -"Yes, my lady. She was missed some time ago. Mrs. Ellis sent to her -room, and it was found she was gone. It seems that one of the gardeners -saw her walking towards the lake with a bag in her hand." - -"Is that so? Tell them to serve lunch in my room--lunch for two--in, -say, half an hour." - -The man went. The lady continued to treat her correspondence with the -same scant courtesy. - -"So she has gone. I thought it would be found that she had gone. She -was seen walking towards the lake, with a bag. I wonder why the lake, -and what was in the bag. Poor Vi!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - The Latest Story - - -Days became weeks, and the mystery of what had become of Noel Draycott -was a mystery still. It had got into the papers; to the disgust of the -Earl of Cantyre, it had become, in a sense, the topic of the hour. -"Where is Noel Draycott?" was the question, set in staring capitals, -which faced newspaper readers day after day. The usual things were said -about the incapacity of Scotland Yard; and people were assured by the -morning and evening Press that the whole affair was but another -illustration of how ineffective our detective service really is. - -The official methods of dealing with his house and grounds were bad -enough, but when it came to the amateur detective, his lordship drew -the line. It was a subject on which he expressed himself very freely. - -"Think the professional is no good, do they? I can't say that I'm -struck with him myself. But compared to these male and female creatures -who are aping him----! There's a woman who has taken on the job of what -she calls 'solving' the mystery for the _Daily Screecher_; they tell me -they've had the greatest difficulty in keeping her out of the servants' -hall, to say nothing of the butler's pantry; and the other day they -found her under the dining-room table just as they were starting to lay -the dinner. I've given instructions that all such persons are to be -warned gently off the premises, and kept off. Of course, if any of them -should stray by any unhappy accident into the lake, it will be a -misfortune. Privacy is getting a thing of the past. From the tone -some of these fellows take, you'd think it was their house, their -grounds--not mine." - -Miss Forster had gone her own way--her uncle and many of her friends -put it, her own bad way. She had gone straight from Avonham to -Nuthurst, her uncle's house, which had been her home for so many years. -In an interview she had insisted on having with him a very few minutes -after her arrival, she had given her uncle one of the surprises of his -life. - -"You wish me to marry Sir George Beaton?" she had informed him. - -"I'm not particular about your marrying George Beaton," the distracted -old man declared. "There are hundreds and thousands of men in the world -besides. What's the matter with Harold Reith? I thought you liked him." - -"I like him too much to marry him." - -"Of course, there's that point of view. I said to him: 'If the girl -does marry you, you'll want to drown her and yourself inside six -weeks.' Well, that didn't seem to cheer him." - -Miss Forster looked at the old gentleman with doubtful glance, as if -she suspected him of malign intention. - -"Such a remark on your part was quite unnecessary. Major Reith is not -likely to find himself in such a situation. I am going to marry Sydney -Beaton." - -Had she actually dropped a live bomb at his feet, Mr. Hovenden could -not have seemed more disturbed. - -"That pestilent young scoundrel! Was there ever anything like a woman -for sheer impossibility?" - -"It is because I am conscious of what your sentiments are on the -subject that I am going to leave Nuthurst." - -"You're going to do--what?" - -"I have an income of my own----" - -"Five hundred a year." - -"It's more than five hundred a year." - -"How much more?" - -"I'm going to take a small furnished flat in London, and I'm going to -live in it. For that my income will be more than ample." - -"Is the girl raving? What's the matter with my house--or with me? If it -comes to that, can't I take a flat for you?" - -She crossed the room, and she kissed him. Educated in the school of -experience, he did not show himself so grateful as he might have done. - -"What does that mean?" - -"It means, my dear uncle, that it can't be done." - -"What can't be done?" - -"I'd better be candid with you." - -"I'd sooner you weren't. Candour with you means saying something -disagreeable." - -"Circumstances have arisen which make me think that things are in a -very bad way with Sydney." - -"I shouldn't be surprised." - -"You would be surprised if you knew how bad they are." - -"Oh, no, I shouldn't. A young scamp like that must expect to feed on -the husks which the swine have rejected. I know. Rogues sometimes do -get punished even in this world." - -"Does it not occur to you how impossible it is that I should remain in -your house while you speak like that of my future husband?" - -"Your future husband?" - -"My future husband." She said it with an air of calmness which -irritated the old gentleman more than any show of heat would have done. - -"Violet, if ever you marry that young blackguard----" - -"Stop, uncle, before you say something which I may find it hard to -forgive." She spoke as if she wished him to understand that the -discussion was closed; that all she had to do was to make an -announcement. "I am leaving Nuthurst this afternoon; I am going up to -town by the three-twenty-three. I have told Cleaver to send my things -on after me and what things to send. I shan't want her. You may dismiss -her or keep her on, as you please. I dare say she may be found useful -in the house." - -"Dismiss Cleaver! At a moment's notice! I catch myself at it. And she -has waited upon you hand and foot since you wore your first pair of -long stockings!" - -As Geoffrey Hovenden growled the words out he surveyed her as a -clean-bred old mastiff might an impertinent young lap-dog. She went -calmly on, holding out to him a sheet of paper: - -"My address in town will be 2A Cobden Mansions, York Place. I've -written it on this piece of paper in case you should forget it. It is -quite respectable; you need be under no apprehension. All the occupants -of Cobden Mansions are women, who have to supply satisfactory -references before they are accepted as tenants. Good-bye." - -Ignoring the hand which she advanced, he glared at her as if he would -like to treat her to a good shaking. - -"Are you in earnest?" - -"I am. I know, uncle, how much I have to thank you for; please don't -think I'm ungrateful because I am leaving Nuthurst. If I had married -any of those hundred thousand gentlemen you just spoke of, I should -have had to leave your house for his, so it comes to the same thing, -because I hope that my husband will soon have a home for me. I don't -suppose we shall see much of each other in future----" - -"Don't talk balderdash! I'm disappointed in you, Violet, disappointed." - -"I'm sorry, uncle; but I shan't cease to love you, and I hope you won't -cease to love me." - -"Why should I? Though your whole conduct shows you don't care a snap of -your fingers for me. I don't believe you're really quite right in your -head; I've half a mind to have you certified as a lunatic." - -"You might find that harder than you suppose. But don't let us talk -about that. You'll think better of me when I've gone. If you won't -shake hands, once more good-bye. Remember, 2A Cobden Mansions. I shall -be always glad to have a visit from you." - -She was gone from the room, and very shortly afterwards from the house. -His inclination was to stop her by strong measures, but second thoughts -prevailed. He chose what he flattered himself was the wisdom of the -serpent. - -"If I let her think that it is a matter of complete indifference to me -whether she goes or stays, she'll soon be back again. When a woman -thinks that you don't care if she does make a fool of herself, she'll -soon give up trying. I never thought that the girl would be such an -imbecile." - -When, a few days later, Sir George Beaton called, and placed him in -possession of certain information, he formed a still lower estimate of -his niece's mental capacity. The young man burst in on the old one just -as he had finished his usual daily interview with his steward. - -"Hovenden," he began, without any preliminary greeting, "what's this -idea about Violet having left Nuthurst and gone to live in town?" - -The old gentleman looked up from a bundle of papers which the steward -had left behind. - -"I don't know what you hear, but she's gone." His glance returned to -the papers. "So far as I can understand, she's gone to look for your -brother Sydney." - -Sir George displayed signs of acute perturbation. - -"Good heavens! Do you know what's the latest tale they're telling?" - -"How should I? How long is it since I saw you? The worst tales about -your brother I've always heard from you." - -"Is that meant for---- What do you mean by that?" - -"It's the truth, any way. Ever since Sydney was a small boy you've been -telling tales to his discredit." - -"Have I? I'm going to cap them with another: he's been committing -burglary--that's his latest performance." - -"Tell that to the marines. You know, George, you overdo it where Sydney -is concerned; you make of him 'an 'orrible tale'; the colours with -which you paint him are invariably sanguinary." - -Sir George Beaton punctuated his words by striking his hand on the -table at which the old gentleman was sitting. - -"On the night of the Easter ball at Avonham all the women's jewellery -was taken from their rooms--by Sydney." - -"Who told you that?" - -"Never mind who told me; it's a fact. It's the topic among the people -we know." - -"He did it for a lark; he has a peculiar sense of humour." - -"That's how you look at it; you may well call it peculiar. There's -something else which is being said of him, still more peculiar." - -"He has committed murder?" - -"That's what's being said." - -"George, do you know you're talking of your own brother?" - -"Don't I know it? You've seen in the papers about this Noel Draycott -who is missing; he's one of the men who accused him that night at -poker. They say that after Sydney had made off with the women's jewels -he came across Draycott, there was a row, and he killed him. And this -is the man Violet has gone to London to look for! She's not the only -person who is doing it. And I'll say this--I hope that neither she nor -anyone else will find him. I don't want to have my name entered in the -Newgate Calendar, nor to see my brother finish at the gallows." - -"Is it possible, do you think, that Violet can know of this--of these -charges which are alleged against him?" - -"I'm told it's because she knows that she's gone to town. She's got -some cranky notion in her head that this is a case in which, for love's -sake, the world would be well lost. To associate love with a man like -that!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - 2A Cobden Mansions - - -It was hard to see what Violet Forster had gained by her change of -residence, even from her own point of view; she felt that herself. She -was conscious that Cobden Mansions was not Nuthurst, and that her -particular corner in that tall, ugly, red brick building left a deal to -be desired. And so far as she could see, she had done no good by -coming; she had learnt absolutely nothing of Sydney Beaton's -whereabouts; she could not have learnt less had she chosen to stray in -the woods at Nuthurst instead of the highways and by-ways of London. - -She had never got over the difficulty which had beset her at the first, -that she had not been able to decide which was the best way to carry on -her search. She had always the one dreadful fact to remember, that she -was not the only person who wanted to get within touch of Sydney. If -she was not careful she might do him the worst possible turn, by -placing him in the hands of his enemies. That, in the sense in which -she used the word, he was an innocent man she had no doubt whatever; -but whether that sense was one which would commend itself to the -authorities was the problem which caused her many a sleepless night, -which took the roses out of her cheeks, the light from her eyes, -the spring from her steps; which had transformed the blooming, -light-hearted, high-spirited maiden into a nervous, shrinking, -white-faced woman. She who had never known what it was to have an -hour's illness, had suddenly become the victim of headaches which would -not go. Such headaches! It seemed as if some terrible weight were -pressing on her brain, making it difficult even for her to open her -eyes. Major Reith caught her one day while she was in the grip of one -of the very worst of them. Coming unannounced into her little -sitting-room, he found her lying face downwards on the couch. Starting -up, turning towards him her pallid face, they regarded each other with -mutual discomfiture. - -He spoke first: "I beg your pardon, but--I did knock." - -Assuming a more orthodox position, she conjured up--it seemed with -difficulty--a faint, wan smile. - -"I'm not surprised. It's I who should apologise; this absurd head of -mine makes me feel so stupid that anyone might knock half a dozen times -without my knowing it." - -Her appearance startled him; to him she seemed genuinely ill; the -change which had taken place in her hurt him more than he would have -cared to say. He was so unwilling that she should see the concern on -his face that he turned his face from her under the pretence of putting -his hat upon a chair. - -"Have you seen a doctor?" - -"What's the use? Medicine won't cure me, at least the sort of stuff a -doctor would prescribe." - -"Suppose you get really bowled over, what then?" She did not answer; -she shut her eyes and sat still. "Do you know you are beginning to -strike me as an extremely obstinate person?" - -"Are you only just beginning to find that out?" - -"You'll be a case for the hospital before very long, and then what good -will you have done, for yourself, for anyone?" - -"That's a question which I put to myself--so often. Please don't bully -me. You never have seen me cry, have you? But I shall cry if you do; -and I feel that if I once start I shall never stop. Have you any news? -That's the medicine I want, and a doctor who will give it me." - -"I'm more than half disposed to telegraph to someone who'd pack you off -to the sea; you'll brood yourself ill." - -"The sea won't do me any good; I've told you the only medicine which -will. Have you any?" - -"News? Of a sort. The regiment is all at sixes and sevens; in the whole -of its history there's never been such a state of things before." - -"What's wrong now with your precious regiment?" - -"Everything. There's a bad spirit abroad in the mess; there's continual -friction, the fellows are all at loggerheads, there's something that -jars." - -"So there ought to be, amongst such a set of individuals as constitute -your mess." - -"I've something to tell which you may regard as some of that medicine -you are looking for." - -"Have you? That's good; what is it?" - -"It depends upon the point of view whether it's good or whether it's -bad; from one point of view it's uncommonly bad." - -"I hope that's not mine." - -"I dare say it won't be. You know that throughout I've declined to -express a positive opinion about that poker business of Beaton's." - -"I do; and I've hated you for it." - -"I'm beginning to think that there may be something in your point of -view after all." - -"Really? That is condescension; and what has brought it about--you're -beginning to think?" - -"I know what you think, and I know why; you must forgive me if my -thoughts are on a different plane. You consider one man only, there's -nothing that matters except him; to me there's a very great deal. I'm a -soldier; to me the service is first and last; my regiment is all in -all." - -"Do you think I don't know that?" - -"That affair of Beaton's was bad enough in all conscience; it's a tale -which will be told of the regiment for many a day; but if it's going to -be reopened I don't know what will become of us--I honestly do not." - -"You don't believe that justice should be done even if the heavens -fall?" - -"I'm not sure that it is not better that one man should suffer, even -though unjustly, rather than that a great and glorious tradition should -be dragged in the mud and made a mock of." - -"Your sentiments do you infinite discredit; I wonder, since you hold -them, that I ever let you speak to me." - -"Yes--well, I do hold them, and I'm going to continue to speak to you -whether you let me or not." - -"You haven't got your medicine." - -"Young Tickell has made an announcement to the mess which is likely to -cause trouble. He laid a cheque on the table for the amount which was -in the pool that night, and he said that, as circumstances had arisen -which caused him to doubt, he felt that he would like the money to be -held in trust till the point was finally decided." - -"Bravo, Jackie! Conscience moves in a mysterious way; that really is -medicine." - -"Yes, I thought you'd think so; it doesn't occur to you to think what -the young gentleman's action means for the rest of us." - -"I'm hopeful that it will cause your consciences to move in a -mysterious way; I've always insisted that the age of miracles is still -with us." - -"Tickell as good as said that he doubted that Dodwell and Draycott had -said the thing which was not, and if we had not all of us behaved -infamously." - -"You prefer the French point of view of the _chose jugée_; isn't that -the phrase with which they decline to let injustice be set right?" - -"The thing's done--that was bad enough; but if it's all going to be -reopened it may be made infinitely worse; Tickell's action practically -laid an unpleasant imputation upon every one of us." - -"I shall write to Mr. Tickell and tell him how glad I am to find that -there is in him the making of an honest man." - -"What did you say to him that night at the Avonham ball?" Although the -major paused for an answer, none came. "I believe that what you said, -whatever it was, was the direct cause of his present action. Now what -did you say?" - -The lady rose from the couch, with a smile which, this time, was -childlike and bland. - -"I say that your medicine has already done me some good, and I think -that the fresh air of the heavens may do me more. Regent's Park is -within easy distance. Would you favour me with your society if I were -moved to stroll in it? I will go and put my hat on." She turned again -just as she was leaving the room. "By the way, who is the correspondent -who has favoured this morning's _Daily Screecher_ with that mysterious -communication; do you think it was manufactured in the office? I fancy -that mysterious communications sometimes are." - -"You credit me with a knowledge of journalistic methods which I don't -possess." - -"You saw it?" He nodded. "What do you think of it?" - -"I would rather not think of it at all." - -"That seems to be your attitude in all such matters; you're like the -ostrich who thinks that he hides himself and escapes from an unpleasant -predicament by hiding his head in the sand. You see, I've got to -think." - -"Then, if I were you, I shouldn't." - -"The _Daily Screecher_ says that a correspondent has favoured them with -an account of certain extraordinary occurrences which took place at -Avonham on the night of the Easter ball. If the statement is true, and -it seems to bear on it the hall-mark of truth, then it throws a very -lurid light on the continued mysterious disappearance of Captain Noel -Draycott. It goes on to say that searching and exhaustive inquiries are -being made into the statement, the result of which will be published in -an early issue. In the meantime it assures its readers that -sensational, and even astounding, developments may shortly be expected. -I suppose you are capable of telling me if you think that that -communication was manufactured in the office?" - -The major showed a disposition to fidget, on which the lady commented. - -"It's no use your shuffling your feet, or looking down at your boots, -or fingering your tie; everything is quite all right. Will you please -tell me what you think?" - -"It's difficult to say." - -"That means that you think there is a bona fide correspondent and that -the communication is genuine." - -"I'll put it this way--it's a wonder to me that something hasn't -peeped out already. You and I know that the facts that the papers have -got are not the real ones; there are--how many persons?--goodness only -knows!--who are in a position to supply them with something which is a -great deal nearer the truth--the whole truth, that is." - -"And you think that one of those persons has?" - -"Who knows? So far what struck me most about the matter is, that in -spite of the boasted argus eyes of the newspapers, how easy it is to -keep things from them. Even the approximate truth of what took place at -Avonham would make--if they knew it--the fortunes of half a dozen -journalists; and in America they would have got it, long ago; it's -possible that here they're going to get it now." - -The girl's smile had again become wan and faint. - -"You're a comfortable counsellor; that paragraph in the _Screecher_ -gave me my headache; your medicine did it good; but now it's as bad -again as ever. I don't think that I care to stroll in the park--even -with you." - -"Whether you care or not you are coming. Go and put on your hat; or am -I to carry you off without it?" - -The girl hesitated; then, without a word, quitted the room. She was -absent some minutes; a hat is not put on in a second. When she returned -there was something about her eyes which filled the major with -uncomfortable suspicions. In silence she led the way downstairs, and he -followed. - -It did not promise to be a very agreeable stroll, although the weather -was fine. He seemed to find it hard to make conversation; she certainly -declined to help him. They were into the park before a dozen sentences -had been exchanged. Then, when they had walked quite a little distance -without a word being spoken, all at once, as if moved by a sudden -impulse, she made an effort to relieve the situation. - -"If we walk on much longer, mumchance, like two dumb statues, people -will think one of two things; either that we are married--I've been -given to understand that husbands and wives never speak to each other -when they take their walks abroad--or else that we have quarrelled." - -He bore himself as if he had a poker down his back, and his eyes were -fixed straight in front of him as he replied: - -"I've not the least objection to their thinking the first." - -"I dare say; but I have. Will you please talk to me about the weather." - -Before he had a chance to air his eloquence upon that well-worn -subject, something happened which rendered it unnecessary for him to -say anything at all. A taxicab had gone rushing past, and as it passed, -its occupant, a lady, put out her head to look at them. The cab had not -gone another fifty yards before she stopped it. As they approached she -was standing on the footpath with the obvious intention of accosting -them. Her tone as she did so was enthusiastic. - -"Miss Forster! This is a pleasure." - -Judging from the expression on the young lady's face she was more than -doubtful if it was a pleasure which was common to them both. - -"Jane Simmons!" she exclaimed. - -The other shook her by no means ill-looking head, and she laughed. - -"Not Simmons; my name is Spurrier, Julia Spurrier. Most fortunate my -meeting you like this, Miss Forster; I have for some time been most -anxious to have a talk with you. Is there anywhere where I can say a -few words to you in private? I believe you will regard what I have to -say as of the first importance--to you, Miss Forster. I know what I am -saying." - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - Julia Spurrier - - -Miss Spurrier was very well dressed; as regards appearance she was -really smarter than Miss Forster. All her extremely nice clothes -looked as if they had come from the hands of artists, and her hat was a -dream. She stood with one well-gloved hand resting on a long-handled -parasol--it was a sunny afternoon; with one champagne-coloured shoe she -seemed to be describing figures on the ground; her head was held a -little back at an angle which became her. It was not easy to recognise -in this elegant personage Jane Simmons in her cap and apron. Major -Reith, who, with old-fashioned courtesy, stood with his hat in his -hand, seemed as if he did not know what to make of her; while possibly -the singularity of Miss Forster's bearing was owing to the fact that -she was divided between anger and amazement, with possibly a touch of -fear lurking in the corner of her heart. She seemed to be in doubt as -to whether it would be better and wiser to enter into conversation with -this disreputable person, or to pass contemptuously on. When, at last, -she did speak, it was with the plain intention of giving the other to -understand that she was to keep what Miss Forster considered her place. - -"Have you anything to say to me? Can't you say it here?" - -"In the presence of Major Reith?" The lady swung her parasol in that -gentleman's direction, and she beamed at him. "Oh, I know you, -Major--you're not the only officer in your regiment with whom I have -the pleasure of being acquainted. With one of them I've been on quite -intimate terms; ask Miss Forster. It's about him I wish to speak to -her." - -The major, noting his companion's distress, made a somewhat blundering -attempt to come to her rescue. - -"If I'm in the way, Miss Forster, pray command me; shall I walk on, or -would you prefer that I should stay?" - -Miss Forster still seemed to be in doubt; her words were scarcely -friendly. - -"Major Reith, I've only seen this person once in my life--she was a -servant at Avonham on the night of the Easter ball--or she pretended to -be. Her conduct on that occasion was of a kind which makes it amazing -that she should have the assurance to address me now." - -Miss Spurrier showed no signs of being hurt by the speaker's candour; -she only laughed. - -"It's hardly fair, Major Reith, for Miss Forster to put it like -that. You will, of course, recollect the robbery of the ladies' -jewels--actually from their bedrooms, when they were fast asleep. You -remember how all the jewels were found again, in a leather bag? It was -rather a funny story." She turned to the girl. "Miss Forster, shall I -tell him all about it? I'm convinced that it would tickle him." - -A flush had come over Violet Forster's face, her cheeks were as scarlet -as they had just been white. Not only her lips, her whole frame seemed -trembling from head to foot. - -Miss Spurrier observed her with malicious amusement--she remained all -smiles. - -"Why, Miss Forster, how red you have all at once become, and only a -moment ago I was thinking how pale you were. Doesn't a touch of colour -become her, Major Reith?" - -The major looked extremely uncomfortable, as if he did not know what to -make of the position. Miss Forster relieved him of his perplexity. - -"I think," she said to him, "that I will hear what this person has to -say. She can come with me in this cab to my rooms; and may I ask you to -accompany us? I have reasons for wishing you to do so. Get in." - -She ordered Miss Spurrier to enter the cab very much as she might have -done if she had still been Jane Simmons. Miss Spurrier laughingly -complied. - -"What funny ways you have, Miss Forster! If you would let me tell Major -Reith that story, he'd think they were funnier still." - -Miss Forster, following her into the cab, chose to sit with her back to -the driver; the major, entering last, was placed in the seat of honour -by Miss Spurrier's side. When the cab reached Cobden Mansions, and the -passengers had alighted, Miss Forster said to the major, as she opened -the door of a room which was just inside the hall: - -"This is meant to be used as a reception room for visitors to tenants -of the flats who do not wish to see them in their own apartments. I am -going to take this person with me upstairs; will you wait here till she -has gone, or till I send for you?" - -The major expressed his perfect willingness to await the lady's -pleasure; the two women ascended in the lift to Miss Forster's flat on -one of the upper floors. So soon as they were in, Miss Forster's manner -entirely changed. All signs of confusion or distress vanished; she -assumed what was almost an air of truculence. Closing the door, she -pointed to a seat. - -"Sit down." The visitor obeyed. "Now, Jane Simmons, or whatever you -call yourself, you say you've been looking for me; I don't know what -truth there may be in that, but I do know that I've been looking for -you; and now that I've found you, we're not going to part until we've -come to an understanding." - -"That's what I want, Miss Forster--an understanding." - -"In the first place, before you leave this room, you're going to tell -me where Sydney Beaton is now." - -The visitor raised her grey-suede-covered hands with what was possibly -meant to be a gesture of lady-like amazement. - -"How odd! How extremely singular! What a coincidence!" - -"What's a coincidence--and odd--and singular?" - -Nothing could have been grimmer than the tone in which Miss Forster put -her question. She had taken up an attitude before the empty fireplace -which was almost masculine, and again there was something which was -almost masculine in the curt, unceremonious fashion of her speech; -nothing could have been in more striking contrast than the other's airs -and graces of a fine lady. - -"That you should have said such a thing as that to me about dear old -Sydney." - -Miss Forster bit her lip. - -"Have the goodness not to speak of Mr. Beaton in my presence by his -Christian name." - -"My dear Miss Forster, why not? When he and I have been such friends; -I've always called him Sydney." - -"Whether that is or is not a lie I am not in a position to say; you'll -speak of him as Mr. Beaton to me. Where is Mr. Beaton?" - -"That's what I said was so odd, so singular, such a coincidence. That -you should put such a question to me, when one of the chief reasons why -I was so anxious to have a talk was because I wished to put exactly the -same question to you--where is Mr. Beaton?" - -"Do you mean to say that you don't know?" - -"I've no more idea than the dead." - -"You did know." - -"Up to a certain point of course I knew." - -"Where was he living when--I saw you last?" - -The visitor looked at her before she answered, with a smile which grew -more and more pronounced; there was a singular quality in the woman's -smile. In repose her face was good to look at; her smile invested it -with a charm, a tenderness, a something daintily malicious, which made -it almost irresistible. Miss Forster admitted to herself that she would -be easy for any man to fall in love with, and, when she chose, there -was a winning something in her voice; she had one of those flexible -voices which are capable of expressing so many, and such fine, shades -of meaning. - -"Where was he living when you saw me last? Well, that's rather a -question. I needn't tell you that a good many people would like to -know. But as I have every reason to believe that you really are his -friend, and have no sympathy with those objectionable creatures, the -police, I don't mind telling you. He had rooms at Notting Hill--78 -Caversham Street. Mine were close to Brompton Road, and when he wasn't -in my rooms I was in his." - -Miss Forster was making a note on a sheet of paper. - -"78 Caversham Street, Notting Hill. You say that was his address at the -time of the Easter ball at Avonham?" - -"Exactly, and after what occurred at Avonham I expected that he would -return to that address; and I don't mind telling you that when I left I -went straight there, to find that he hadn't returned. I was a little -surprised, but, of course--in the profession in which he was then -engaged, accidents do happen--there's no shutting our eyes to that, is -there? There might have been all sorts of reasons why his return had -been delayed; but when day after day went by, and still nothing was -seen or heard of him, I did begin to wonder." - -The lady, pausing, looking down, began to draw figures on the carpet -with the end of her parasol, smiling to herself as if in enjoyment of -some private joke. - -"Most regular in his habits, was Mr. Beaton--you see, I adopt the Mr. -in deference to you; I'm always so anxious not to wound people's -feelings, especially yours. Everything in his rooms was in perfect -order, the rent had been paid up, and the landlady, who was a most -innocent creature, and quite attached to her lodger, whom she -believed to be something in the commercial way, was not in the least -concerned--but I was. You see, I knew. As time went on, and there were -still no signs of him, I became positively anxious; I was almost as -attached to him as his landlady." - -Again--it is necessary to dwell upon the fact, to such an extent was it -her most outstanding characteristic--her face was irradiated by her -wonderful smile. She continued, with her eyes still cast down. - -"I was really concerned; then it occurred to me that probably my -distress was wasted, the explanation might be quite simple; seeing you -that night had brought his thoughts back to the old channels, and--you -knew where he was instead of me. I began to take it for granted that he -had exchanged 78 Caversham Street for an address which would be more -convenient for you, and less for me--isn't that the case?" - -Miss Forster's manner, as she replied, was still ungenial. - -"In dealing with persons such as you, one is confronted with the -difficulty that one can never tell when you are telling the truth and -when you are lying; I am quite sure that you can lie like truth. What I -do gather is that you wish me to believe that you have seen and heard -nothing of Mr. Beaton since that night; but though your tale sounds -plausible, there is no reason why it should be true." - -"It doesn't matter to me one pin's head whether you do or don't -believe. Will you please answer me one question? Have you seen or heard -anything of him?" - -"I have not." - -"I do believe you, and I'm very sorry to hear it." Nothing could have -been sweeter than the smile with which Miss Spurrier said it, or nicer -than her bearing. "I'm afraid, Miss Forster, that there's something -wrong. If you do or don't believe it, I have heard nothing of Mr. -Beaton, and if you haven't, then I don't like the look of things at -all. Do you see"--the lady hesitated; looking down, she still described -figures with the end of her parasol--"there's that business of Captain -Draycott. It is, unfortunately, possible that Mr. Beaton may have had -his reasons for not wishing to let me know his whereabouts, or you -either. In matters of that kind it may be better--for the person who -did it to keep himself to himself; it's safer for him, and for all -concerned, because, of course, if one doesn't know, one can't tell." - -The lady glanced at a gold watch set in a jewelled bangle. - -"How the time does go--I must be off; I'm keeping Major Reith waiting. -One moment--excuse me, Miss Forster, if I am interrupting you when you -were about to speak--but please don't let us talk about that business -of Captain Draycott; it's so much better not to." - -"I don't agree with you; what do you know about it?" - -"Suppose I know everything--what good will it do you, or him? You're -not fool enough to suppose that I did it. Captain Draycott was an utter -stranger to me; I had no grudge against him; you know how it was--with -Mr. Beaton. You don't want to put the noose about his neck, do you? And -you can't want me to do so. I've had one friend hung, and I certainly -don't want to have another--it's a nasty business, I can assure you." - -"I can't believe that, for what happened to Captain Draycott, Mr. -Beaton was in any way to blame." - -"Miss Forster, you really must forgive me if I say that now I don't -believe you. I tell you again that I don't wish to talk about it, and -it's better on all accounts that we shouldn't; but do you suppose that -I can't see that your heart's as heavy as lead, and that you've worn -yourself nearly to a shadow, because you've been worrying about what -you pretend you don't believe? If you were to go down on your bended -knees, and swear that you were quite certain that he had nothing to do -with it, still I shouldn't believe you; your face, everything about you -gives you away; I know better. Let me tell you something, and this is -the last word you'll get on the subject from me. I don't know"--the -lady suddenly lowered her voice--"who killed him, and I don't want, and -I don't mean to know, but I have my doubts--so now you've got it." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - Happiness! - - -Miss Forster was silent. That her visitor's words had affected her -disagreeably her behaviour showed. Showing Miss Spurrier her back, -facing the mantelshelf, she pretended to be interested by the trifles -which were on it, but to an observant eye few things can be more -eloquent than a person's back; the twitching of her shoulders was in -itself more than sufficiently eloquent. Even her speech betrayed her; -it faltered. - -"Do you think--that he's left England?" - -"It's on the cards. It all depends on whether he's had the chance. If -he has, let's hope he'll be able to cover his tracks. I suppose nobody -does know anything." - -"How can I tell?" - -"Exactly, how can you? It's queer that nothing has been found--of the -body." The girl said nothing, but again Miss Spurrier noticed the -twitching shoulders. "There's one thing, nothing can be done till it is -found; and as it looks as if it is in a sure place, he ought to have -something like a start before trouble begins." - -The girl still continued silent. The visitor, holding out her gorgeous -parasol, began to fasten the elastic band. - -"Miss Forster, I am going away. I don't mean only from this room, but -out of the country; I'm leaving England." - -"Are you?" The girl's tone could scarcely have been more void of -interest, but the other still kept her eyes upon her back. - -"I'm going to be married." - -"Indeed." - -"I am going to be married to an old friend with whom I have been -associated in some rather successful--matters; so, as we've got quite a -nice little capital together, we've decided to turn over a new leaf. -We're going to America, to a town in one of the middle States, where we -have, both of us, reason to believe that there's an opening for an -enterprising couple. We are going to start in the dry goods--a store. -It's a trade in which we may both of us be able to show even the -Americans a thing or two. We hope, by strict attention to business, to -do well." - -The visitor paused, but the girl said nothing; she still kept her face -turned away. - -"Of course, my prospects and intentions don't interest you, but now -that I'm going to put the old things behind me and begin a new life, -and leave England for ever--for we both of us intend at the earliest -possible moment to become American citizens; you do get such a pull on -the other side if you are a citizen--since you and I are alone together -for probably the last time in our lives, there are one or two things -which I should like to tell you about Mr. Beaton. That's one of the -reasons why I wanted to see you. Wouldn't you like to hear them?" - -"It depends on what they are. I should advise you to be careful what -you say of him." - -"Oh, I'll be careful. To begin with, Mr. Beaton is a gentleman, as I -dare say you know." - -"What do you suppose?" - -"Now, my experience of what is called a gentleman in England is, that -so long as he has got plenty of money to spend, and everything's made -smooth for him, he may be quite a decent sort; but he's the most -helpless creature on God's earth when his pockets are empty and he has -to trust to himself to fill them. So long as he has friends to give him -a lift he may manage somehow, but when his only friend is himself he's -scrambling for crusts in the gutter almost before he himself knows it. -To one who has had to earn his bread all his life by the sweat of his -brow it's nothing less than amazing how soon he gets there. Mr. Sydney -Beaton was in the gutter, and worse than the gutter, when I first met -him." - -At last Miss Forster did turn, and looked the speaker in the face. - -"Where did you first meet him?" - -Miss Spurrier was settling her beautiful hat upon her well-groomed -head. - -"It's not a pretty story--not very much to his credit or mine. You -don't know how little of a hero a man can be when his stomach's empty -and he has nothing to put into it, especially when he's a gentleman." - -Apparently the visitor got her hat all right. She rested both hands on -the handle of her parasol and she smiled. - -"I want to slur over the disagreeable places in my story, Miss -Forster--I always do like to avoid as much as possible what is -unpleasant--and I don't want to keep you any longer than I can help. I -want to get to what I'm after by the shortest possible way. You know -what my profession is?" - -"I can form a shrewd guess." - -"I shouldn't be surprised; circumstances have helped you. But the world -in general, Miss Forster, treats me as in every respect your equal. I -was on my beam ends when I adopted it. I dare say you don't know what -it is to be on your beam ends." - -"I am thankful to say that is a condition of which I have no personal -knowledge." - -"You have cause to be thankful. Well, I have, and so has Sydney Beaton. -If it hadn't been for me he'd have been dead long ago, with cold, -misery and hunger." - -"Is that true?" - -"If you doubt it, you can. Say you don't believe me. Well--don't. I -taught him one way of keeping himself alive and of putting money in his -pocket, and he managed to do both. But it was a way he never liked; -there were times when, I believe, that after all he would have rather -starved." - -"So I should imagine." - -"Oh, you can imagine a great deal, I shouldn't wonder, but do you think -you've imagination enough to enable you to put yourself in the place of -the woman who was peddling matches at the corner of the street as we -came along, with odd boots on--such boots!--and no stockings, and -probably little more on than a skirt which it would make you -uncomfortable to think of touching even with your finger-tips? You say -you never could be in the position of such a woman--but he was." - -One could see that, in spite of herself, Miss Forster shivered. - -"Is that absolutely a fact?" - -"The second time I met him he was carrying a sandwich-board in the -Strand--now it's out--in that cold weather we had last January; and he -hadn't three-penn'orth of clothing on him--three-pennyworth! Why, a -rag-man would have wanted to be paid for carrying away what he had on. -He was perished with the cold; he was nothing but skin and bone; misery -and hunger had made him half-witted. In that weather he had slept out -of doors every night--in the streets. He hadn't had six-pennyworth of -food in a week. You stand there, well-fed, well-housed, well-clothed, -and you think yourself a paragon of all the virtues, entitled to look -down on such as I am, on what he became. You've not yourself to thank -for being what you are. If you were to be stripped naked, and put into -the woman's rags who was peddling matches, and had to live her life, -for only a month, what kind of a fine lady, with pretty sentiments, do -you think you'd be by then?" - -Miss Spurrier had become suddenly so much in earnest that there was no -doubt about her having succeeded in interesting Violet Forster at last. -A light seemed to have come into her face, and a glow into her eyes. - -"Do you really mean--that he was a sandwichman--in the Strand, one of -those men who carry boards upon their backs?" - -The visitor laughed as if she regretted the warmth to which she had -given way; but there was something in her laughter which did not ring -altogether true. - -"Oh, I didn't mean to give myself away--or him either. I don't suppose -he's very proud of his little experiences, so if you ever meet him -again don't let him know that I told you; I shouldn't like him to think -that I'd given him away on a thing like that--especially to you, -because I happen to know that there's nothing in the world for which he -cares except your good opinion, and that makes it so funny." - -"How do you know he cares for my good opinion?" - -"As if I didn't know! Why, he bought a portrait of yours in a picture -paper; he cut it out, he made a little case for it--a sort of little -silk bag stiffened with cardboard--he bought the silk himself, shaped -it, put every stitch in it with his own needle and thread; he carried -it about with him inside his shirt; I believe he said his prayers to -it." - -The girl had all at once grown scarlet; what was almost like a flame -seemed blazing in her eyes. - -"If--if he so wanted my portrait, how did you come to be possessed of -that locket with my likeness in it?" - -"That's one of the things of which I am ashamed; and, as I'm going to -turn over a new leaf and become a respectable married woman, it's one -which I want to make a clean breast of--to you. That locket was stolen -from him when he was trying to get some sleep on one of the steps of -the tunnel under Hungerford Bridge by two men who knew he had got it on -him. One of them sold it to--an acquaintance of mine; he showed it to -me, I recognised you from the picture he had cut out of the paper, and -I bought it." - -"Why didn't you give it back to Mr. Beaton? You knew that it was his." - -"Well, that's one of the peculiarities of human nature. I didn't. I -couldn't tell you why; at least, it would take me a very long time to -do it; human nature is such a mass of complications and contradictions. -I gave it to you instead." - -"As if that were the same thing!" - -"As if I didn't know that it wasn't. Haven't I admitted that that is -something for which you are entitled to throw bricks at my head, or -articles of furniture, or anything that comes handy?" - -As the girl showed no inclination to throw anything, but stood there -with that light still flaming in her eyes and her cheeks all glowing, -Miss Spurrier went on, with something in her bearing more than a trifle -malicious. - -"Well, now that I've told you everything that I came to tell you, and -all you want to know, I'm going." - -She made a movement towards the door. The girl found her tongue. - -"But you haven't told me anything; at least, I don't understand what it -is you have told me." - -"I've told you the one thing you want to know: that the one thing he -values in the world is your good opinion; that still, although he's -been very near to the gate of hell, he loves you. Good day." - -"You swear that you don't know where he is?" - -"I've no more idea of where he is, or where he has been, since that -night at Avonham than you; and, as things are turning out, I would much -rather continue in complete ignorance of his whereabouts until that -business of Captain Draycott has blown over, which is a consummation -devoutly to be hoped for. Is there any other question you would like to -ask me?" - -She stood by the door, presenting a sufficiently appetising picture of -a pretty woman, fitly and gaily apparelled to take her walks abroad on -a sunny day. Something which she perhaps saw in her face moved the girl -to what, coming from her, was an unexpected confession. - -"I'm not sure that I haven't been doing you an injustice." - -The woman laughed. - -"I shouldn't wonder. I've been doing the same to you. We are all of us -continually doing each other an injustice; that sort of thing depends a -good deal on the mood you're in and on whether the world is going well -with us. I hope that, for both of us, in the future it will go very -well indeed. Good-bye." - -The woman was gone and the door was closed, and almost before she knew -it the girl was left alone. Some few minutes later there came a tapping -at the door; it was opened, and Major Reith came in. He found Violet -Forster sitting on the floor beside the couch, her face pillowed on a -cushion. When she raised it he saw that she was crying. The sight moved -him to sympathy and anger. - -"Miss Forster!" he exclaimed. "What has that abominable woman been -saying--or doing?" - -Her answer filled him with amazement. - -"I'm not sure," she said, "that she is an abominable woman, and--I'm -not sure that I'm not the happiest girl in the world." - -It seemed such an astounding thing for her to say that he appeared to -be in doubt as to whether he ought to credit the evidence of his own -ears. But there was such a light upon her face, which was no longer -white, and such a smile was shining from behind the tears that, almost -incredible though he deemed it, he was forced to the conclusion that he -must have heard aright, especially when, rising to her feet, she came -close to him and laughed in his face. - -"Yes," she told him, "you may stare; but at least I am not sure -that I am not much happier than I deserve. And now I'll wash my face -and dry my eyes, and I'll put my hat on straight; I know it's all -lop-sided--you've no idea how easy it is for a woman's hat to get -lop-sided--and then you can take me for that stroll in the park." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - A Game of Billiards - - -The officers' mess of the Guards--the billiard-room. Dinner was over, -coffee was being drunk while the diners played a game of snooker pool, -that is, some of them. There had been something in the atmosphere -during the meal which was hardly genial. It is essential that all the -members of a regimental mess should be as a band of brothers, as it -were, a big and perfectly happy family. Unless they are on the best of -terms with each other, that easy atmosphere is absent, and things -become impossible; there must not be even a suspicion of a rift in the -lute, if that complete harmony is to reign without which the position -becomes unbearable. - -In the officers' mess of a British regiment, as a rule, the conditions -which make for comfort are not to seek; in that famous regiment, in the -whole history of its mess, they never had been to seek until quite -recently. Now something had crept in which jarred. First there had been -the deplorable business of Sydney Beaton. They were just beginning to -recover from that when there came the peculiar conduct of Jackie -Tickell, his own version of which we have heard Major Reith tell Miss -Forster. Mr. Tickel's action had had an even more deplorable effect -upon the morals of the mess than the major had cared to admit. This had -been to a large extent owing to the position taken up by Anthony -Dodwell. He had declared that what Mr. Tickell had done was a slur upon -himself, and had gone so far as to demand that the whole affair should -be referred to a court of honour. - -Than that sort of thing nothing could have been more foreign to the -regimental traditions. It had always been regarded as a matter of -course that among the officers of the Guards there should be no -differences of opinion; if there were, they were certainly not to make -themselves heard in public. The regiment never had been concerned in -any such inquiry as that which Dodwell suggested. If his suggestion was -acted upon, all sorts of unpleasant consequences would follow. Not only -would the whole disreputable business have to be made officially -public, but outsiders would have to be called in to adjudicate in what -after all was a family quarrel; which, in effect, would mean that other -regiments would sit in judgment on the Guards. In the eyes of -authority, than that a more inconceivable state of affairs there could -scarcely be. - -What was to be done to restore the harmony that had heretofore reigned -it was not easy to see; a single jarring note is so apt to keep on -ringing in the ears. Sydney Beaton had gone--where, no one, not even -his nearest and dearest, seemed to know. He had been one of the most -popular persons in the regiment, not only with his brother officers, -but with the rank and file; his own company adored him. Not only was -the one hideous scandal still fresh in men's memories, but now still -worse stories were being whispered about it. - -It was difficult to say how they had first gained currency. Someone -must have been the first to whisper something, but who that someone was -no one seemed to know. Two stories had gone right through the regiment; -one, that Sydney Beaton had turned professional thief; the other, that -he had murdered Noel Draycott. - -Why Mr. Tickell had chosen the moment when these stories filled all the -air to take up the position he had done, his friends and acquaintances -were quite at a loss to determine. The thing was over and done with; -Beaton had admitted his guilt by running away; what on earth possessed -Tickell, they demanded, that he should want to start muddying the water -all over again? If he had had any doubts on the matter, he might have -kept them to himself; it was too late to declare them in public now; he -ought to have done it ages ago; the thing was all settled and done -with. Then there was the absence of Draycott. If Draycott had been -about, and he had said what he had said, Mr. Tickell would soon have -been disposed of; Draycott would have agreed with Dodwell, there would -have been two to one, Tickell would have been compelled to bow to the -weight of evidence. As things were, the case against Beaton rested on -one man's word only--Anthony Dodwell's. Tickell had not directly -impugned it; but he had done almost as bad. He had stood up to Dodwell -in a quite unexpected fashion. Jackie Tickell was an easy-going, -good-natured youngster, who in general preferred to do anything rather -than come to an open rupture with anyone; yet he had stood up to -Dodwell; and all the regiment knew that there was no more unpleasant -man to quarrel with. He had said to him in the hearing of them all: - -"You know, Dodwell, I'm not saying for a moment that you didn't see -what you thought you saw." - -Dodwell interposed. - -"It's not a question of what I thought I saw; I should not have made an -accusation of that sort had I not been certain. Just as you see me -strike this match"--he struck one to illustrate his words--"as -certainly I saw Beaton cheat." - -"I'm not denying that in the least, but, you see, I didn't." - -"What has that to do with the matter? If I tell you that I did strike -this match, are you to be at liberty to doubt it merely because you -didn't happen to see me do it?" - -"The things ain't the same; you can't compare them. Because you're -satisfied that you saw Sydney Beaton cheat, it doesn't follow that I -am; and until I am I'm not going to keep the money which was his if he -played fair." - -"You seem to be altogether forgetting," put in Frank Clifford, "that -Dodwell wasn't the only person who saw. What about Draycott? And look -at the way in which Beaton did a bunk!" - -"I'm not so sure, if I'd been treated as we treated him, that I -shouldn't have acted as Beaton did; we had all of us had as much as was -good for us to drink--and that's where it was. As for Draycott, I had a -chat or two with him, and it isn't so clear to me as it might be, that -he wasn't rather sorry that he spoke." - -Anthony Dodwell had looked very black, and he then and there publicly -announced that if that was the way in which Tickell chose to look at -it, he would insist on having the whole business referred to -arbitrators, who would act as members of a court of honour. - -So far Dodwell had not gone any farther; that is, he had not brought -the matter before his official superiors in a form which would render -it impossible for them to continue to ignore it. It is possible that he -had been given the hint not to, and that words had been spoken both to -him and to Mr. Tickell which had been meant to be not only words of -healing, but also of warning. - -That night, at the mess dinner, Dodwell had seemed to be in a curious -frame of mind; nor, when they were in the billiard-room, did his mood -seem to have sweetened. He had what is apt to be a very unpopular -possession--a biting tongue; under the guise of a smiling exterior he -could, when he liked, set a whole room by the ears. Jackie Tickell not -only never said willingly a thing which could wound either the present -or the absent, but there were not infrequent occasions when it was only -with difficulty that he said anything at all; his tongue was certainly -not the readiest part of him, a fact of which Dodwell, apparently -relying on his notorious good temper, had more than once taken -advantage. Dodwell played all games well; the different varieties of -billiards he played almost as well as a professional. Tickell played -very few games well; at billiards he was a notorious duffer; why he -ever played snooker--which, for a poor performer, in good company, at -anything like points, is apt to be an expensive amusement--he alone -could tell. What amusement he derived from it was a mystery; at the end -of a game he was almost invariably the one player who had to pay all -the others. Yet there never was a game of snooker from which he was -willingly left out. - -That evening he was, if possible, playing worse than usual, missing -easy shots, leaving certainties for the man who followed--who happened -to be Dodwell. Thanks partly to his own skill, and almost as much to -Jackie's generosity, Anthony Dodwell was piling up a huge score, and -nearly every time he put a ball down he returned sarcastic thanks to -Jackie. As a bad player of snooker pool not only loses himself, but is -the cause of loss to others, Jackie's misdemeanours gratified no one -but Dodwell. - -"Really, Jackie," declared Cyril Harding, when on one occasion he had -managed to leave a white ball over one pocket and, in some mysterious -fashion, the black over another, "you might be doing it on purpose. I -wonder how many that is you've given Dodwell?" - -"I do seem to be making rather a mess of it tonight," admitted Jackie. - -"I sometimes wonder," persisted Payne, "if it ever occurs to you that -you are not the only person who has to pay. If there's anything to -which I personally object, it is to seeing Dodwell get that assistance -that he does not stand in need of; as if he couldn't put the lot of us -in the cart without help from anyone." - -Dodwell, putting down both the white and the black, proceeded to make a -break, for which he professed himself grateful to Jackie at the end. - -"Thank you, Tickell; these gifts which you persist in making me are -really rather overwhelming. Every time I come to the table I find that -you have left me everything you possibly can; I hope the victims of -your unnatural generosity will not think that we are in collusion. Do -you know, I myself am almost moved to wonder if you are doing it on -purpose?" - -Mr. Tickell looked unhappy, but he said nothing; his tongue, as was its -wont, seemed to be tied in a knot. He moved away from Dodwell's -neighbourhood; but the other's sarcasm followed him. - -"I'm in rather a difficult position; if I don't take advantage of your -leaves they'll think that I'm not trying; and if I do, since they are -so regular, they'll wonder." - -As the victim continued silent, and something in the bearing of the -others more than hinted that in their opinion he was going too far, -some contrary spirit seemed to push Dodwell farther still. - -"At bridge, I've heard it maintained that a bad player ought to pay his -partner's losses; if that was the rule at snooker, Tickell, it would be -awkward for you; you might have to break in on that little pot of money -of which we have heard so much, and which you so chivalrously refused -to put into your pocket because, as I understand the matter, some -friend of yours put Noel Draycott away." - -At this Major Reith, who was the senior officer present, interposed. - -"Dodwell, you have no right to say that sort of thing." - -"In your opinion? Thank you for its expression." - -Jackie Tickell came towards the speaker. - -"I didn't quite catch what you said, Dodwell--at least, I hope I -didn't. Did I understand you to say that a friend of mine had put Noel -Draycott away?" - -"It would at least appear--I won't say at a convenient moment for -you--that someone has--would you prefer that I should use another form -of words, and say--murdered Noel Draycott?" - -"Who says that someone has murdered Noel Draycott?" - -The words did not come from one of the previous speakers; they were -uttered by someone who had just come into the room; in a voice which -was startlingly familiar to all those who heard it. With one accord -each man in the room turned round to stare in the direction from which -the words had come. Just standing inside the doorway was the man who -had first been spoken of as having been put out of the way, and then as -having been murdered--Noel Draycott. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - An Irregular Visitor - - -It was probably some moments before the occupants of the billiard-room -realised what had happened; it was certainly some little time before -they even dimly perceived what the advent of the new-comer must mean. - -It was George Payne's turn to play; he was just about to make his -stroke when the door had opened. Leaning over the table, his cue in -position, he stared at the man who had just come in at the door. The -other players, each with his cue in his hand, stared too. - -Noel Draycott was something to stare at. He seemed to have grown -thinner since they had seen him last; he looked as if he had been ill. -There was a recently healed scar on his forehead, another right across -his left cheek. His hair had been cut very close to his head, a strip -of plaster came from the back to the front. The fact was unmistakable -that he must have been pretty considerably in the wars. He had on a -dinner-jacket. In his right hand was an ebony cane with a crook handle, -on which he seemed to lean as if in need of its support. - -He stood looking round the room as if searching for individual faces. -His eyes rested first on one and then on another with a glance as of -pleased recognition. When they reached Dodwell they rested on him -rather longer than on any of the others, with, this time, something in -them which was hardly pleasure. - -It was he who broke the silence which had followed his appearance with -a question: - -"Playing snooker? Don't let me interrupt you. Go on playing. You look -as though you had got an easy one. How's the family--all all right?" - -As he came farther into the room they broke into speech; they came -crowding round him. - -"Noel, old man!" exclaimed Clifford, "is this a little game which -you've been playing? To spring a surprise on us like this when we were -all thinking---- Why, on my word, I was very nearly on the point of -going into mourning. I'd sooner see you--I don't know that there is -anything I'd rather see." - -A hearty chorus of welcome greeted him from all sides. - -"Draycott," declared Major Reith, "you may laugh at me, but as I look -at you I hardly know whether I am standing on my head or my heels. Do -you know that when last I saw you I would have been willing to swear -before a jury of medical men that you were dead? My dear, dear man, if -you only knew how glad I am to see you--what a weight you are lifting -off my mind. You're sure you're not a ghost?" - -Draycott's smile was a little pale and wan, as if the major's -suggestion was hardly as much of a joke as he would have liked it to -be. - -"I've always understood that ghosts are unsubstantial things. If you'll -have a prod at me with your cue, you'll find that I'm solid enough; -only go easy--I'm not yet as firm on my pins as I mean to be soon." - -"But, my dear fellow, where on earth have you been hiding all this -time? Do you know that all the papers are full of what they call the -mysterious disappearance of Captain Draycott? All sorts of theories -have been started, but none of them has ever come to anything. People -were beginning to wonder if you had been snatched up by a flying -machine, and carried above the clouds; and now you drop in in this -unexpected fashion as if we'd only seen you half an hour ago! Do you -realise the fact that you'll have to give a realistic account of what -you've been up to, and why you've been keeping the readers of the -halfpenny papers all gaping with wonder?" - -"As it happens, I do recognise that some sort of explanation is -required; and it is to give it, after a fashion, that I've come. -Captain Dodwell, may I trouble you not to leave the room?" - -Anthony Dodwell had not been among those who had crowded round to bid -the new-comer welcome. His demeanour had been singular. The major had -spoken of Draycott as a possible ghost. Captain Dodwell was regarding -him not only as if he were an actual ghost, but almost, as it seemed, -with the unreasonable terror with which people are supposed to regard -spectral visitants in tales and legends. At the sound of Draycott's -voice he had started as if someone had struck him a heavy blow; when, -turning, he saw him standing in the flesh, he gazed at him as if he -were the most horrible sight he had ever seen. So far from showing any -inclination to join the others in their cries of welcome, he had drawn -himself farther and farther away from the object of so much attention, -until, having at last reached the neighbourhood of the door, he seemed -inclined to take himself through it. - -It was this disposition which Noel Draycott's words were intended to -check. Their immediate result was to divert general attention to -Captain Dodwell. To judge from the look which came upon the different -men's faces, the peculiarity of his bearing seemed to occasion them -almost as much surprise as Draycott's original unexpected appearance. -There was no cooler person in the regiment than Anthony Dodwell. In a -community in which sangfroid had been raised to the dignity of a -fetish, his calmness had become a byword. That you could never take -Anthony Dodwell by surprise; that under no conceivable conditions would -he ever turn a hair; that he would continue wholly at his ease under -all sorts of unpromising conditions; that he would meet difficulty, -danger, death, with a smile--these were axioms among those who knew -him. - -How far removed from fact these judgments of his friends were, it -needed at that moment only one glance at Anthony Dodwell to show. -Something, stirring him to the very sources of his being, had upset his -equilibrium so entirely that it almost seemed to them as if they looked -upon a stranger. When Draycott uttered his quietly spoken request that -he would not leave the room, he stood for a second motionless; then, as -he glanced at the speaker over his shoulder, they could see that his -face had been transfigured by some violent emotion which was beyond -their comprehension. It was with an effort which was obvious to all of -them that at last he managed to speak. - -"Why shouldn't I leave the room?" - -It was an instant or two before Draycott, looking steadily at him, -answered question with question. - -"Do you require me to tell you?" - -There was something in the quietly uttered words which made Dodwell -wince as if they had pricked him. He seemed in doubt how to treat the -challenge which they conveyed; that they did convey a challenge was -plain; his reply, when it came, was both sullen and undignified. - -"If I want to go I shall go, and you shan't stop me." - -Draycott's rejoinder was so curt as to be contemptuous. - -"You know better than that." - -"Why should I know better? I have taught you one lesson already. Shall -I teach you another? I'll be hanged if I'll stay in a room in which you -are." - -"Dodwell!" - -The sharp utterance of his name conveyed both a command and a threat, -as the other seemed to perceive. He had made a half-movement towards -the door, and had already stretched out his hand to open it--the tone -in which Draycott pronounced his name seemed all at once to check him. - -"Are you speaking to me," he demanded with what was almost a snarl, "or -to a dog? Hang your impudence! Do you suppose I'm going to allow you to -dictate to me whether I am to go or stay?" - -Ignoring the speaker, Noel Draycott turned to the others. - -"Will you men be so good as to see that Captain Dodwell doesn't leave -the room until I've given the explanation which I am going to give? I -am not very fit at present; in fact, it's against the doctor's orders -that I'm here at all; but, as matters were going, I felt I had to come. -If I were fit, I shouldn't trouble you; I should make it my own -particular business to see that Captain Dodwell didn't leave the room -until I'd finished; as it is, I'm afraid I must." - -Clifford voiced the general feeling by the question which he put. - -"Why do you want to go, Dodwell--what's up?" - -Anthony Dodwell made an unsuccessful effort to treat the speaker with -the air of insolence which they knew so well. - -"Really, Mr. Clifford, I have yet to learn that I am to be called to -account for my goings and comings by you." - -"All the same, there's no reason why you shouldn't answer my question. -Here's Noel come back out of the grave, as it were. It's pretty plain -that he's been in the wars, and you know well enough what a pother -there's been; especially when he asks you, why can't you stop and hear -whatever he has to say?" - -"Because I'd sooner go. If that doesn't appear to be a sufficient -reason, I'm sorry." - -"One moment, Captain Dodwell, if you please." - -The interpolation came from Major Reith. Dodwell already had the door -partly open. - -"Well, major, what can I do for you--with your one moment?" - -"To begin with, you can shut that door." - -Striding forward with unexpected rapidity, the major, wresting the door -from his grasp, shut it sharply. - -"Reith! Do you imagine that I am going to take my orders, in such a -manner, from you?" - -"Only the other day you were throwing out some very uncomfortable hints -about Draycott here; I'm not going to recur to them now, but you know -very well what they were, but here is Draycott to answer for himself. -In view of those hints which you threw out, I'm going to make it my -business to see that you stay and hear what his answer is." - -Confronted by the major, Anthony Dodwell drew himself up; there had -been something hang-dog in his attitude just now. "By force?" he asked. - -"Yes, if necessary, by force. You were one of those who resorted to -force on an occasion which it is not necessary for me to recall to your -memory, and in this very room. I may tell you that there is something -in your attitude which makes me wonder if, in this business, you have -not been guilty of conduct which is not altogether to your credit. If I -am wrong, the fault is yours; I can conceive of no creditable reason -why it should be necessary to resort to force to compel you to listen, -in the very remarkable circumstances, to what Noel Draycott has to -say." - -"I may tell you, Dodwell, that I quite agree with Reith." - -This remark came from Payne; it was more than echoed by Jackie Tickell. -Mr. Tickell went bursting towards the pair at the door, still with his -cue in his hand; he trailed it after him as if unconscious that he -still had it. - -"Considering how you've been throwing out hints about my taking -advantage of Draycott's absence to doubt if Syd Beaton cheated as you -say he did, it seems jolly rummy now Draycott has turned up to give me -the dressing-down which only half an hour ago you seemed to think I -needed, that instead of calling on him to do it, you want to what looks -like take to your heels and run." - -Dodwell looked at him very much as a bad-tempered big dog is apt to -regard a courageous little one. - -"If you're not very careful I shall whip you, Jackie Tickell; I don't -intend to stand more than a certain amount of impertinence, even from -an ass." - -Instead of showing signs of trepidation, the little man seemed to grow -more heated. - -"We'll see what you will or won't do when we've heard what Draycott has -to say. Until he has said it, you'll do nothing; you won't even run -away. Draycott, do you remember that poker business? I've been thinking -a lot about it since; I'd have had a jaw with you about it if you'd -been here----" - -Noel Draycott cut him short. - -"That's all right, Tickell, you can have all the jaw with me you like a -little later on, if you want to talk to me at all after what I am going -to say; but in the meanwhile, if you don't mind, I'd rather get off my -chest what's on it, in my own way." - -Major Reith was standing with his back to the door. In front of him on -one side was Anthony Dodwell, on the other Jackie Tickell. - -"Hullo!" he suddenly exclaimed, "there's someone outside who wants to -come in; who's there?" - -The door had been opened by someone without sufficiently far to come -into contact with his broad back, which acted as an effectual buffer. - -As he moved it was open wide enough to admit one of the orderlies of -the evening, Private Henry Barnes. - -"Well, Barnes," inquired the major, "what is it you want?" - -"If you please, sir--a lady." - -Holding the door open at its widest the orderly ushered in--Miss -Forster. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - The Visitor Remains - - -Had the billiard-table taken to itself wings and commenced to waltz -about the room, those present could scarcely have been more amazed. -That a lady could be introduced in that haphazard, unlooked-for, -bewildering fashion by one of their own servants, who knew the written -and unwritten rules as well as anyone living--it was a crime almost -equivalent to high treason. It was all done before they had really time -to recover their breath--the lady was in, the orderly had gone, the -door was closed; there they were, gaping at her, and she was looking at -them. They seemed to have lost their presence of mind, to say nothing -of their manners. - -Presently her attention became centred on Noel Draycott. - -"You!" - -The monosyllable seemed to burst from her in the fullness of her -surprise. Plainly he was as much of a ghost to her as he had been to -his colleagues of the mess. Major Reith stammeringly took upon himself -the task of endeavouring to make it clear to her that the position was -unusual. - -"Miss Forster, I--I'm afraid it's rather contrary to regimental custom -to receive ladies in this apartment. Some mistake has been made. Let me -take you to where you will feel more at home." - -A surprising interruption came from Noel Draycott. - -"No mistake has been made. It is by my instructions that Miss Forster -has been shown in here. She has a right to be present at what I am -about to say; you will see that, Reith, yourself, before I have -finished." - -It was said with an air of authority which caused the others to look at -him askance. Miss Forster turned to Major Reith, holding out something -in her hand. - -"I received," she said, "this card." She read out what was written on -it: "'If Miss Forster will present herself at the main entrance to the -officers' mess to-night about ten o'clock, and will hand this card to -the orderly whom she will find in attendance, she will learn the whole -truth about Sydney Beaton.'" - -"May I look at that card?" inquired the major. She gave it to him. -"This is the most extraordinary thing to receive. May I ask how it -reached you?" - -"I found it awaiting me on my return home this afternoon. I was told -that a man had brought it who said that there was no answer." - -Captain Draycott carried the lady's explanation several stages farther. - -"That card came from me; I wrote it. I gave Barnes directions to show -Miss Forster in here directly she arrived. As Miss Forster is at least -as much interested in Sydney Beaton as any of us, and has heard one -story, I consider that the least we can do is to give her the first -opportunity which offers to become acquainted with the truth." - -The major still seemed uncomfortably conscious of the irregularity of -the position. - -"Really I hardly know what to say; but if it is the general wish that -this lady shall remain----" - -Mr. Tickell took upon himself to answer before the sentence was -concluded. - -"Of course it's the general wish; we are only too glad to have Miss -Forster among us. Miss Forster, won't you have a chair?" - -The lady declined; she said she would rather stand. One person declared -himself to be in disagreement with Mr. Tickell--Anthony Dodwell. - -"Without intending the least discourtesy, I cannot admit that Draycott -is entitled to introduce his lady friends where no ladies are allowed, -even if the intruder is Miss Forster." - -"Then in that case you are one against all the rest of us, so you don't -count. Now, Noel, what is it all about? Cut it as short as you can, old -man, and then, as Reith puts it, if Miss Forster will allow us, we will -take her somewhere where she will feel more at home." - -Thus urged, Mr. Draycott prefaced his story with a few outspoken, -candid words; every eye was fixed upon him, and all was still. - -"The story which I am about to tell you is not very much to my credit, -nor to that of others; I don't propose to try to excuse myself in any -way whatever; I'll just say my say straight out." - -He paused for a second as if to get his words into proper sequence. - -"I can tell you the first part in half a dozen sentences; in fact, in -one: That night when Sydney Beaton was accused of cheating, he never -did cheat, and we behaved as we did to an innocent man." - -Mr. Tickell broke out the moment the words were uttered. - -"If I haven't felt it in my bones; the very next morning in bed I began -to feel it; I've not been easy in my mind ever since. Now, Dodwell, -what do you say to that?" - -"I say that, for reasons of his own, Draycott says the thing which is -not; you all heard what he said that night." - -"What I said then was a lie; one for which I deserve all that I am -likely to get. I behaved all through like a blackguard--that's what I -want to tell you." - -"You may put it either way you like," sneered Anthony Dodwell; "it is -plain to the meanest intelligence that you behaved like a blackguard -whichever way you put it. Either you were lying then, or you're lying -now; from neither predicament do you come out nicely." - -Draycott ignored the other's words. - -"Dodwell owed Beaton a grudge, and I owed Dodwell money, or at least, -he said I did." - -"You're a pretty bounder--I said you did!" - -"He said I did. As a matter of fact, I don't believe that I owed him a -farthing; but he made out that I owed him a lot, more than I could pay -without going to the Jews, which I had promised my father I never would -do. I didn't want to have a row, or a scandal; I've seen since what a -fool I was, but it seemed to me then that he had got me under his -thumb. He had, as I said, a grudge against Beaton; that was about some -money which he said Beaton owed him and which Beaton wouldn't pay." - -"If I had posted Mr. Beaton, as I ought to have done, that would have -brought him to his senses, and then Mr. Draycott wouldn't have been -standing there, stuffed with the lies he's going to tell." - -Still Draycott continued to ignore the other's words; he went on with -his story as if Dodwell was not persistently interrupting. - -"Dodwell said to me that if I would help him to get even with Beaton, -he would say no more about the money which he made out I owed him, and -as I was tired of his perpetual dunning, I was cad enough to listen." - -"You were a cad first, last, and altogether, Mr. Draycott." - -"Then that night we played poker, and Dodwell said that he had seen -Beaton cheating; then he looked at me, and he winked; I knew what he -meant, and I said that I had too--but I hadn't." - -There arose an outcry from those who heard him; all the men began -speaking at once. Major Reith called them to order. - -"Gently, gentlemen, gently; let us know where we are standing." - -"You are standing," cried Anthony Dodwell, "in the presence of an -infamous animal whom only the fact that Miss Forster is here, prevents -me from characterising as he deserves. I don't wish to assert that he -took care that the lady was here before he began what he calls his -story; but when the lady has gone he will receive from me the treatment -from which her presence saves him." - -"If you will take my advice," the excited gentleman was told by Major -Reith, "you will let Draycott tell his story without comment or -interruption; when he has finished you will be able, if you think it -necessary, to tell yours; but you will not improve your case by doing -your best to keep him from stating his. Draycott, do we understand you -to say that you did not see Sydney Beaton cheat?" - -"I did not." - -"You did not see him exchange one card for another?" - -"I did not." - -"You did not see him do anything irregular, or indulge in malpractices -of any kind?" - -"Absolutely no; nor do I believe that he did. I did not believe it -then; I believe it still less now. I believe he played as straight a -game as anyone else, and Dodwell knew it." - -Three or four men interposed to prevent Anthony Dodwell venting his -wrath upon the speaker then and there. - -"I'll break every bone there is in your body," he declared, "before -I've done with you, you libellous hound." - -Suffering his threat to go unheeded, Draycott looked him steadily in -the face. Clifford, the biggest and most powerful man in the regiment, -addressed himself to the infuriated Dodwell. - -"Let me tell you something frankly. I've had doubts about you from the -first; and I've not been the only doubter. I for one have regretted the -part I played that night; I only hope that one day I shall be able to -forget it. I'm not saying a word for Draycott, he's given himself away -with every word he's said; but he'd better do that than continue to -play the cur to Beaton in the way he owns he has done. Your case, -Dodwell, is safer in our hands than in your own. After what has -happened we'll sift his story to the bottom before we pronounce -judgment on it either way; I'm afraid the time has gone by when his -mere 'Yes' or 'No' would be accepted. But if you want to force us to -the conclusion that you are the kind of person he says you are, you -can't do better than continue your present behaviour. If you weren't -afraid of what he has to say, you'd let him say it; that, to us, if not -to you, is as plain as the nose upon your face. Draycott, I'm going to -take the liberty of asking you one or two questions. Do you seriously -wish us to understand that merely because Dodwell winked at you, you -charged Beaton with being a cheat when you knew he wasn't?" - -"That's what it comes to." - -"Then it comes to a very ugly thing." - -"That I realise. Dodwell said to me that if I helped him to get even -with Beaton he'd say no more about that money. I took the wink to mean -that that was the moment in which he wanted me to help him--and I did. -The next day he gave me a quittance for the whole amount; I had not -misunderstood him." - -"Do you mean to tell us that the next day you talked Beaton over -between you, and that each of you admitted to the other that he had -lied?" - -"The next morning Dodwell came to my room and told me that after all he -had found out that he was wrong in supposing that I owed him money, and -he gave me a sort of friendly note admitting it in so many words." - -"So you got your price?" - -"I did." - -"Then what was said about the night before?" - -"Very little--in words; but he knew I hadn't seen Beaton cheat, and I -knew he hadn't." - -"How did you know he hadn't?" - -"Because Beaton hadn't cheated; I'd been watching him all the time, he -was seated next to me, and I was sure of it." - -"Dodwell charged him with substituting one card for another. There was -a card upon the floor; Dodwell said he had dropped it and taken the -other in its place." - -"The card upon the floor was mine." - -"Do you mean that you had dropped it intentionally?" - -"I didn't know I had dropped it till it was picked up. I recognised it -as mine when I saw it--it was a nine of spades. I had two pairs in my -hand--nine high; the nine of spades was one of them." - -"And you, knowing the nine of spades was yours, had allowed us to think -that Beaton had dropped it from his hand to take another, and a better -one, in its place; in fact, one which gave him a full. You allowed us -to think that?" - -"I did." - -"You admit that you never for a moment supposed that Beaton had -cheated, having sufficient reasons for knowing otherwise; but it's -possible that Dodwell may have thought he did." - -"He never thought it." - -"What grounds have you for saying that? Now, Dodwell, don't you -interfere; you shall have your turn presently, when you'll have every -opportunity of making Draycott out even blacker than he has painted -himself. Consider, Draycott, before you speak; it's a very queer story -you're asking us to swallow, much queerer than your first. What grounds -have you for saying that Dodwell never thought, even at the moment of -making his accusation, that Beaton had cheated?" - -"He told me so." - -"Weren't you surprised at his making to you such a remarkable -admission?" - -Draycott paused before he answered. - -"I was inclined to think at first that he might have made a mistake, -though I couldn't see how he had done it; but before very long I knew -he hadn't. That nine of spades was on the floor. I didn't know I'd -dropped it, but as I threw down my hand he saw me brush it off the -table with my elbow. He knew that it never had anything to do with -Beaton." - -"When did he make you these frank confessions?" - -"That belongs to the part of the story that I haven't come to yet." - -"Oh, there is a part of the story that you haven't come to? What part's -that? You seem to have been bottling up a good deal inside yourself, -Draycott." - -"It's the story of what took place on the night of the Easter ball at -Avonham." - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - - The Story of what Happened after - the Easter Ball - - -So far the only sounds heard in the billiard-room had been the -questions and the answers. The listeners had been so still; -particularly had this seemed to be the case with Violet Forster. She -gripped with her gloved hand the back of the chair as if from the very -intensity of the grip she derived moral support. She stood very -straight, with her lips tightly pressed together, and with a strained -look on her white face, as if with her every faculty she was bent on -following the words, without missing a syllable or an accent, and, if -possible, reading any hidden meaning which might lie behind them. Her -immobility was so continuous as to be almost unnatural. - -But when Mr. Draycott made that reference to what had happened on the -occasion of the Easter ball at Avonham her whole being seemed to -undergo a sudden transformation. Her hands fell to her side; a faint -flush came into her cheeks; her lips parted; she moved a little forward -with an air of odd expectancy, as if she longed, and feared, to hear -what was coming. - -Before Draycott was allowed to continue there was an interposition from -Anthony Dodwell, addressed directly to him. - -"Let me warn you, Draycott, that for every lie you're going to -utter--and I can see from the look of you that you're going to tell -nothing else but lies--I'll call you to an account; and don't flatter -yourself that, however your friends may try to cover you, you'll escape -me." - -As he answered, Draycott looked Anthony Dodwell very straight in the -face. - -"I shall never be afraid of you again--never! Don't you suppose it!" - -"Don't you be so sure. You were afraid of me once; and, when you and I -are again alone together, you'll be just as much afraid of me as you -ever were. Gentlemen of your habits of body are only courageous when -they know themselves to be in a position in which they are sure of -being protected by their friends." - -"I don't think I ever was afraid of you, Dodwell; but you were a -mystery to me, I didn't understand you, and I was a fool. But now I do -understand you; if you were holding a revolver to my throat I shouldn't -be afraid of the kind of man you are. I know you." - -Draycott turned to the girl. - -"You remember, Miss Forster, that on the night of the Easter ball you -said something to me about that poker business?" - -"I remember quite well." - -"I'd been ashamed of myself a long time before that; but what you said -to me made my shame greater than I could bear. All along I had had a -feeling that if Beaton had gone under because of what had happened, of -what I had said, then I was directly responsible for his undoing; -although he had never done me a bad turn--I had done that to him. I -understood that nothing had been heard of him, that he had disappeared. -He might have committed suicide; I was haunted by a feeling that he -had. If so, his blood was on my head." - -"From whom have you been learning all this fine language, Draycott?" - -The question came from Dodwell; it went unanswered. - -"I told myself, over and over again, that I would make a clean breast -of it, that I would let everybody know that Beaton was a man of honour, -and that I was not. But I had not found it easy, when it came to the -point; in the first place, there was Dodwell; and then there was my--I -suppose it was cowardice." - -"In anything in which you were concerned one can always count on your -playing the coward." - -"But that night, after what you had said to me, I made up my mind that -I could stand it no longer. I looked up Dodwell and I told him so. He -laughed, as he always did; then when he saw I was in earnest----" - -"I saw you were drunk." - -"When he saw I was in earnest, he said that if I would turn up after -the dance he would talk things over with me then." - -"I warn you once more--look after that tongue of yours." - -"I should advise you, Dodwell," struck in Clifford, "to begin by -looking after your own. You keep on talking about Draycott's cowardice, -while all the time you seem to be in mortal terror of what he is going -to say." - -Noel Draycott continued as if he had not been interrupted. - -"When the others went upstairs I stayed behind." - -"But where were you?" - -The question, eagerly asked, came from Violet Forster. - -"At first I was in the conservatory." - -"But weren't the lights out?" - -"They had been; I turned some of them on again. Dodwell came to me. We -started quarrelling right away." - -"You were quarrelling drunk." This was Dodwell. - -"I told him that I meant to tell you, Miss Forster, the whole truth -about that poker business in the morning; I knew you were interested in -Beaton, and that you had a right to be the first to hear. Afterwards, I -informed him, I should make it known in the regiment. When he saw that -I meant what I said, he threatened me." - -"You miserable animal--threatened you!" - -"When, in spite of his threats, I made it clear that nothing would keep -me from doing what I said, he got worse. He would not let me leave him. -I didn't want to have a row with him; I knew there would be more than -enough scandal anyhow; I was in a house in which I was a stranger. As -you know, the whole lot of us were asked to the dance, and I had no -acquaintance with either my host or hostess; but it was only after a -sort of rough and tumble that I managed to slip away." - -He paused, as if to enable himself to recall quite clearly what had -occurred. Dodwell, seizing a billiard cue which rested against a chair, -glared at him as if he would have liked to continue the quarrel where -it had left off. - -"He followed me; I don't know the geography of the house, but I know -that we came to what seemed to be a sort of drawing-room in which there -was a lot of gilded chairs and furniture." - -"I know," said Miss Forster. She glanced at Major Reith. "You -remember?" - -"Perfectly--am I ever likely to forget?" - -Draycott went on. - -"In the scrimmage we had we knocked the things all over the place. We -made such an awful din that I kept on wondering how it was that nobody -heard us." - -"Someone did hear you--I did. And Major Reith heard you also." - -This again was Miss Forster. - -"He wouldn't let me leave the room until I'd promised that I wouldn't -say a word about what I said I would, and I wouldn't promise. I was no -match for him; he's a bigger and a stronger man than I am; he hammered -me a good deal, and I told him what I thought of him. There was a sort -of a club lying on a table; he sent me flying against the table, the -table went over, and I with it; the club fell on to the floor. I told -him again what I thought of him as I was going over. I suppose that -made him madder than ever. He picked up the club, and he struck at me -with it. I put up my left arm to ward off the blow, and he broke -it--just there." - -Mr. Draycott held up his left arm, touching it between the wrist and -the elbow. - -"I heard the bone snap. I was trying to get up from the floor when he -hit me a second time; that time I think it must have got me on the -head--down I went again, for good. Yet I was conscious that he kept on -hitting me as I lay motionless. What is still queerer--I can't explain -it, but I had an extraordinary feeling that Sydney Beaton had come into -the room, that he saw Dodwell raining blows down on me, that he said -something, that Dodwell gave a yell at the sight of him, and ran away. -That's all I can remember of what took place at Avonham." - -"It seems to be a pretty good deal." This was Clifford. He turned to -Dodwell. "What do you think?" - -"It's a farrago of lies." - -"Somehow, Dodwell, you don't look as if it were a farrago of lies. I -don't want to prejudice the minds of the judge and jury before whom you -will possibly be brought, but if I were betting I should be inclined to -lay odds--against you. Do you deny that you did meet Draycott in the -conservatory after the rest of us had gone to bed?" - -"What right have you to ask me questions?" - -"I see; that's the tone you take! What right has anyone to ask you -questions? As I expected--you deny that you quarrelled with Draycott?" - -"What have my private affairs to do with you?" - -"Your private affairs? It has come to that! You call attempted murder -your private affair? Do you deny that you did strike Draycott as he -says?" - -"I deny everything." - -"I see--a general denial. You know, Dodwell, you should have started -denying at the first. When you tacitly admit that you did meet -Draycott, and that you did quarrel with him, you have already reached -the point at which a general denial only tells against you. What I -don't understand, Draycott, is, where have you been since that night? I -don't know if you are aware that the British public has been taking a -most lively interest in your private affairs, and that all sorts of -more or less interested persons have been searching for you high and -low. It's a good time ago, you know, since the Easter ball. The puzzle -is, in what unfindable place have you been hidden all this while?" - -"I've been with Beaton." - -"You've been--where? Pardon me, Miss Forster, you were going to speak." - -"I--I was only going to ask him what he meant by--by saying that he has -been with Mr. Beaton." - -"It is not altogether easy to explain; you will get a fuller -explanation from someone else; I can only tell you what I know. The -last thing I remembered at Avonham was, as I have told you, that -Dodwell was beating me about the head with a club as I lay on the -floor." - -"You delightful person, Mr. Dodwell." The interruption came from Frank -Clifford. "Mixed up with it was the feeling that Beaton was in the -room. Then, I suppose, I lost consciousness. When I came to myself -again I couldn't make out what had happened, or where I was. Then by -degrees I began to understand that I was in bed, in a strange room, and -that Beaton was leaning over me. 'Why, Syd!' I said--it wasn't a very -brilliant remark to make, but I remember that I did make it. What he -said I don't know, I fancy I must have slipped back into -unconsciousness again. To make a long story short, when I did come -really to myself again, I found that I was in Beaton's rooms." - -"But how on earth did you get there?" demanded Major Reith. "When I -last saw you I could have sworn that you were lying dead on the floor -of that room at Avonham. Directly my back was turned, did you get up -and walk to Beaton's rooms?" - -"That's a part of the story with which I'm not very well posted. It -wasn't only imagination when, while Dodwell was clubbing me, I felt -that Beaton had come into the room; he had, and Dodwell had seen -him--and he saw what Dodwell was doing to me. He will be able to bear -witness to that part of my story, as Dodwell is probably aware." - -Suddenly, it seemed, that Mr. Dodwell had decided to take up a new -position as regarded the last part of Noel Draycott's story. - -"I don't deny that I did strike him, I never have denied it, but what I -did was only done in self-defence." - -"While a man was lying on the floor you struck him, with a club, in -self-defence?" - -"He had been threatening me, and telling all sorts of lies, and I was -half beside myself with rage, and I meant to give him the thrashing he -deserved, and if I went a little too far it was because I had been -drinking, as he had, and was mad with fury, and didn't know what I was -doing--and there you are." - -"And all this time the world has been wondering what became of -Draycott, and you never so much as hinted that you knew." - -"I didn't know; I was just as much in the dark as anyone--I wondered." - -"You thought you had killed him?" - -Dodwell was silent; Clifford went on. "You thought you had killed him, -and that was why you never said a word." - -"I knew I hadn't killed him." - -"How did you know?" - -"If I had he'd have been where I left him; he wouldn't have got up and -walked away." - -"It didn't occur to you that what you had done to him that night had -anything to do with his disappearance?" - -"I don't know what you mean." - -"You didn't think it advisable, or necessary, to come forward and throw -some sort of light on what seemed an insoluble mystery by telling your -story of what took place that night?" - -"I wished to avoid a scandal." - -"What a thoughtful man you are, Mr. Dodwell! It did not occur to you, I -suppose, that if you did tell your story you'd be in the hands of the -police immediately after--that had nothing to do with your silence?" - -Anthony Dodwell was silent. Clifford, who seemed to be taking on -himself the office of examiner-in-chief, put a question to Draycott: - -"How came Beaton to be at Avonham that night? Was he an invited guest?" - -"That I cannot tell you; I only know it was lucky for me that he was -there." - -"You say he saw Dodwell clubbing you, and that when Dodwell saw -him he ran away. Why didn't Beaton, knowing that crime had been -committed--because you must have been in a pretty bad state, or Reith -wouldn't have thought you dead----?" - -"I believe I was; I believe that for ever so long nobody thought I -should live; indeed, it's only by a miracle that I'm alive now, and -owing to Beaton's care of me." - -"Then, as I was saying, knowing that a crime had been committed, why -ever didn't Beaton rouse the house?" - -"That again I cannot tell you. I fancy that, as Dodwell put it, he also -wished to avoid causing a scandal." - -"From, however, I presume, a different motive; he couldn't have been -afraid of the police. Then are we to understand that you have remained -in Beaton's quarters all this time?" - -"Exactly; he did everything for me; I owe everything to him--life, -all." - -"And what does he owe to you?" - -"That's just it; what doesn't he owe to me? It's the consciousness of -what he owes that's driven me here to-night; which made me feel that I -must take the first chance that offered to clear him in the eyes of all -you fellows--and that I must do it, too, in the presence of Miss -Forster. That's why I arranged that she should be here; and now you -fellows will see why I wanted her to stay. Only recently I recovered -consciousness--what you could call consciousness--and since then I've -been hanging between life and death; I know I couldn't lift a finger. I -fancy that Dodwell must have hit me on some peculiar spot, because I -believe the doctor fellows never thought I should regain my reason; I -must have been a handful to Syd Beaton. I had done him the worst turn -possible, and he knew what I'd done, but he treated me as if I'd been -the best and truest friend that ever was. I'm convinced that if it -hadn't been for him I shouldn't be here talking to you now. A better, a -finer, a nobler fellow than he never lived--and that's what I want you -fellows to know. You may do what you like to me; I deserve any -punishment; but you ought to beg Sydney Beaton's pardon--and you've got -to do it, too." - -"Have we? You rush your fences. And, pray, where is Mr. Beaton, if, as -you say, we have to beg his pardon?" - -"I believe that, by now, he ought to be outside." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - - Asking Forgiveness - - -"Outside!" - -The word came from Violet Forster as if it were an echo. Turning, she -made a wavering and, as it seemed, almost involuntary movement towards -the door; then, as if suddenly remembering, shrank back and went all -red. If there were any there who smiled, it was with sympathy; as if -they saw how, even against her will, the girl's heart was being drawn -towards the man who was on the other side of the door. - -It was Major Reith who spoke, and it seemed with unnecessary sternness. - -"Do you mean that Sydney Beaton is in the building? How do you know -it?" - -The reply was simple. - -"He promised me that he would come." - -"Promised you? When?" - -"He came with me as far as the barracks. I'm afraid I'm not yet very -good at getting about alone, but I shall be all right soon; he knew -what I was coming for, and he promised me he would wait, and that, if -he heard nothing, in about half an hour he would come in." - -The girl asked an eager question. - -"Was he in a taxicab? There was one waiting as I came in, by the -pavement a little way down--I passed it. It was open; there was a man -sitting inside whom I had the strangest feeling that I knew, although -it was dark and I could not see; perhaps it was Sydney." - -"I shouldn't wonder. He said he'd wait in the cab; but he ought to be -here by now." - -Facing round, Frank Clifford, as it were, addressed the meeting: - -"Gentlemen, shall I go out and see if Sydney Beaton is still waiting in -the cab?" There was an instant chorus of affirmatives. He turned to -Violet. "Miss Forster, with your permission I will go and ask Mr. -Beaton to do us the favour to come in here." - -"I--I shall be very glad to see him." - -"So shall we." He opened the door, but he was not yet through it when -he broke into exclamations. "Why, Beaton, you're a sight worth seeing. -I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. We have only just heard -from Draycott that you were outside; I'm acting as a deputation to ask -you to come in. Gentlemen, Captain Beaton." - -Sydney Beaton appeared in the doorway of the room from which, when he -was last in it, he had been thrown out. There was a great difference -between that man and this; so great that all those who were there, who -had known the man that was so well, looked at him and wondered, and -were ashamed. The few months which had elapsed since they had seen him -last might have been years, so much was he changed; it needed the -evidence of their own eyes to assure them that in so short a space of -time a man could have so aged. The Sydney Beaton they had known was -young, debonair, careless, incapable of looking seriously upon either -life or death. This man was serious above and before all else; the -burden of life weighed heavily on him; he was hollow-eyed; great lines -seamed both his cheeks and forehead; his hair was grey; he had become -an old man. - -Their surprise at his appearance hushed them into silence. Beaton, as -if not knowing what to make of their speechlessness, seemed disposed to -draw back. But Draycott reassured him. - -"It's all right, old man, I've told them; they know all about it; I -think the sight of you has rather bowled them over." - -Then they did speak, and the first was Jackie Tickell. - -"Beaton, of course you can knock me down and jump on me if you like; I -shan't say a word if you do, but it's an absolute fact that I never -really doubted you; I knew you were a white man, although I did treat -you like a pig. You know that pool--there was a pot of money in that -pool--I haven't touched a farthing of it from that day to this, -although there have been times when I've badly wanted it, but I knew -all along that it was yours. I handed it over to the keeping of the -mess--they'll tell you all about it; we've got it all right. And I say, -you chaps, here's an idea. What do you say to giving Beaton a feed, a -real tip-topper, and, at it, presenting him with the pool, as a--you -know--not as a testimonial, but you know what I do mean?" - -They laughed at Tickell as they crowded round Beaton. Major Reith -spoke. - -"Beaton, I have done you a serious injustice; how serious I did not -realise until now--that I see you. I am more--more ashamed than I can -tell you; to ask your pardon is to do nothing. Can you ever forgive me? -I shall never be able to forgive myself; my punishment will be as great -as yours." - -Then Beaton spoke. - -"Reith, I hope not; you don't know what my punishment has been." - -"Looking at you, I can guess." - -"I suppose you can; I believe it's printed pretty plain." - -There came a chorus from the others--all asking for pardon. - -"We didn't understand each other, that was what it was," said Beaton. -"You never could have done what you did if we had. Yet I'm not sure -that the lesson I've been taught wasn't worth learning even at the -price I paid. I'm not the man you knew. I can see by the look that's on -your faces that you've found that out for yourselves. I shall never be -that man again; but don't take to yourselves any blame for that. I -wouldn't, if I could." - -"Will you also forgive me, Beaton? I admit that I, too, may have been -mistaken." - -This was Anthony Dodwell; there was something in the eyes which looked -at him out of their hollow caverns which seemed to make him shrivel up. - -"In your case it's not a question of forgiveness. You see, Dodwell, I -know you. Since I was last in this room I've been in some strange -company; I've met one or two men like you, and I haven't liked them. I -know how you treated me; I saw how you treated Draycott that night at -Avonham; you would treat me, and Draycott, exactly the same again -tomorrow--if you had the chance. You can't like the man whom you know -is that kind of person; you avoid him, if you can; you are on your -guard against him, if you can't. If you are even superficially sorry -for what you did to me you will take care that I never see or hear of -you again. I am afraid that's as far as I'm prepared to go." - -"And that's quite far enough. Now, Dodwell, you have our unanimous -permission to do what you were so anxious to do at first--go." - -Frank Clifford held the door wide open, with a significance it was -impossible for the other to misunderstand. Anthony Dodwell showed how -plainly he did understand by marching through it without a word. - -Miss Forster had drawn back as Beaton entered the room, so that she had -been behind him, where she had stayed. Now she came forward and touched -him on the arm. - -"Sydney!" - -He was silent; he did not even pronounce her name; he took the hand -which she offered, and bowed his head before her. Frank Clifford said: - -"Miss Forster, I trust that I am neither presumptuous nor impertinent -in suggesting that I think it possible that you are not over-anxious to -stay with us much longer; if that is the case--I don't know how to put -it, but--if you'd like to take Beaton with you, you can." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - - In the Taxicab - - -They were alone together in the taxicab, the one which had been -waiting. Draycott had been left behind. There had been a brief -discussion as to the address to which the man was to be told to drive. - -"Where are we going?" she had asked him. - -"You are perfectly well aware," he had told her in the grave tones -which had seemed to have become habitual, "that I'm not a fit person -for you to consort with. Let us say to each other all that there is to -be said here; it shouldn't take very long, there is so little to be -said; then let us part company--for ever." - -"That is your opinion, is it? It's very nice of you to express it. -Where are you living?" - -"In a road near Clapham Junction--Lavender Sweep; a name which suggests -possibilities--which don't go any farther than the name. It's a street -of little houses." - -"What is your number?" - -"A hundred and ninety-seven." - -She spoke to the cabman. - -"Drive us to 197 Lavender Sweep, Clapham Junction." Then to Beaton: -"Will you open the door for me?" - -She entered. He spoke to her still standing on the pavement. - -"You know you ought not to go there; it's not the sort of place to -which you're accustomed." - -"Then the sooner I become accustomed the better. Will you please get -in?" - -He got in; the cab started; as it has been written, they were alone in -the cab together. Their conversation, especially at the beginning, was -of a distinctly singular sort; as a matter of fact, she was enjoying -herself immensely. It was many a day since she had even supposed it -possible that she could enjoy herself so much. - -"You don't seem to be particularly glad to see me." - -"What right have I to be glad?" - -"That's it--what right have you? That's a particularly sensible -inquiry, which makes it the more awkward--for me--that I should be -rather glad to see you. I imagine that these things are an affair of -temperament." - -"You are laughing at me." - -"I don't know what else to do, since you certainly aren't laughing at -me. You might be an owl for gravity. You sit screwed up there in your -corner as if you were afraid you might be infected with something if -you came within a quarter of a mile of me." - -"Put it the other way. I don't wish to carry infection to you." - -"Don't you? How nice! What sort of infection do you think you'd carry? -I'd like, if I did ask you to come nearer, to know the risk I'd run." - -"You know the kind of creature I am." - -"The ignorance is on your side; you don't know the kind of creature I -am. Do you know this is the very first time you and I have been alone -together in a taxicab?" He was silent. A sound came from her which -might have been a laugh. "You're full of conversation." - -"I am so oppressed by the hideous consciousness of being in a false -position." - -"Are you? We'll talk about all that kind of thing when we get to 197 -Lavender Sweep." - -"You don't know what kind of place it is I live in." - -"I soon shall." - -"What would your uncle say if he knew you were coming alone with me to -my wretched rooms?" - -"My uncle and I are two; he lives at Nuthurst, and I live in town. I -also have what you call wretched rooms--of my own. I would have asked -the man to drive us there, only I thought I would prefer to go to -yours, and I should; and I'm going. Is anything very terrible about -your wretched rooms?" - -"A person of my sort ought to be glad to live anywhere; especially -after some of the places in which I have resided." - -"I know all about it." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Oh, I've been told; but would you mind leaving all that sort of thing -until we get to your--wretched rooms? Let us, while we are in the cab, -be frivolous; couldn't you be frivolous?" - -"I've forgotten how to be." - -"I believe you smiled." - -"If I did it was the sort of smile with which you meet the dentist when -he's going to play tricks with your teeth." - -"It's some time since I was frivolous; it's rather hard that now, after -all this time, I'm in a mood to frivol, you won't. Couldn't you try? -For instance, you seem to have forgotten that I possess a name; -couldn't you start by calling me Violet? I suppose it would be too much -to expect you to get as far, at the start, as Vi?" There was silence. -"Well, are you trying?" - -"I'm trying not to." - -"Thank you very much; does it require much effort?" - -"All my strength." - -"Have you got much?" - -"Very little." - -"Indeed? Then, if you're going to use it in that direction, I hope -you've none at all. It's rather fine weather for the time of the year, -isn't it? Is that the sort of remark you would like me to make? Will it -need all your strength to enable you to answer that?" - -"I wish you'd let me stop the cab and get out." - -"I shall do nothing of the sort. How dare you suggest it? I suppose -you think you're going to keep on behaving to me like this. My dear -Sydney--you see, I call you by your Christian name, and it doesn't need -much trying--my darling Sydney, my well-beloved Sydney--I'm going to be -Mary Janeish--do you think I don't know what is going on inside you? -You'd give--shall I say twopence?--to put out your hand and touch mine -which is lying there upon the seat. You can see it, although you're not -looking and you pretend you can't. Sydney, won't you touch it--just -once?" - -"I won't." - -"Thank you; that is frank, and so sweet of you. You think you are as -hard--oh, harder than that; and I believe that you have got much harder -than you used to be, but when I've really made up my mind you shall, -you'll melt and become--oh, yes, much softer than that. How far is -Lavender Sweep? I don't seem to find it easy to get much out of you in -this silly cab; perhaps I may have better fortune when we get to your -wretched rooms. Is it much farther?" - -"Let's say all that there is to be said now. I wanted to say it before -we got into the cab; it will only make it worse for both of us if we -wait till we get to my rooms. You shan't go there. I won't have you." - -"Won't you? How are you going to stop me?" - -"By giving myself up to the next policeman we meet, if there is no -other way; he'd think himself in luck to get me." - -"Sydney!" - -"It's the truth, and you know it. What's the good of either of us -pretending that you don't?" - -"Will you please say nothing else until we reach your rooms? I won't, -and I'd rather you didn't either. I'm going with you to your rooms, and -nothing you can say or do will stop me. Now will you please be silent -till we get to 97 Lavender Sweep? I think that, while we're in this -cab, I prefer your silence to your conversation." - -She had her way; not a word was spoken on either side until the cab -drew up in front of one of a long terrace of houses. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - "Vi!" - - -Miss Forster looked about the room into which he had ushered her, the -first room on the right when you had come through the front door. It -was the usual ground-floor front apartment of the £45 a year suburban -"modern residence," a fair size, as a habitation for a "single -gentleman," with a sufficiency of light, and air, and space. - -"If this is one of your 'wretched rooms,' I don't think it's very -wretched, don't you know; it compares not at all unfavourably with my -best parlour." - -Standing before the empty fireplace, he was observing her with singular -intentness, brows knit, head bowed between his shoulders. - -"You understand where the money to pay for this palatial apartment has -come from; how it has been--earned? You saw me engaged in the practice -of my profession that night at Avonham." - -"Did I? Dear me! How terrible! Why should I mind?" - -"You ought to mind; you do mind; at least it is certain that you would -mind if you understood." - -"It is because I do understand that I don't mind; unfortunately the -understanding is all on one side; you do seem to be so slow in grasping -the true inwardness of things. I want you to answer me one or two -questions--will you?" - -She had placed herself in an old arm-chair, and was looking up at him -with the tip of a first finger touching either cheek. Her pallor had -given way to a faint pink flush, which kept coming and going. Her whole -face was lighted with laughter, as if challenging the persistent -gravity which was on his. - -"I will answer any questions you like to put, to the best of my -ability." - -"That's right, that's the proper tone in which to speak; as if you were -faced by the rack and the thumb-screw, and similar pretty things. To -begin with--I will make a statement; I was at Avonham that night." - -"As if I didn't know it." - -"I was wondering if you might have forgotten it." This was said with a -little air of malice. "I saw poor Mr. Draycott lying on the floor, and -I, as well as Major Reith, thought that he was dead. I've been asking -myself how, during the very few minutes I was out of the room, you -managed to take him away." - -"You remember that I ran up against you in the hall?" - -"Am I likely to forget? You did surprise me." - -"And you surprised me; I hadn't a notion that you were in the house, or -I shouldn't have been there." - -"You might have stayed to say good-night, or ask me how I was; I had -hurt my foot most frightfully. You didn't show the slightest sympathy." - -"How was I to know?" - -"That's just it. If you'd only said how-do-you-do, you'd have known. In -your hurry you even left your bag behind you." - -One could see the man wince; the woman's pause was perhaps to enable -him to recover himself. - -"Did you see what was in it?" - -"The countess did--as probably Jane Simmons told you." - -"That woman!" - -"That woman! She came to see me the other day." - -"What?" - -"We had rather an interesting conversation. She's going to be married." - -"Going to be married? To----" - -He left the sentence unfinished, and the name unspoken; she smiled and -nodded, as if she understood. - -"I shouldn't be surprised; it's as likely to be him as anybody else. -She's going to turn over a new leaf." - -"Is she?" - -"She's going to America with her husband." - -"Are you sure of that?" - -"I think she must have got married the very next day, and started the -day after, because only the other morning a little box came through the -post, postmarked Pittsburg, and in it was a piece of wedding cake, with -a card on which was written, 'With the compliments of Julia Spurrier -and her husband.'" - -"Who was Julia Spurrier?" - -"She was Jane Simmons; I dare say she had one or two other names -besides, within your knowledge." - -"She had. You understood what kind of person she was?" - -"Perfectly; she made me understand." - -"And I dare say she told you one or two things about me." - -"She did--one or two; but we're coming to that presently. I want you -first to explain to me how you got Mr. Draycott out of the house that -night." - -"I was rushing off to get something to wrap him in when I met you. I -heard you and Reith go into that room, and I heard you both go out--I -was outside the window. Directly you left it, I opened the window, -picked up Draycott, carried him out, closed the window again--and it -was done." - -"I see--you call that done. But how did you manage to get him away from -the neighbourhood of the house?" - -"There was a motor-car a little way along the path, about as silent a -one as there is made; I put him in that and off I went." - -"Nothing could be simpler, could it? But why did you trouble to take -him at all? What affair was he of yours? It wasn't as though he had -treated you very nicely." - -"Don't you see that it was the chance of my life?" - -"The chance of your life? Good gracious! How?" - -"That poker business--they said I cheated; it was a lie--an infernal -lie." - -"They've admitted it themselves to-night." - -"They hadn't admitted it then, and I never thought I should have a -chance of making them do it, until I saw that dear man Dodwell doing -his best to murder Draycott as he lay there on the floor. Well, then, -it was a wild-cat idea, but it was an idea. I thought that if I could -get hold of Draycott, and he wasn't quite dead, and I could bring him -back to life, he might feel some--some sort of gratitude. It was -Draycott who supported Dodwell; I don't think they would ever have -believed him if it hadn't been for Draycott. I fancy there wasn't a man -in the regiment who hadn't a sort of feeling that Dodwell was a liar; -it was Draycott's endorsement of his lie that did it." - -She could see, when he paused, how the muscles of his face were -working, and how his fingers twitched as he clenched and unclenched his -hands. - -"When I started to think afterwards, when hell was all about -me, at first it was all a blur, I couldn't think how it could have -happened--all of it; it was so--so impossible that they could have -thought such a thing of me. Then, by degrees, I began to put trifles -together, and to get some sort of a vague idea how--how it had all come -about." - -He pressed his hands to his temples; she fancied it must have become a -trick with him; he had done it once or twice before, even when they -were in the cab. - -"I'd had a row with Dodwell about some money which he said I owed him; -as you know, I owed pretty nearly everybody money, but I was quite sure -I didn't owe him any. The way in which he made out that I did, did -credit to something besides his financial genius. I had a suspicion -that Draycott had had a row with him of the same kind. He had told me -that he would be even with me for the position which I had taken up; -and I began to see, afterwards, when I--I was looking for crusts in the -gutter, that that lie he had told was his way of getting even, and I -began to wonder if Draycott had backed it because Dodwell had got him -under his thumb." - -He gave a great sigh, which was the most eloquent thing he had done -yet; there was something about the matter-of-fact way in which he did -it which showed that, at any rate, that was an habitual trick of his. -The abomination of desolation which, it suggested, was in his very -soul, moved the girl with a sudden pain which seemed to go right -through her. - -"When, as I've said, I saw Dodwell hammering Draycott, the wild-cat -idea came to me that, if I did Draycott a good turn, he might be -disposed to do me another; Dodwell would have killed him if it hadn't -been for me, so he did owe me something, if he was to owe me nothing -more. If he would only own to me, between ourselves, that he hadn't -seen me do what he said he had, that would be some satisfaction. I -didn't like to feel that there was any possibility that he really -believed that I was--that kind of thing; if he would admit to me, in -private, that he had spoken in haste, that he might have been in error, -I should have been a happier man. The reality surpassed all my -expectations." - -A wintry smile passed over his face; he stood up straighter; but he -continued to speak in the halftones of the man from whose life all the -salt has gone. - -"Draycott turned out a perfect trump. We had a pretty tough time--the -landlady here, who's a dear, good old soul, the doctor, and I between -us--in pulling him through; Dodwell had used him cruelly, he will carry -some of the scars with him to the grave--but it was a labour of love. I -hadn't been so happy for I don't know how long; I had never thought I -should be so happy again, as I was as I sat by Draycott's bedside, -sometimes all night and sometimes all day, watching him, slowly, come -back to life again. You see, it was the first thing I had done of which -I hadn't cause to be ashamed for ever so long. Directly he was safe he -told me the whole story, which I expect you heard to-night. He's -behaved like a trump." - -"I suppose it doesn't strike you that, in any degree, or in any sense, -you've behaved like a trump?" - -"I had a motive for what I did. Draycott's father is a big bug over in -New South Wales. They've been telegraphing to each other, he and his -father, spending no end of money on wires. It seems that the old man -heard that he was missing and got flurried; but they've made that all -right by telegram. Draycott's going back to his father; he is the only -son, his father has big interests, and wants him, and he hasn't made a -very good thing of soldiering; so Draycott's going back. And, what is -much more--to me--I'm going with him." - -"Sydney! Really?" - -"Very really--thanks to Draycott. I couldn't stay in England--now; and -I wouldn't. I've made such a mess of things that I shouldn't be able to -breathe if I stayed. I want to put the old things behind me, and to get -into a new world, and a new life." - -There was silence; he seemed to be straining his eyes with the effort -to see the new life for which he longed. - -"And that means?" - -"That means that the man you knew is dead." - -"Is he? I wonder! Sydney?" He did not speak, but he looked at her. -"Have you ever thought of me during all you've gone through?" - -"Before I answer your question, as I will do presently, let me say what -I've got to say. I'm a criminal." - -The girl rose quickly from her seat. - -"And let me tell you that I won't let you say it--I will not. You -answer my question, and then we'll say something to each other. Answer -me--did you ever think of me when, as you put it yourself, you were -picking crusts out of the gutter?" - -"It's not a fair question." - -"Why?" - -"Because you'll draw deductions from my answer which you must not -draw." - -"What is your answer? We'll talk about deductions afterwards. Answer -me--did you ever think of me when you were picking crusts out of the -gutter?" - -The man closed his eyes and turned his face away. She pressed her -question home. - -"Answer me!" - -"There was a time when I was so hungry, and so cold, and so deep down -in hell, that I tried to stop thinking of you--and I couldn't." - -"They stole the locket from you which I gave you." - -"They did--the devils! Who told you?" - -"You cut my picture out of one of the papers, and you made a case for -it with a piece of silk with your own hands, and you carried it next -your bosom." - -"It's there now. Who told you all these things?" - -"And if you go to New South Wales you'll take that picture with you?" - -"I did mean to." - -"And why shouldn't you take me with it? Oh, you needn't if you don't -want; but unless you take a whole ship to yourself you can't prevent my -travelling by the same boat, which I shall do, with or without your -leave. You say you're going with Noel Draycott. I'll soon find out from -Mr. Draycott the ship he's going by, if I can't get the information -from you, and, as I don't suppose that my money will be refused by the -people who own that ship, we'll make a party of three. Of course, you -needn't speak to me while we're on the voyage, but I dare say Mr. -Draycott will, when he's a moment to spare. And I hope so to find -favour in Mr. Draycott's eyes that he will be able to persuade his -father to invite me to pay him a little visit--so we'll all three of us -be together there." - -"You don't understand what it is you're proposing." - -"Do credit me with some perception, please; I do understand, quite -well. What you don't understand is that if you go to New South Wales, -and leave me here, I shall die--yes, Sydney, I shall die." - -"Violet!" - -"That's the first time you've called me by my Christian name--you -wretch! And now you haven't made it Vi. Hasn't a man any imagination? A -girl can project herself into his mind, even when he's miles and miles -away, and she doesn't even know where he is; is he absolutely incapable -of projecting himself into hers? I know you've been thinking about -me--thinking, thinking, thinking! And it's been bread and meat and life -to me, and morning, noon, and night, all the long weary time, I've been -thinking, thinking of you, and you pretend that you don't know it. You -know it perfectly well! Don't you know it?" - -She went and stood close up to him. - -"What would all the world think of me if I took you at your word? What -would you yourself think in the time to come?" - -"Isn't every drop of blood in your body burning with the desire to take -me in your arms?" - -"If I did--afterwards--what then? When I had the consciousness that -with my shame I had sullied you?" - -"Can't you feel, as I stand here close to you, that I'm all on fire -with the longing that you should kiss me as the man kisses the woman -who loves him? Do that first--do it first, I tell you! Then, when -you've kissed some of the craving out of me--if you only knew how I -longed for you to kiss me, you wouldn't keep your lips from the -refreshment for which, I believe, they're dying. Kiss me!" - -The limit of his powers of resistance had been reached; he did what, -from the first, with the whole force of his being, he had longed to do; -he took her in his arms. - -"Vi!" - -"Vi! That's better; say it again, my dear--just like that; say it -again, and again, and again! Now, wasn't that worth while?" - -She drew herself a little away from him, so that, standing face to -face, they held each other's hands. - -"Wasn't that worth waiting for?" Her voice dropped to a whisper; she -looked at him with eyes which seemed to make him tremble. "Are you -going to New South Wales without me?" - -The street door was heard to open; someone came along the passage. - -"Is that someone coming to your room?" - -"I think it's Draycott." - -"Is it? That's all right. You needn't take your hands away. Sydney! of -course he knows." - -The door opened, to admit Noel Draycott. He paused when he saw them. - -"I beg your pardon, I had no idea----" - -"Oh, yes, you had, you had every idea; so you can come right straight -in--because you understand. Mr. Draycott, I am coming with you to New -South Wales." - -"Are you? I'm delighted to hear it; I thought you would." - -She turned to Beaton. - -"There, Sydney, you see? He thought I would." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV - - Some Letters and a Telegram - - -Mrs. Sydney Beaton sat reading a letter. By her, in a bassinette, was a -baby; every now and then, half unconsciously, she would move the -bassinette to and fro, as if to make sure that the baby should go on -sleeping. At a little distance two children were playing, a boy and a -girl; sometimes the boy called the girl Violet, and she called him -Sydney. It was a glorious day; the clear champagne-like air of New -South Wales in spring time. - -Mrs. Beaton was at home, and a lovely home it seemed to be; a pretty -picture of happiness and health its mistress would have made. Though, -plainly, she was troubled by the letter. Although it had only arrived -that morning, she knew its contents almost by heart, yet she read it -again; when she had read it she let it lie upon her knee, while, with -something wistful in her glance, she seemed to be looking at some -picture which the eye of her imagination conjured up before her. Then, -with the faintest little sigh, she took up other letters that were -lying on her lap, and glanced through them. Then she reverted to that -picture of her imagination; and she sighed again, and this time it was -obviously a sigh. - -As if conscience-stricken, as if guilty of at least some impropriety, -she rose abruptly from her seat, and, with a startled air, looked round -her, the letters bundled together in her hand. All at once firm -footsteps came hurrying towards her. Turning, a tall, upright, sinewy, -wiry man, without an ounce of superfluous flesh about him, his face and -neck and hands bronzed by the sun, greeted her with hands outstretched. - -"Sydney!" she cried, "you're earlier than I expected. I was coming over -to meet you." - -"Yes, I came by the earlier train. Hullo, you people!" - -The boy and the girl had come rushing to him with boisterous glee. He -picked them up, one on either arm; they were full of questions which -had to be answered, and news which required his instant attention. It -was some minutes before husband and wife were alone together. - -"What made you come by the earlier train without letting me know? I can -see there was something." - -Her quick eyes were skilled in reading the signs of the weather on her -husband's face; she could see that on it there was something like a -cloud, though no larger than a man's hand. - -"Yes," he said, "you are right, there was; I've had a telegram from -home. I've been turning it over in my mind as I came along." - -"That's rather odd, because this morning I had quite a packet of -English letters. Just look at them. From whom is your telegram?" - -"From Carr and Phillips, the Aversham lawyers. George is dead." - -"Your brother--dead! Sydney! When did he die?" - -"The telegram says--here it is--'Your brother, Sir George Beaton, died -suddenly this morning. Letter follows.' That's all, except their name; -it's rather a facer. I haven't seen George for----" - -He paused, as if searching in his mind for an exact date. - -"It's more than seven years since we left England." - -"Yes, nearly eight years. You remember, we were talking about it only -the other day. More than once lately I've had a feeling that I should -like to see him again; and now he's gone. He wasn't exactly the most -affectionate of brothers, though I dare say he would have said the same -of me; but he was all I had; the last Beaton of them all." - -"What will become of Adisham?" - -"It's mine, since he never married; that's another facer; the old house -is mine, and it will be our Sydney's when I'm gone. The whole property, -such as it is, goes to the next male heir; under the old entail women -don't count. No feminine thing has ever had Adisham, or ever will." - -"It seems as if this were going to be a day of coincidences, one of -those days on which if it rains it pours. You've had news--and such -news, and I've had letters--such letters, from home. There's one from -Nuthurst." - -"From your uncle?" - -"Yes, from uncle. It's the sweetest letter. I can see him sitting down -to write it, at his big table in the justice room, with his eyes, as it -were, across the sea, trying with all his might not to put a word on -paper which could hurt." - -"He wants you to go home?" - -"He doesn't say so. In every word he has written I can read what is in -his mind; he feels that there are reasons which might make it difficult -for me to go, and he doesn't want to hurt me by asking me to do what I -mightn't be able to; he thinks it might hurt me to have to refuse. But, -Sydney, all through his letter, although he doesn't know it, he's -telling me that he is a very old man, and he's crying out for me to -come--before he goes." - -"Does he speak of me?" - -"Does he! He speaks more of you than of me, and he's full of the -children. His body is in England, but his spirit is with us in New -South Wales. If he weren't such an old man, and so little of a -traveller, I'm sure he would come to us; he would have come long ago." - -"I wonder what it would feel like to go back to England on a visit?" - -"I wonder? I hardly dare to." - -"Vi! Is it so bad with you as that?" - -"Oh, Sydney, if you only knew how I'd love to go--with you and with the -children. Why, the children never have seen England." - -"That's certainly a fact." - -He was regarding her with something quizzical in his eyes. - -"Just think of it! Though they pray for the dear homeland every night -in their prayers, and for the friends who are at home." - -"Are there any friends at home? Do you think any of them would speak to -us--to me?" - -"Why, Sydney, what a goose you are! They'd be tumbling over each other -to get a chance." - -"Would they? I shouldn't want them to do that, if only from the point -of view of dignity, to say nothing of their getting hurt." - -"Just think of the letters I'm always having, and which you get; just -look at this heap! There's another from Major Reith; he says that if we -won't go to him, the next long leave he gets he'll come here." - -"We might bring him back with us." - -"And there's one from Margaret, Countess of Cantyre; she's longing to -make your acquaintance." - -"Is she?" His tone was more than a trifle dry. - -"You know she is! Only in her last letter she said she never would -believe you were a real creature till she'd met you in the flesh; she -has heard all sorts of tales about you; you've been the hero of all -kinds of wonderful stories, but she's never seen you once. She has the -impertinence to say in this very letter that she is still convinced -that you're only a person out of a novel, a mere fiction; and that, -though I pretend that you're my husband, she never will believe it till -you tell her so, in person, to her face. What do you think of that?" - -"Vi, I think I'll wire to Carr and Phillips." - -"Haven't you sent an answer to their telegram?" - -"No, that's it; that's one reason why I came by the earlier train; I -wanted to see you first, to know what answer I was to send." - -"I see." - -In her voice, although she spoke so quietly, there was a tremor, a -catching of her breath, a suspicion of eagerness; all these things in -those two little words, which probably did not go unnoticed. - -"It's a matter on which I wished to consult you before I did anything; -so much may hinge on the reply I send. The question is, what steamer -could we catch?" - -"Sydney!" His name burst from her rather than was uttered; her whole -face was lighted up. - -"When could you be ready?" - -"Why--when could I be ready? Why--Sydney, I haven't thought; what a -question to spring on one; as though--as though one could decide upon a -thing like that, without a moment's notice." - -"I have been talking to Draycott, and he says that if we were to go by -the next boat----" - -"The next boat!" - -She seemed to be springing out of her shoes. - -"And were to stay in England, say, a year----" - -"Stay in England--say, a year!" - -"Everything would go on all right here, and he'd look after things. The -question is, could you and the children be ready for the next boat?" - -"When does it go?" - -"In ten days. I don't want to hustle you; if you want time for -consideration--why, take it." - -"Of course I don't want time for consideration, you absurd creature; of -course we can be ready." - -"You think so?" - -"I don't think, I'm sure--silly!" - -"I don't want to have you worried or hustled----" - -"Sydney, if you don't take care----!" - -"Then, before it comes to threats, I may as well send a wire to them to -let them know we're coming, and to the steamship people to secure our -berths. I happen to know that there's a nice suite vacant, just the -very thing we want; and, as regards the telegrams, I may mention that -I've both forms in my pocket--already written out." - -"Sydney--you--darling wretch!" - - - - - - THE END - - - - - * * * * * -Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Violet Forster's Lover, by Richard Marsh - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIOLET FORSTER'S LOVER *** - -***** This file should be named 40450-8.txt or 40450-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/5/40450/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by -Google Books (Oxford University) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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