.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 55006
   :PG.Title: The Sundial
   :PG.Released: 2017-06-29
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Fred \M. White
   :DC.Title: The Sundial
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1908
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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THE SUNDIAL
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      THE SUNDIAL

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      BY

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      FRED \M. WHITE

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      *Author of "The Crimson Blind," etc.*

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      NEW YORK
      \B. \W. DODGE & COMPANY

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      Copyright, 1908, by
      \B. \W. DODGE & COMPANY
      NEW YORK

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   CONTENTS

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CHAPTER

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I. `A Blighted Life`_
II. `"The Desire of the Moth"`_
III. `"Home, Sweet Home!"`_
IV. `Sackcloth and Ashes`_
V. `"But yet a Woman"`_
VI. `A Scientific Discussion`_
VII. `The Photograph`_
VIII. `The Rubicon`_
IX. `Beyond the Bridge`_
X. `The First of the Fruit`_
XI. `The Doctrine of Plato`_
XII. `A Crime or Not?`_
XIII. `Modern Friendship`_
XIV. `Bark is Confidential`_
XV. `Ill Tidings`_
XVI. `The Honour of the Family`_
XVII. `"Love me, Love my Dog"`_
XVIII. `Cupboard Love`_
XIX. `Unbidden Guests`_
XX. `Across the Threshold`_
XXI. `The Honour of the Family.`_
XXII. `Bread and Salt`_
XXIII. `Behind the Veil`_
XXIV. `Mistress of Herself`_
XXV. `A Plausible Scoundrel`_
XXVI. `The Jewel Casket`_
XXVII. `Kate comes Back`_
XXVIII. `A Startling Contrast`_
XXIX. `A Lapse of Memory`_
XXX. `"Thou art the Man"`_
XXXI. `An Unexpected Friend`_
XXXII. `Swift comes out`_
XXXIII. `A Word in Season`_
XXXIV. `A Black Suspicion`_
XXXV. `The Search`_
XXXVI. `An Unseen Danger`_
XXXVII. `A Dark Suspicion`_
XXXVIII. `The Empty Room`_
XXXIX. `In the Bar`_
XL. `"Infirm of Purpose"`_
XLI. `Damning Proofs`_
XLII. `The Fire`_
XLIII. `A One-sided Contest`_
XLIV. `Brought to Book`_
XLV. `The Hiding-Place`_
XLVI. `The Price of a Crime`_
XLVII. `Absolution`_
XLVIII. `Sealed in the Grave`_





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.. _`A BLIGHTED LIFE`:

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   THE SUNDIAL

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   CHAPTER I

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   A BLIGHTED LIFE

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The bitterness of it tasted dry and insipid in
John Charlock's mouth, like Dead Sea fruit.  It
was only lately that he had found out that all he
had longed and hoped for since the early days was
nothing more than vexation of spirit.

This process had been gradual, but it was none
the less painful for that.  It mattered nothing now
that fame and fortune had come to him through
the medium of his brush and pencil.  For
Charlock had fought his way up from the bottom.  He
had known what it was to starve.  He had often
slept in the open parks.  And now everything was
changed, and he stood almost unrivalled as a
portrait-painter.  And at the same time he appeared
to have found the one woman who could make
his happiness complete.

It was only five years ago, yet it seemed to
Charlock like a lifetime.  Perhaps he had been to blame;
perhaps he had been harsh and hard, but the gulf
between his wife and himself seemed to have been
bridged over since the boy came.

And the child was slipping away, as an evening
primrose blooms and dies within the compass of a
night....  It had been a weary vigil and cruel
withal, since there was only one end.  The doctor
held out no hope.  He had told him that the boy
could not last till morning, and that was why
Charlock had sent the nurse away, so that he might be
with his child till the end.  Very quietly he crept
back to the bed again and stood looking down at
the small, white face.  The features were so
colourless that death might have come already, save that
the lips were parting and the eyelids twitched.  The
child had spoken his last words.  Charlock would
never hear that voice again.

The end was very, very near.  The tiny life was
drifting out to sea with the tide.  As Charlock
stood there his eye noted the sudden change, his
quick ear caught a fluttering sigh.  There was no
need to tell him that the boy had gone.

Well, that was over, at any rate.  Charlock felt
quite calm and collected.  There was no great
grief in his heart.  He supposed it was all for the
best.  Perhaps it would have been a pity if little
Jack had grown up to the knowledge of a divided
household.  But it would be a divided household
no longer.  And the sooner Kate Charlock realised
that the better.  Of course, she would have all
the sympathy and he would have all the blame.
Not that he cared much about that.  A great artist
like John Charlock was beyond the measure of
ordinary criticism.  No doubt his was a sour,
saturnine nature.  No doubt Kate Charlock was pitied
by all who knew her.  It seemed almost a tragedy
that a woman so pure and beautiful should be allied
to so uncouth a being as Charlock.  These strange
thoughts ran through the painter's mind like a
thread of scarlet intermingled with a warp of
black.

Well, the boy was dead.  Charlock repeated the
words over and over again, as if forcing himself to
realise it.  He had sat there for hours watching
the small light burn lower and lower in its socket,
while his wife slept in her own room.  She had
persistently refused to believe that there was
anything radically wrong with the boy, though she had
asked Charlock to call her in case a crisis might
arise.  Perhaps Charlock had forgotten about his
wife.  But the boy was dead, and Kate Charlock
lay asleep, happily oblivious to the toy tragedy.

But she would have to be told.  She must be
aroused at once.  Quietly Charlock crossed the
corridor and entered his wife's room.  He gave a
quick, contemptuous glance at all the signs of
extravagance and luxury which was the dominant
note of the place.  Here was a Duchesse dressing-table,
littered with silver toilet appliances.  The
air was heavy with perfume.  A pair of wax
candles gleamed on either side of the dressing-table.
In an armchair close by a figure in black lay fast
asleep.  The hangings from the bed were thrown
back, and on the bed itself lay a heap of discarded
clothing.  With a sudden outburst of anger Charlock
shook the figure in the armchair.  The woman
opened her eyes.

"What has become of your mistress?" Charlock
asked hoarsely.  "Now, don't tell any of your lies
to me!  Where has she gone?"

The maid began to whimper, but it was no use
to wriggle and prevaricate under those stern eyes.
There was something in the square, grim face of
John Charlock that caused most people to fear
him.  He looked positively cruel.

"She has gone out, sir," the maid stammered.

"Oh, she has gone out, and she left you to wait
up for her?  She went early?  It was a few
minutes past ten when your mistress came to bed, and
I was to wake her if anything—happened."

An insolent look came over the maid's face.

"If you want to know, she's gone to Mrs. Bromley-Martin's,"
she said.  "It's no business of mine,
and, though I am a servant, I am not used to being
spoken to like this.  If you looked after your wife
a bit better there wouldn't be so much talk."

"Talk!" Charlock echoed.  "What do you mean?"

"Ask the other servants.  Ask your neighbours.
Ask them what Mrs. Charlock does in the garden
by night.  It is all very well to be fond of solitude.
If it could only speak, that old sundial could tell
a story or two.  Once they used to hide love-letters
in trees.  Nowadays they have got a better idea
than that.  If I were you——"

But Charlock was not listening.  It was doubtful,
even, if he had noticed the studied insolence of
the French maid.  He strode back to the chamber
of death and locked the door behind him.  He was
thinking of men who had killed their wives for less
than this.  He was filled with the heartless cruelty
of it, the cold-blooded cruelty and deceit.  How
could a mother have slipped away in this fashion,
knowing that her child was so ill?  It was no
excuse that she had been sanguine of his recovery.
From the very first she had refused to believe that
there was anything wrong with the boy.  And
doubtless that was why she had gone off, thinking
that her husband would be none the wiser.  And
once he had regarded her as one of the best of
women and the sweetest.  He had not been much
of a squire of dames, except from a business point
of view.  But Kate Chantrey had been different
from the rest.  Her beauty was so *spirituelle*.
Those great brown eyes of hers were clear and
pure and soulful as those of a Madonna.

Bare-headed, Charlock walked through the garden
and out into the road.  The dawn was breaking
in the east and pearly mists were rolling up the
valleys.  But Charlock saw none of these things.
In a vague kind of way he noticed the old sundial
at the bottom of the garden, with the fountain
round it—that marvellous piece of carving which
had been one of his extravagances on his last trip
to Venice.  It looked fair and chaste in the light of
the early morn.  There was nothing about it to
suggest a vulgar *liaison* such as that at which
Hortense, the French maid, had hinted.  Charlock
would have dismissed the idea contemptuously, but
somehow he could not get it out of his mind; and
yet it must have been mere servants' gossip.  Kate
Charlock was too inordinately selfish, too fond of
the luxuries that her husband's money provided,
to compromise herself even for so fascinating a
man as Arnold Rent.  Charlock knew that Rent
was a friend of his wife's, a man whom she
professed to understand and sympathise with.  But
the matter had never troubled him before.  He
could trust Kate.  Assuredly he had confidence in
her so long as her interests were his.

He came at length to his destination.  He walked
across the lawn of Mrs. Bromley-Martin's house.
He could see two figures on the balcony.  With a
bitter smile he recognised his wife.

"The woman pays," he muttered to himself.
"Oh, yes, the woman pays right enough, but it is
generally the man who finds the money.  Presumably
God in His wisdom has some use for women
like that, but it is hard to see where that fool of a
fellow comes in.  I dare say he fancies her ill-used
and ill-treated, and tied to a brute unworthy of a
mate at all.  And yet as I stand here, knowing
everything, I am not surprised that Rent should
be deceived.  Well, he shall have his chance to
learn his lesson as I learnt mine.  It seems almost
a pity to intrude upon a scene of high emotion like
that, but it must be done."

Charlock bent to listen again.  There was no
word of the conversation that escaped him.  Then
he saw the hostess emerge and claim his wife's
attention.  A wild desire to rush into the drawing-room,
to overturn chairs and card-tables and drive
those puppets into the open air seized him.  They
longed for a new sensation.  They were very near
having one at that moment.  Checking the insane
impulse, Charlock passed through the open window
and entered the drawing-room.  The close, highly
spiced atmosphere seemed to choke him.  His
mind went back, now, to the great trouble which
he had just gone through.  There sat the woman
who should have shared his vigil, smiling and sorting
her cards as if she had not a care in the world.

It was hard to restrain the reproaches that rose
to his lips.  It was a tense task to approach the
card-table quietly and lay his hand upon his wife's
arm.  It was small wonder, too, that the grip
should have been close as that of a vise.





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.. _`"THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH"`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   "THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH"

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"It would be quite safe," Kate Charlock had
said to herself.  John was so foolish about the boy.
He always took the gloomiest view of everything.
She would retire to her bedroom and would pretend
to be asleep.  She could dress herself and slip
across to Mrs. Bromley-Martin's and pass the
night in the fascinating pursuit of bridge.
Nobody would know.  She would be back by
daylight.  And then she could take her husband's
place by the boy's bedside.

She had forgotten everything in the excitement
of the moment.  She leant forward as the game
finished.

"Mrs. Charlock cuts out," the dealer murmured.

She rose reluctantly and another gambler
eagerly took her place.  The subdued lights of the
shaded candles touched drawn faces.  Now and
again came a cry of annoyance from some plunger
whose luck was past bearing.  Outside, the silence
of the night was coming to an end.  The trees
murmured with the first touch of the morning
breeze.  As Kate Charlock crossed the room
towards one of the French windows a man followed
her.  One of the card-players elevated his eyebrows
and smiled significantly at his partner, who
happened also to be his hostess.  Her eyes
twinkled in reply.

"Who is the man?" he asked.

"Arnold Rent," was the reply.  "They say he
is going to be President of the Royal Society.  He
is a man of various attainments.  He is writing a
series of essays on the follies of Society.  I believe
electricity is his specialty.  But he says he came
here to-night to gain experience."

"That was ingenious of him," the questioner
said sarcastically.  "He couldn't have come to a
better house.  All the follies and frivolities worth
seeing can be found here."

"That is right enough," Mrs. Bromley-Martin
said placidly.  "I thought it was awfully sweet of
him to choose me out of so many others.  I am
living in hopes that perhaps he will mention my name
in one of his essays, and then how furiously jealous
all the rest will be!  Still, I like Arnold Rent.  He
is so terribly cynical.  In the old days he would
have made an ideal libertine."

The man under discussion crossed the room and
stood by Kate Charlock's side.  She turned her
beautiful face to him, her eyes smiled a welcome.
It was by no means the first time the two had met
under Mrs. Bromley-Martin's roof.

"There is a seat on the balcony," Rent said.
"Shall we sit there and chat for five minutes?  The
atmosphere of that room is positively poison to
me.  It seems incredible that civilised men and
women, endowed with all the blessings of life, can
sit down and deliberately pass their nights like
this."

A gentle sigh escaped Kate Charlock's lips.  Her
face glowed with sympathy; there was a sad
expression on the lovely features.

"Is it as bad as you expected, then?" she asked.

"Oh, worse, infinitely worse.  In their way these
people are just as heathenish as the Romans of
the Empire were.  What a strange thing fashion
is!  Your friends come down here ostensibly from
the Cowes Regatta, but they have played nothing
but bridge all day since Monday.  It disgusts me
to see young girls given over to the vice of
gambling, heedless of aught else.  Forgive me if I
wonder why you come here.  It cannot be out of
sympathy with women like Mrs. Bromley-Martin and
her class."

"Perhaps not," Kate Charlock murmured.  She
sighed again in the same gentle fashion.  Her eyes
had a far-away look in them.  "Perhaps I am like
the man who is on the verge of a breakdown from
overwork, or the man who falls back upon brandy
to drown some overwhelming sorrow."

The words came slowly and sadly.  In the first
flush of the dawn Rent did not fail to see the look
of patient unhappiness on the face of his companion.
Many fair women Arnold Rent had seen in
his time, but never one who appealed to him as
Kate Charlock did then.  He had been too seriously
engaged in study to think of women in the abstract.
This tall, fair creature in silver grey appeared to
be asking mutely for his sympathy.  It was such a
perfect face, too, a face that seemed to be out of
place here.  There was a suggestion of sadness in
the glorious eyes, as if the woman nursed some
secret sorrow and hid it bravely from the world.
Nine men out of ten would have picked out Kate
Charlock as a perfect confidante in the hour of
trouble or affliction.  And Arnold Rent had heard
whispers of the story of her life.  He turned to
her quickly, forgetting his cynicism.

"Do you speak from experience?" he asked.

A wave of colour swept over her face.

"You have no right to ask that question," she
said.

"That is true, but I am not speaking out of vulgar
curiosity.  It was yourself who hinted that you
came here to escape your own thoughts."

"Did I say as much as that?" Kate Charlock
asked absently.  "You must make allowance for
us poor women who have seen enough of the world
to know that it is the woman who always pays."

"So you are one of the women who pay, are
you?  Do you know, I guessed that the first time
I saw you.  There is something sad and pathetic
about you.  And yet I am sure you are brave and
strong.  But, tell me, is the trouble likely to last?"

"I am afraid so," Kate Charlock murmured.
"It is such a terrible thing for a woman to be tied
to a man who has no sympathy with her.  But I
am speaking disloyally of my husband."

Arnold Rent pursued the subject no further.  He
had heard something of the kind of man that John
Charlock, the famous artist, was.  Despite his
brilliant genius, despite the position which he had
attained from the ranks of the people, he was
spoken of as a boor and a savage brute where his
beautiful wife was concerned.  Strange, Rent
thought cynically, how frequently men like these
win the pearls among womanhood.  He was about
to say something of this kind when the hostess
darted suddenly out and pounced upon Kate
Charlock.  With a sigh of protest the latter rose.

"You must come and take my hand," Mrs. Bromley-Martin
shrieked.  "I am called away for
the moment."

With a self-sacrificing smile Kate Charlock
returned to the drawing-room, followed by Rent.
After the sweetness of the morning air, the
atmosphere of the room was close and repellent.  The
gamblers sat jaded and weary, their faces ghastly
where the light fell upon them, but the greedy
light in their eyes was still as keen as ever.  Rent
could hear the swish of the cards as they slid over
the green baize tables.  He could hear the click
of gold and the rustle of bank paper.  His heart
beat faster as he stood watching.  What chance
could there be for the common people, he asked
himself, when the rich amused themselves like
this?  It was so demoralising, too.  It seemed
almost impossible to believe that the keen-eyed,
eager woman sorting her cards dexterously could
be the same sweet creature who had been seated
by his side a few moments ago.  If ever woman
was in need of spiritual support, that woman was
Kate Charlock.  What a glorious thing it would
be to play the game of platonic friend, to show
her how to suffer her misfortunes calmly.  She was
the sort of woman, too, who in happier auspices
might be a maker of history.  Rent could
understand men going mad for the sake of a face like
that, or travelling to the end of the world to obey
her lightest wish.  He wondered what manner of
man it was that treated so beautiful a creature with
cruel indifference.

He was still wondering when the open French
window was flung back and an intruder entered.
The intruder was not in evening dress.  He was
attired in a shabby flannel suit, his hair was
dishevelled, his short brown beard in disorder.  The
man's face was a strong one, and there was an
almost sinister suggestion of power about the short,
blunt nose and deep-set, gleaming eyes.  There
was anger as well as bitter contempt written on
the features as he strode across the room towards
the table where Kate Charlock was seated.  By
instinct Arnold Rent knew that he was face to face
with Mrs. Charlock's husband.

The stranger strode up to her and laid his hand
on her arm.  Her features turned a shade paler
as she glanced up.

"John," she faltered.  Just for a moment it
occurred to Rent that the woman's face had a guilty
air.  "What are you doing here like this?  Is
anything wrong?"

"Oh, I know I am out of place," the stranger
said grimly.  "Mrs. Bromley-Martin has asked
me more than once to call, and now I am here.  I
have come for *you*."

The speaker's stern, clear tones rang through
the room, and cards were dropped for the moment.
The hostess laughed.

"Oh, don't mention it," she said.  "I love
originality.  You can't think how tired one gets
sometimes of bridge in a drawing-room."

All eyes were turned upon Charlock, and he
seemed to have become master of the situation.
He walked to the windows and jerked up the
blinds.  The clear glow of the morning fell on
tired eyes and painted faces that looked ghastly
white and drawn.  There was no sign of a smile
on Charlock's face.

"Take the tables and play outside," he said.
"That will be something new, something for the
papers to chatter about.  But I am intruding here,
and I want my wife.  You will come at once.  I
beg your pardon, I am sure I did not mean to hurt
you, but I am a little beside myself to-night.  You
will know why presently.  I will go outside and
wait for you."





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.. _`"HOME, SWEET HOME!"`:

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   CHAPTER III


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   "HOME, SWEET HOME!"

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Unconsciously, Charlock had tightened his
grip on his wife's bare arm.  A cry of pain
escaped her, a murmuring, uncomplaining cry which
drew a hum of sympathy from the onlookers.  The
red band on the white flesh was plainly visible.
Rent, standing by the table, ventured a word of
expostulation.  Charlock saw that he was a
handsome man, with a clean-shaven, sensitive face,
though the eyes were resolute, and the firm lines
about the mouth denoted strength of character.
So much the better.  As to the rest, he wore the
dress coat of modern civilisation.  This was Kate's
sympathetic friend.  There was something like a
sneer on Charlock's face as he turned to Rent.

"I am extremely sorry," he said.  "You will
forgive me, but I am quite out of place here.  And
in that respect I ought to have your sympathy and
support, my dear sir."

The other man's face flushed, and he bit his lip.
The retort was so obvious, so keen and pungent,
that many of the onlookers made no efforts to
restrain their amusement.  Kate Charlock rose from
the table and turned to the stranger.

"Would you mind getting my wrap for me,
Mr. Rent?" she said.  "I am sure, John, that
Mrs. Bromley-Martin will excuse you, and I know you
would prefer to wait outside for me."

Charlock muttered something, and turned upon
his heel.  It was no time now for nice conventionalities.
After the close and stuffy atmosphere the
outer air was cool and refreshing.  Charlock passed
his hand across his eyes.  He was trying to realise
what had happened during the last few minutes.
He could remember nothing of what he had said
and done.  There was but one picture uppermost
in his mind—the picture of a tiny figure lying white
and motionless upon a bed.  That was all Charlock's
world to-night.

While he stood waiting, Kate Charlock lingered
in the hall for a moment with Arnold Rent.  There
was an angry gleam in the man's eyes as he folded
the wrap round his companion's shoulders.

"You poor, dear child," he burst out.  "So that
is your husband?  You will forgive me for daring
to speak like this——"

"One forgives everything when it is dictated by
kindness such as yours," Kate Charlock murmured.
"But I assure you it is nothing.  It is only his
manner.  If you think I am in danger you are mistaken."

"But his face," Rent protested.  "The look in
his eyes.  I was watching him when he caught
sight of you.  I saw murder written there.  I could
not rest if I stayed here.  You will not mind if I
follow you as far as your house?  I will take care
not to be seen.  You may think this is an extraordinary
suggestion, but we have been friends for a
considerable time, and you know that I would do
anything for you."

There was passion as well as sincerity in the
speaker's tones, and a tinge of colour crept into
Kate Charlock's cheeks.  She raised a pair of dewy
eyes to her companion's face.

"You are more than kind," she murmured, "but
I know your life is one long self-sacrifice.  I know
what penance it must be to you to spend a long
evening among shallow, heartless people such as
these, but your mission lies with people like us——"

"But you do not identify yourself with them,
surely?" Rent cried.  "No, no, you are a
broken-hearted, disappointed woman, striving to forget
your unhappiness.  I confess I am sorry to see you
here to-night, but your future is in no danger.  If
we had only met before——"

"Hush, hush," Kate Charlock said hastily.  "You
must not talk like that.  I—I dare not listen to
you.  As you would not be faithless to your own
vows, you would not have me faithless to mine.
And so long as I can come here, and forget my
miseries, so long as I can meet you, I feel that I
am safe."

Arnold Rent thrilled with a curious feeling as he
listened to those impassioned words.  It was
impossible to doubt the sincerity of them, impossible
to be anything but sorry for the beautiful, unhappy
speaker.  Her voice was dangerously low.  There
was an appeal in her eyes that set Rent fairly
trembling.

"I must come and see you," he said.  "You will
tell me the whole of your sad story.  And now I
must not detain you longer, seeing that your husband
is waiting for you.  But I am going to follow
you home, all the same."

Again came the look of gratitude in Kate
Charlock's dark eyes.  Then she turned away, as if
afraid to trust herself further, and joined John
Charlock in the garden.  The pearly mists had
rolled away.  There was a deep, roseate flush in
the eastern sky, but as yet the sun had not risen.
A distant church clock struck the hour of three.

John Charlock strode along with his hands in
his pockets, his sombre eyes fixed upon the ground.
The silence was growing intolerable.  It seemed to
Kate that she must speak, that she could not
endure it longer.

"How did you find out?" she asked.

"I went to your room," Charlock explained.
"I found your maid fast asleep, and I compelled
her to tell me where you had gone.  Did I make
a fool of myself to-night?"

"You were not polite," the woman murmured,
"and——"

"And all your friends are profoundly sorry for
you.  It must be a terrible thing for a woman of
your temperament to be allied to a brute like
myself.  And to think that I should humiliate you by
dragging you home like this!  Your lot is indeed
a hard one.  Think how happy we might have
been had I only been blessed with a more amiable
temperament!  Think how you have helped me in
my work, and how unflinchingly you have spent
my money!"

Kate Charlock shivered and trembled, the tears
gathered in her eyes, and the scarlet mouth was
quivering.

"What have I done?" she protested.  "Why
shouldn't I go out?  If I had told you I was
going, you would have been annoyed with me, you
might even have forbidden me.  And all this
because you fancy that the boy's life is in danger.
It seems singular that a hard, unfeeling man like
you should make such a ridiculous fuss over a child.
It was kinder on my part to slip away without saying
anything.  It isn't as if the poor little fellow
is any worse than he was yesterday."

Charlock clenched his hands behind his back.
He was trembling from head to foot with an
overmastering passion.  A red mist floated before his
eyes, and something seemed to oppress his breathing.
It was only for a moment; then he was his
grim self again.

"The boy is better," he said, "far better.  In
fact, there is no cause for anxiety any more.  I
will never trouble you about him again.  Why,
you will know presently.  Now you will oblige me
by coming this way....  There, fond mother!
Look at that!"

The woman stood just for a moment, beginning
dimly to comprehend.  She placed her hand to her
head.  A moaning cry escaped her lips.  With
faltering steps she crossed the room and laid a
long, slim hand on the child's face.  For a while
she neither spoke nor moved.  No cry escaped her
lips.  Then, at length, she turned to face her
husband.  But he was gone.

He had shown her enough, and more than
enough.  In the face of the tragedy any word of
his would be superfluous.  If she did not benefit
by such a lesson as this, assuredly he could teach
her nothing.  She had nothing to learn.

His heart was very sore and heavy within him
as he walked out of the house and down the
garden.  Here was the garden of his dreams—the
place he had planned in his mind when fame should
come to him.  It was here in this perfect spot that
he and Kate were going to dwell for ever in their
floral paradise.

What a fool he had been!  Yet that fair face
and those pensive eyes would have deceived a more
polished man of the world than John Charlock.
He knew now for a certainty that he had given up
everything for beauty devoid of heart.  And one
of the worst features was that the woman who
cared nothing for him was wasting his money with
a lavish hand.  He ought to be happy and
comfortable, instead of which he was up to his neck in
debt and difficulty.  He almost smiled as he looked
at the ancient sundial which he had given so much
for, merely to please his wife, but he regretted his
folly now.  The price of a portrait had gone to
purchase that white marble.  Charlock walked
towards it in a sour frame of mind.  He could have
found it in his heart to destroy the whole thing.
And yet, even in the moment of his trouble, he saw
that the fountain was no longer playing in the
carved basin round the base of the dial.  Some
dark object lay there.  He fancied he could see a
dress fluttering in the wind.

He moved forward more quickly.  At the same
moment one of the gardeners came down the path.
The man came in response to Charlock's call.
Together they bent over the object in the basin.
Charlock's face grew pale.  The gardener shouted in
open-mouthed dismay.  They had the object out
on the grass now—a black, wet, horrible thing,
with pale, sodden face.

"Hortense, my wife's maid!" Charlock whispered.
"How did she get here?  How could she
have fallen in?"

"Excuse me, sir," the gardener said huskily,
"but it looks to me like foul play.  A grown
person would hardly drown in so little water.  And
look at that ugly bruise on her forehead.  You
may depend upon it, there has been mischief here."





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.. _`SACKCLOTH AND ASHES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   SACKCLOTH AND ASHES

.. vspace:: 2

There was trouble and enough to spare in the
house of John Charlock.  A day or two had
passed.  The child was buried, and the blinds were
drawn up once more.  It was characteristic of
Charlock that he held his grief sternly in hand and
devoted his energy and attention in striving to get
to the bottom of the mystery which surrounded
the death of his wife's maid.  The affair had
created a sensation in the district.  It was held to be
so important that it had passed out of the hands
of the local police into those of Scotland Yard.  As
to the girl's past, nothing could be discovered.  No
trace of her relatives could be found.  And it could
not be proved that she had been entangled in any
love affair.  Robbery was not the motive, either,
for she had a well-filled purse in her pocket and
wore a handsome gold watch.

Yet, in some way, Charlock felt that the woman
had been more or less of a dangerous character.
He had never liked her.  He distrusted her
manner, which had always been a mixture of humility
and veiled insolence.  She was just the sort of
creature who would have stooped to blackmail, and
from this point of view Charlock was working.
But a week had passed, and nothing had happened
to throw light on the mystery.

And, besides, Charlock had other things to
occupy him.  He had made up his mind to end the
present intolerable state of things.  He was
waiting now in his studio for his wife.  The paint brush
hung idly in his hand and his thoughts were far
away.  This was John Charlock in one of his most
dangerous moods.  He turned upon his wife a pair
of sullen, brooding eyes.

"Well, what do you want?" he demanded.

"I am sorry to intrude," Mrs. Charlock said
coldly, "but we cannot go on like this."

"That is true," Charlock said, a grim smile playing
about the corners of his mouth.  "If it is any
consolation to you to know it, some change must
be made.  I have sat opposite to you for three days
now, with hardly a word, but your thoughts have
been to me like an open book.  You have made up
your mind what to do.  Your programme is clear.
Now that the child has gone, and there is no tie to
bind us, you think it would be far better not to
remain under this roof.  Grossly extravagant though
you are, you are shrewd enough, when it comes to
a question of money to spend.  You calculate, I
suppose, that my income is about four thousand a
year."

"Really, you fill me with pain," Mrs. Charlock
murmured.

"Our Lady of Pain!" Charlock sneered.  "Good
heavens, do you want to pose after we have been
married five years?  Why, there is not a cranny
in your soul that holds a dark place for me.  I say
you have reckoned it all out, and you are going to
propose that I should share my income with you
and give you a free hand to do as you like.  This
opportunity of martyrdom is not to be lost.  Think
how you would look wearing a crown!  What a
picturesque figure of a long-suffering woman you
would make!  And all your friends would pity the
dear saint and condemn the malignant husband.
But we need not go into that.  Do you know that
I am over six thousand pounds in debt?  I have
not a single commission on hand and hardly know
where to turn for the money to pay the servants'
wages.  This is one of the tricks that fortune plays
a man who gets his living as I do.  Two of my
commissions are in abeyance, and two other
pictures may never be paid for, because the men who
ordered them are dead.  It sounds like a romance,
but it is literally true.  And of this load of debt
that hangs about my neck like a millstone, less than
two hundred of it belongs to me!  Putting aside
the expenses of the household, which have not
been heavy, in the last two years you have pledged
my credit for more than four thousand pounds.
You said nothing to me.  You ordered what you
wanted.  I have one bill here for five hundred
pounds from a Bond Street milliner.  You may call
this only thoughtlessness, if you like, but I call it
mean and dishonourable.  And with all your beauty
and sweetness and sympathy, you are little better
than a criminal.  And the joke of it is, it is I who
have to pay the penalty, I who will incur the
contempt of honest men, while you get off scot
free.  But there is going to be an end of all this.
Before the week is out everything shall be disposed of."

Kate Charlock looked up swiftly.  There was
something like a challenge in her eyes.  The
mantle of sweetness and resignation had fallen from
her shoulders.

"Do you mean to say you will give up this
house?" she demanded.  "Do you mean to tell me
that you will sell the furniture?  Surely there is no
necessity."

"I owe all that money," Charlock said doggedly,
"and I am going to pay it off.  I could easily
whitewash myself as other men do, but that is not my
way.  To be candid with you, there is a bill of sale
on the things here which covers their value, and,
at any time, my creditors could come in and remove
everything.  Now, make the best of it.  Revel in
your extravagance while it lasts, for the time is
getting short.  And you shall have your opportunity
to prove to your friends that you are the saint
they take you to be.  Everything I can lay my
hands upon I shall realise for the benefit of my
creditors.  I will not rest till the last farthing is
paid.  It will be a question of rigid economy for
a couple of years, and then I shall be able to look
the world in the face once more.  But in future
there is going to be no London or Paris for you.
We shall move into a three-roomed cottage, where
we shall not even keep a servant.  I will take the
rough work off your hands, and in return you will
do the housework and cooking.  I intend to keep
back no more than three pounds a week from my
earnings until my debts are paid.  That is all I
am entitled to.  This you can share with me, or, if
you prefer it, you can have thirty shillings a week
to live upon.  If you take legal proceedings to obtain
more, you will find that no Court will ask a man
to give his wife more than half his income."

Kate Charlock stood white and rigid, striving in
vain to force a smile.

"You are mad," she said hoarsely.  "You could
not do it.  Think of your position!  Think of what
the world would say!"

"Did I ever care what the world said?" Charlock
cried.  "What does it matter, so long as one's
good name remains unsmirched?  I have no more
to say.  I have no desire to argue the thing
farther.  I have already taken the cottage and
furnished it.  You have till the end of the week to
make up your mind.  You will please yourself
whether you come with me or not, and I care little
or nothing what your decision may be.  Now, as
I am busy, I shall be glad to be alone."

Mrs. Charlock crept from the studio to her own
room.  There were real tears in her eyes.  She was
trembling from head to foot with a sense of
humiliation and disappointment.  She no longer
doubted what her husband had said.  She knew
that when John Charlock had made up his mind to
a thing it was as good as done.  And he was doing
this deliberately, in order to spite her, to wound
her most susceptible feelings, because she had made
such a terrible mistake the night of the boy's death.
He would not understand her point of view.  She
could not induce him to believe that she had never
dreamt the end was so near.  No mother would
have gone away had she known what was likely to
happen.  And as to Charlock's debts, it would
have been easy to retrench and wipe them off by
degrees.

Kate Charlock wept as she looked about her.
It was a beautiful house, luxuriously and artistically
furnished.  All Kate Charlock's friends envied
her such a place.

To give it up was an act of mean and cowardly
vengeance.  The thing would never have been
thought of had the boy lived.  It never occurred
to the passionate, weeping woman that John
Charlock valued his honour beyond his comfort, for
there were scores of people in the smart set to
which she belonged who never paid their debts at
all.  There were members of that charmed circle
who boasted of this and were thought none the
worse of.

Here were the beautiful pictures, the magnificent
furniture, the marvellous old silver which
Kate Charlock had bought from time to time.
Here was everything that made life sweet and
enjoyable, and she was commanded to resign it all,
and live alone in a draughty cottage with the man
whom she regarded less as her husband than as
her jailer.  Two years' penal servitude at least!
The thing was impossible, insupportable!

She must tell somebody.  She must confide in
someone.  But in whom?  Among her frivolous
friends, who would give her a measure of broad
and genuine sympathy?  She could only think of
one person, and the colour crept into her cheeks as
she recalled Arnold Rent.  Then she became
conscious that a servant had come into the room and
stood watching her curiously.

"Well?" she demanded.  "What do you want?
Don't you see that I want to be alone?"

"It is Mr. Rent, madam," the servant said.  "He
is waiting in the drawing-room, and would like to
see you."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`"BUT YET A WOMAN"`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium bold

   "BUT YET A WOMAN"

.. vspace:: 2

The thing was opportune, almost providential,
or so Kate Charlock thought.  She came down to
the drawing-room, a subdued smile on her face.
She seemed to fit into the room, to be part and
parcel of it, like a pure jewel in a beautiful setting.
And yet what a pity it was that no happiness went
with all this.  The thought flashed through Arnold
Rent's mind as he shook hands with her.  She had
looked fair the last time they met, but now, clad
in deepest black, she appeared even more attractive.
Rent was not often at a loss for words, but
he felt strangely awkward at the moment.

"I hope I am not intruding," he murmured, "but
I am going away to-morrow, and I could not leave
without telling you how grieved I am at your loss.
It must have been a great shock."

The ready tears rose to Kate Charlock's eyes.
Although she had troubled little about the boy
when he was alive, she had persuaded herself that
she had sustained a loss which no lapse of time
would heal.

"It was a terrible shock," she murmured, "so
unexpected.  What must you think of me when
you remember how I was spending the evening at
the very moment——"

"But, of course, you did not know.  How could
you know?" Rent protested.  "I have a much
higher opinion of you than that.  You must try to
bear up.  Remember that life has its compensations,
even for the most miserable.  You have a
beautiful home.  I never saw a more charming
place."

Mrs. Charlock hesitated a moment.

"I think I had better tell you," she said slowly.
"Even this home is not likely to last long.
Whatever his faults may be, my husband is a genius, and
everybody knows that geniuses are bad men of
business.  I am afraid I am not altogether
blameless myself.  I took it for granted that we had
plenty of money.  When my husband told me last
night that he was hopelessly in debt I was
positively staggered.  He says he owes six thousand
pounds, and he upbraided me bitterly for what he
was pleased to call my extravagance.  He accused
me of being the author of all the mischief.  But
I am too much accustomed to his bitter tongue to
take much heed of that.  He always likes to see
me well dressed.  He has never complained like
that before.  I suppose he wanted to humiliate me.
Indeed, he has been far worse since the child died.
It is a wicked way to treat a mother.  It is refined
cruelty to taunt me with being away on pleasure
when the boy was dying....  Oh, I don't see how
I can endure the life which lies before me.  So
long as we are here, where there is plenty of room
and we need not see much of one another, I might
manage to rub along.  But to go away to a tiny
cottage——"

"A cottage?" Rent echoed.  "Is your husband mad?"

"Sometimes I almost fear he is," Mrs. Charlock
said in a whisper.  "Since our loss he has been
terrible.  And now he has it in his mind to remove
to a labourer's cottage and live on a few shillings
a week until his debts are paid.  Surely no sane
man could behave in that way!  I am ready to
retrench, but when I think of the life that John
has mapped out——"

The speaker's voice broke with a pathetic catch.
She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.  There
was something in the speech that tickled Rent.  His
assumed sympathy was not so keen and clear as it
had been.  Charlock was a fool, a passionate
believer in self-sacrifice.  And, moreover, he was
playing into his hands.  But probably he was not
moved by any nice considerations of honour and
had adopted this course to humiliate the beautiful
creature who sat opposite.

"You are going to leave him?" he asked hopefully.

"I am afraid so," Kate Charlock said.  "Surely,
I can make a living, though I have been brought
up in a very useless fashion.  If you would only
see my husband, you might persuade him——"

"Presently," Rent said.  "Just now I am more
concerned with yourself.  Whatever happens, you
will always have a friend in me.  And you must
not hesitate in the hour of need.  Fortunately, I
have the command of a considerable amount of
money——"

"Oh, I couldn't do that," Kate Charlock cried.
"How good and kind you are!  If I had only met
you before I threw in my lot with John Charlock....
But what am I saying!"

The woman rose to her feet and threw out her
hands towards Rent.  Her soft, pleading eyes were
turned upon him.  They were not wholly devoid
of passion, and impulsively Rent stepped forward
and took her hands in his.  For the moment he
had forgotten everything—his characteristic
prudence, even.  A sudden recklessness possessed him.
What he was doing he hardly knew.  Then, a
moment later, he awoke to the fact that Kate
Charlock was in his arms and his lips were pressed
passionately to hers.

Yet there was no sense of shame in Rent's mind,
only a feeling of exultation and the knowledge that
this woman cared for him.  It was impossible to
believe otherwise as he looked long and ardently
into her eyes.  Then, very slowly, he put her from
him and walked towards the door.  The game was
his if he did not lose his head.

"This must not happen again," he said.  "I
am shocked to find that I am as human and weak
as the rest.  And I have no blame for you, nothing
but the deepest and sincerest pity.  Oh, what a
false and treacherous world!  It is hateful to think
that you must go on living your life here——"

"Not here," Kate Charlock said quietly.  "A
lonely cottage, where I shall have to do my own
work, and sit day by day opposite——  Oh, I
cannot bear to think of it!  I will go mad.  I shall
do him some mischief—of that I am certain."

"No, no," Rent said sternly, "not if I can
prevent it.  I will see your husband now and try to
argue with him.  If you will show me the way——"

Charlock looked up from his easel with a frown
on his face as Rent entered.  Then the frown
changed to a bitter smile as he bade his visitor be
seated.  He waited for the latter to speak.

"I have been talking to your wife," Rent began
lamely.  "She tells me that you are thinking of
leaving."

"Oh, did she?  Perhaps she told you that I was
up to my eyes in debt, and that I am not going to
rest until every penny has been paid.  That is why
I am leaving and have furnished a small cottage
in the neighbourhood.  After all, I am not asking
my wife very much.  For the last three or four
years she has had everything that the heart of
woman could desire, and now I am asking her to
pay the penalty.  You can't eat your cake and have
it, you know.  Really, my good sir, as a man of
the world, you ought to applaud my resolution."

"So I do," Rent murmured.  "But you will pardon
me if I ask you a plain question.  People say
you are a hard man.  They say that your wife's
lot is not a happy one.  I do hope and trust that
in the step you are taking you have no desire to
humiliate the lady——"

"Stop!" Charlock cried.  "You are going too
far.  I hear you are fearless and outspoken.  I
know you are a man of sense.  And seeing you are
candid, let me be candid in return.  If I had
married a plain, commonplace woman, would you take
as much interest in her as you do in the lady whom
I have the honour to call my wife?  Ah, you are
silent.  I thought so.  Yes, those are very pleading
eyes.  That is a very sad, sweet countenance.  And
doubtless I am a brute, because I can watch the
tears fall from those eyes with a smile on my lips.
Did it ever strike you that there may be another
side to the question?  Oh, I am not going to speak
of it.  You are quite free to form your own
conclusions.  And now you have come to persuade me
to modify my scheme.  Is not that so?"

"I must confess that I had some such idea in
my mind," Rent admitted.  "It seems so hard upon
your wife."

"Oh, I know," Charlock said, the bitter sneer
still on his face.  "It is always the woman who
pays.  But I am busy now and have no time to
discuss this matter.  Come and see me again, say
to-morrow evening, about eight o'clock.  Then
you shall have an answer to your question.  You
are a well-meaning man, but, like most of your
class, you have no knowledge of the world and you
fail to see the grim humour of the situation.  It is
rather amusing, don't you think, for a married man
to be lectured by a bachelor?  Some day, when
your time comes——"

Charlock turned to his easel and refused to say
another word.  With a feeling that he had been
baffled, Rent left the house.  He walked slowly
across the fields, the vision of Kate Charlock's
beautiful, pathetic face occupying his mind to the
exclusion of everything else.  He tingled as he
thought of that passionate caress.  The feeling of
hope was drowned in an unreasoning exultation.
And yet he ought not to see her again.  He had
his future to consider.  That chapter must be closed
for ever.  But as he walked along, for the first
time in his life, Arnold Rent regretted his aims
and the career which he had mapped out for
himself since his schooldays.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A SCIENTIFIC DISCUSSION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   A SCIENTIFIC DISCUSSION

.. vspace:: 2

Much at the same moment two men were sitting
on the deck of a yacht, drifting idly before a
light breeze in the Solent.  One was a young,
keen-faced fellow, with quick, alert eyes and a restless
expression, who was known as Malcolm Grey.  He
was regarded as a coming man in science, more
especially in electricity.  Already one or two
discoveries of his bade fair to revolutionise hitherto
accepted theories, and he was engaged upon a
series of investigations which had for their end the
promulgation of life and the alleviation of human
suffering.  Scientific folk were looking forward
with interest to the next pronouncement of Malcolm Grey.

His companion was a very different-looking man.
He was short and inclined to be stout.  The outline
of his figure denoted great personal strength.  His
piercing black eyes had a humorous twinkle.  A
heavy dark moustache concealed the lines of his
mouth.  Dr. Tanza was a scientist, also, but his
researches were more concerned with humanity,
and particularly with the cause and prevention of
crime.  Tanza had devoted most of his life to this
important subject, and, though some of his theories
had been laughed at once, some of the best men
in Europe were coming round to his way of thinking.
Certainly he had been marvellously successful
on two or three occasions and had operated
upon the brains of criminals with the most amazing
effect.  As to the rest, he used his yacht and
his great wealth for the sole purpose of developing
his hobby.  It was a small matter to him to travel
half-way round the world to interview a wretched
creature who had invented something atrocious in
the way of fresh and startling crime.  For the
moment he appeared to be taking his leisure, though
his friend knew that he had something on his mind.

"And now," said Grey, "tell me why you
brought me down here.  You know how busy I
am and how precious my moments are.  What
have you in view?"

Tanza lighted a fresh cigarette and sipped his
after-luncheon coffee with a ruminating air.

"I want your assistance," he said.  "I think it
will be worth your while.  It isn't every day that
I come across a criminal problem that interests me,
but I think I have found one in the case of the
mysterious death of Mrs. Charlock's French maid.
Charlock is a man difficult to approach and resents
interference of any kind.  As it happens, you are
acquainted with him, which makes our task easier.
Between ourselves, I mean to get to the bottom of
that affair, because I feel certain that here is a new
phase of crime."

"Why do you think so?" Grey asked.  "I read
the account of the inquest and I didn't notice
anything out of the common.  I don't see how a woman
of her class could have enemies in her household.
She was a self-contained foreigner, mainly
interested in saving money, and she seems to have kept
apart from the rest of the domestics.  The rest of
the servants are English and appear to be of a
humdrum, respectable type.  As far as I can see,
her death happened naturally.  The woman was
fooling about by the fountain, slipped on the
marble and stunned herself against the sundial.  That
would account for the bruise on her forehead.  She
was unconscious when she fell into the water and
consequently was drowned.  The thing is simple."

"That is because you haven't studied the subject,"
Tanza said placidly.  "I flatter myself that
I have an unerring instinct for this class of thing,
and that is why I feel sure that we have dropped
upon something new in the way of crime.  You
have forgotten that the doctor who made the *post-mortem*
testified that there was little or no water in
the lungs, which is rather against your drowning
theory.  Besides, one of the witnesses said that
the woman's clothing was slightly singed.  And, in
addition to this, what could the Frenchwoman
want in the garden at that early hour in the
morning?  Charlock swore that she was in the house
just before daybreak, and soon after it was light
he himself found her lying in the fountain.
Depend upon it, she went to keep an assignation and
met her death that way."

"What, in broad daylight?" Grey asked.

"That," Tanza said, with the air of a connoisseur,
"is just where I am puzzled.  It must have
been nearly broad daylight, at any rate, when the
woman left the house, and the sundial was in full
view of the front windows.  We've a precious
clever rascal to deal with, I know.  I have gone
into all the records of new and ingenious crimes,
and in all my experience I can find nothing to fit
this case.  That is why I called you in.  The
murderer is up-to-date and uses all the modern
appliances which are not as yet known to the police.  A
good many of them may still be outside the ken of
the average scientist.  And the more my mind
dwells upon the matter the more sure I am that
science has been invoked by our miscreant.  As you are
well versed in all the latest discoveries, I asked
you to spend a few days with me and make an
examination of the scene of the trouble."

"Shouldn't we be rather intruding?" Grey protested.
"Charlock is a very queer sort of man."

"I know that.  In writing to him for his permission
to test certain of my theories I mentioned
that I was a friend of yours and that I should bring
you along.  I received a characteristic reply to the
effect that I had best mind my own business, but
that so long as you answered for my *bona fides* no
objection would be made.  So we are going off this
afternoon, and here is the boat coming to fetch us.
I don't expect a very warm reception."

John Charlock was walking about the grounds
when his visitors arrived.  Despite his sternness
he looked miserable.  For the time being he could
not work.  He felt that he would be able to do
little or nothing until he had disposed of his
expensive household.  He had another plan, too, in his
mind, but for the moment it was not ripe for
execution.  He extended a more or less cordial
welcome to Grey, but his manner to Tanza was chilly.
If the latter noticed it, he did not disclose the fact.

"This is very good of you, my dear sir," he said.
"I hope you will not think I am here out of mere
curiosity, for I am quite convinced that the death
of your wife's maid was no ordinary occurrence.
Having devoted most of my life to the study of
crime, my experience tells me——"

"I have heard of you, of course," Charlock said
civilly enough.  "And, if such is your opinion, it
is entitled to every respect.  If I can do anything
to help you I will.  But I am certain that you are
mistaken."

"We shall see," Tanza said drily.  "In the first
place, will you be good enough to show us the
famous sundial where the accident took place, and
perhaps you can tell me whether the poor woman's
dress was singed?  Was it round the skirt, for
instance?"

"Personally, I could see no trace of it,"
Charlock said.  "There was a certain fraying of the
cloth round one of the wrists, and a swelling of
the hand, as if the fingers had been recently
charred.  But, then, my wife tells me that
Hortense inadvertently put her right hand on a pair
of almost red-hot curling tongs a day or two ago,
which gives the incident a very prosaic complexion.
I think you can dismiss the singeing idea
altogether."

For the moment the doctor looked disconcerted.
But he had no intention of discarding his theory.
He dropped behind, discussing the matter with
Charlock, while Grey went forward to the part of
the garden where the sundial was situated.  He
stood there admiring the beautiful carving of the
marble and thinking how appropriate were the
surroundings.  The fountain was playing again.  The
sundial was like a gleaming statue in the sun.  The
Latin inscription on the top glistened in brass
letters.  There appeared to be nothing to connect the
sundial with the cruel and cold-blooded murder.
And, though Tanza talked scientifically about his
theories, he did not appear to be making much
progress.

"You are wrong," Charlock said.  "I am sure
the whole thing was no more than an unfortunate
accident.  I don't care what the doctor says.
However, I sha'n't be here after to-morrow, but you
are at liberty to come whenever you please and
make what investigations you like.  And now, if
you will excuse me, I will get back to the house.
You will pardon me if I don't ask you to come in."

Charlock turned away none too graciously, and
the Italian doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"It is as well we are alone," he said.  "I shall
yet convince our friend that I am right.  All the
same, I am bound to confess that we look like
having our trouble for our pains.  Now, I suppose
you don't see anything suspicious, anything which
is hidden from unscientific eyes?"

"As a matter of fact, I can," Grey said quietly.
"Only I waited till our friend was gone.  Look
here!"

He stooped and picked up a small object, which
he slipped upon his thumb.  Tanza lifted his brows
interrogatively.

"Oh, it's a clue," Grey smiled.  "What is it?
Why, it is a finger torn from an india-rubber
glove!"





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.. _`THE PHOTOGRAPH`:

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   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE PHOTOGRAPH

.. vspace:: 2

Malcolm Grey handled the piece of dirty
india-rubber almost tenderly.  There was a smile
on his face which somewhat irritated Tanza.  The
little Italian, usually so quick at picking up a clue,
was quite baffled now.  His instinct told him that
Grey had made an important discovery.  He
stretched out his hand eagerly.

"Let me look at it," he said.

"Certainly," Grey said good-naturedly.  "Look
at it, by all means, but you won't make much out
of the thing.  It is simply a finger of a glove made
of india-rubber, which might mean anything.  But
to me it conveys a good deal."

"And to me it conveys nothing," Tanza replied.
"Now, let me see.  Who are the sort of men who
wear india-rubber gloves?  I suppose they are
manufactured for a certain class of sportsmen.  I
know they are used by electricians, and latterly by
up-to-date burglars.  You know these gentry have
adopted india-rubber gloves to obliterate
finger-marks.  No doubt one of the fraternity has been
here, though I am bound to confess that we are
not getting much farther.  What do you make
of it?"

"If you don't mind, I won't tell you yet," Grey
said.  "Of course, you have already invented a
theory of your own, which may be right and which
may be wrong.  You may not agree with me, but
it is possible that if I tell you my theory you will
modify yours, to the destruction of, perhaps, a
really logical sequence of ideas.  Now, if you keep
your notion to yourself and I keep mine to myself
we may get a definite conclusion all the sooner.
Don't you think I am right?"

"Well, perhaps you are," Tanza said thoughtfully.
"As for me, I have already got a notion,
so we will both preserve our ideas and see which
leads to the goal first."

"I am glad you said that," Grey remarked
gravely.  "I must confess that when I picked up
that finger-stall I was startled.  It indicated a fresh
train of thought to me.  It suggested one of the most
startling and most original crimes of modern times.
The idea came to me like a flash.  But it is one
thing to discover the source of a crime, and quite
another to put your hand upon the criminal.  And
now, if you don't mind, I think I should like to be
alone.  There are one or two things I want to do
before I can put my theory into practice, and it
would be much more prudent if I exercised this
discretion by myself."

"Right you are," Tanza said gaily.  "I will return
to the yacht.  I suppose you will be back to
dinner?"

Grey made no reply.  Already he seemed to be
immersed in his own thoughts.  He was more or
less oblivious of the presence of his companion.
When he was alone he walked round the marble
basin of the fountain, scrutinising every inch of the
ground with minutest attention.  Round and round
he went, with his eyes bent upon the earth, his body
doubled.  But though he spent some considerable
time there, nothing seemed to reward his search.
He shook his head as he turned away from the
fountain, and proceeded to walk backwards and
forwards across the lawn, like a man searching for
some object which he has dropped.  It was not
till he got to the edge of the grass that his face
lighted and a grim smile trembled on his thin lips.
From the gravel path he took up a mass of silk
thread all ravelled up together, and a little farther
on was a piece of wire about the length of a pin,
and also a small square of india-rubber not larger
than a postage stamp.  These trivial objects Grey
placed in an envelope which he put in his pocket.
As he looked up he saw Charlock watching him
curiously out of one of the windows of the house.
He was about to move away, when the artist
beckoned to him.  He lingered a moment, and
Charlock appeared at the front door and asked him
curtly if he would come in.

"I want to ask you a question or two," Charlock
said.  "You seem to have built up a pretty good
reputation since we used to meet at the Old
Bohemian Club in Craven Street.  I believe you have
studied medicine, among other things?"

"Quite right," Grey smiled.  "All the same, you
don't look as if you want a doctor.  You are the
picture of health."

Charlock smiled in his grimmest fashion.

"Am I?" he said.  "In that case my looks belie
me.  I am not a crank or a faddist, but certain
signs which I have had lately are not to be
disregarded.  I am strong enough physically, but those
early days of poverty have left their mark.  It
isn't good for a young man to starve for weeks at
a time, as I used to do.  And of late I have been
working far too hard.  You see, the trouble that
worries me is here."

Charlock laid his hand upon his heart.  He
seemed to have some difficulty in speaking.  The
smile died from Grey's lips and he became serious.
He had seen too many men of perfect *physique*
with that fatal heart weakness to make light of
Charlock's fears.  He motioned him to a chair.

"Take off your coat and waistcoat," he said,
"and let me listen.  It is as well to be on the safe
side."

The speaker laid his ear to Charlock's heart for
a moment or two, and when he rose there was a
certain gravity in his eyes, which Charlock noticed
with a cynical smile.

"Well," he said, "is it very bad?"

"No," Grey said gravely.  "I don't think so.
Of course, I can't be absolutely certain without a
stethoscope, but I think there is nothing organically
wrong.  You have been overstraining yourself
and there is a weakness which is more or less
pronounced.  A month's holiday, with plenty of
open air and exercise, will put you right again.
Still, there is another test which ought to settle the
matter.  Do you happen to have such a thing in
the house as a bottle of sal volatile?  Or a little
brandy would do."

"No brandy for me," Charlock said.  "I never
touch the stuff.  I shouldn't wonder if there was a
bottle of sal volatile in that unfortunate maid's
room.  I understand that Hortense was hysterical
and used to doctor herself with the remedy you
speak of.  I'll ring the bell and see."

A servant came in answer to the summons, but
she stood hesitating as Charlock told her what he
needed.  She was a domestic of the country type,
with vacant face and staring eyes.  She shook her
head stubbornly.

"I couldn't do it, sir," she said.  "I wouldn't
go into Hortense's room—no, not if you was to
double my wages.  It isn't safe, my mother always
said, to go into the room of a suicide.  It makes
you feel that way yourself."

Charlock appeared to be on the verge of an
explosion of temper, when Grey cut in.  Expostulation
was useless.

"Oh, never mind," he said.  "Show me the
room and I'll look for myself.  Now come along.
I won't even ask you to come inside.  If you will
point out the room to me——"

The round-eyed domestic accepted the compromise
cheerfully.  She piloted Grey up the stairs
and indicated a room at the far end of the corridor.
Then she retired precipitately, to Grey's great
amusement.  He knew that it was useless to argue
with rustics of that sort.  He entered the room
and glanced around him.

The bedroom was comfortably furnished.  There
was a variety of pictures and knickknacks on the
walls, and a book-shelf was laden with French
novels.  The maid had furnished her bedroom in
imitation of a lady's boudoir.  She was of
luxurious habits, too, for a fire was laid in the grate
and an attempt had been made to light it.  Paper
and sticks were charred away, but the coal had been
obstinate and had refused to burn.  A few letters
had been torn up and thrown in the back of the
fire, and these, for the most part, were charred and
smoked until only a few words could be read.  In
a spirit of idle curiosity, Grey knelt down and
examined these.  He smiled to himself at his own
weakness.  Clearly he had caught this fever of
investigation from his Italian friend.  After a
moment or two, however, his amused smile vanished,
he grew deeply interested.  A fragment of one of
the letters was in his hand.  He could make out
a few words thereon, among which stood out
prominently the expression "be cautious," and then,
lower down, the still more significant words "the
sundial."

There was nothing on the back of the paper,
nothing more to indicate the writer's meaning.
But, whoever the writer was, he had conveyed a
warning to Hortense by means of his letter, and in
some strange, inscrutable way that warning was
mixed up with the old Roman sundial.  No doubt
the maid had torn up the letter and thrown it on
the fire while the sticks were still burning, taking
it for granted, of course, that the letter was destroyed.

"A lucky find," Grey murmured to himself.
"There is more here than meets the eye.  I shall
have a fine story for Tanza.  Still, it is one thing
to know how a crime is committed and another to
discover the perpetrator.  I wonder if I can find
a further clue—hallo!"

Grey almost started as he pulled from the grate
a photograph which had been torn across the
middle.  He placed the two pieces together and
examined them by the light of the window.  There was
a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at
the photograph, which was that of two men
dressed for some outdoor sport.  One face was
strange to him, but he recognised the other.

"Arnold Rent," he muttered.  "Rent, to a certainty."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE RUBICON`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE RUBICON

.. vspace:: 2

John Charlock had finished his breakfast and
was busy with his correspondence.  He looked up
presently as his wife came in.  The tall, slender
figure looked graceful and attractive in the thin
black dress she was wearing, and Charlock's artistic
eye was pleased with the picture.  He knew that
Kate's gown was an expensive one, and that there
was about it a marked, if subdued, suggestion of
festivity.  His brows contracted.  Surely that dress
must have been ordered since he had spoken of the
need of economy.

"Your grief is chastened," he said.  "It is good
to see how you are bearing up under your crushing
sorrow.  You have come to the conclusion that it
is your duty not to repine.  Well, what is it?
Going off somewhere for the day?  A little innocent
enjoyment will do you no harm."

"I was thinking of it," Kate Charlock said coldly.
"I am going to Southampton to spend the day
with some friends.  But I shall be back in time for
dinner."

Charlock rubbed his hands together slowly.
There was a peculiar smile upon his rugged face.

"Oh, I am glad to hear that," he said.  "Whatever
you do, don't forget to come back to dinner,
because I have a pleasant surprise awaiting you.
I was not sure until I got my letter this morning,
but now all doubt is removed.  Good-bye and a
pleasant day to you.  Make the most of your
chances."

Kate Charlock asked no questions.  She had no
curiosity concerning her husband's meaning.  She
came back in the cool of the evening.  She passed
through the lodge gates and noted the untidy state
of the drive.  The place was littered here and there
with straw and shavings.  The marks of the wheels
of a heavy waggon were to be plainly seen on the
side of the lawn.  Kate was vexed, for she had
always prided herself upon the symmetry and
tidiness of her garden.  She looked towards the
gardener's lodge, and, to her surprise, observed that
it was empty.

Her heart sank with a foreboding of coming evil
as she quickened her pace towards the house.  Here
the litter increased.  Shavings and scraps of paper
had blown across the velvet lawn, a broken
packing-case or two stood by the front door.  With
feelings of alarm and agitation, Kate Charlock
looked up at the long rows of blank windows,
which seemed to be staring her out of countenance.
The window-boxes with their brilliant flowers had
gone and the fine lace curtains and the rose-tinted
silk blinds had vanished.  Where a few hours
before had been the picture of a refined English
home was now mere chaos and desolation.  With
faltering footsteps and trembling limbs, Kate
Charlock passed through the front door, which stood
wide open for all the world to enter.

Her footsteps echoed on the bare boards.  More
by instinct than anything else, she called her
husband by name.  She could hear her voice echoing
from room to room.  She knew now that the place
was absolutely and entirely bare.  Then there was
the sound of an answering footfall and John Charlock
stood by the side of his wife in the dismantled
drawing-room.

"Well," he said, "and what do you think of it?
I promised you a surprise, and here it is.  For days
I have been expecting the creditor who holds the
bill of sale to carry out his threat and remove
everything.  This morning he informed me what
he was going to do, and he has done it.  Save your
own belongings, which are packed away in your
dressing-room, the house is empty.  I didn't tell
you this before, because I did not wish to spoil
your holiday.  But you will see that it is impossible
to remain.  Fortunately, the cottage is ready.  Now,
if you will dry your eyes and try to play the woman,
we will go off together where we can have a roof
over our heads and no more of this sickening
anxiety for the future.  Come."

Charlock held out his hand, but the woman
shrank from him.  There was terror as well as
grief in her eyes.  She shuddered with loathing
from head to foot.  She could not do it.  Come
what might, she could not do it.  In her heart of
hearts she had never expected such a crushing
blow.  It was so like John Charlock to spring it on
her in this cruel fashion.

"No," she said, as she wiped the tears angrily
from her cheeks.  "Between you and me there is
an end of all things.  I am not coming with you.
If I were starving at this moment I would decline
to cross the threshold of your cottage.  Oh, you
need not worry.  I shall make a living somehow.
To-night I shall stay with Mrs. Bromley-Martin
and ask her advice and assistance.  Henceforward
our lives shall be spent apart."

"And that is your last word?" Charlock asked.

"I have no more to say, except good-bye."

Charlock turned and strode resolutely from the
house.  There was a queer smile on his face, though
his heart was hot and angry.  He passed out
through the gates in the direction of his cottage.
He gave no heed to his wife standing in the
deserted home.  And he had gone out of her mind
directly.

What was she to do?  How would the next
chapter in the story read?  She had spoken bravely
enough about her friend Mrs. Bromley-Martin,
but she knew in her heart of hearts how shallow
and insincere all the so-called friendships in her
own set were.  Still, she was not penniless.  Her
husband had told her where she would find all her
belongings, and her jewels were worth some
hundreds of pounds.  She would gather those together
and go and stay at a hotel for the night.  She was
still debating the matter in her mind when she
heard footsteps in the hall, and her courage
deserted her for the moment.  She drew a breath of
something more than relief as Arnold Rent came
forward.

"This is almost providential," she sighed.  "How
did you come to know that I was in such sore need
of you?"

"That was prosaic enough," Rent said, with a
strange thrill in his voice.  "I came to see your
husband by appointment.  He promised me an
answer to my arguments, but I did not expect to
get it in such a dramatic way as this.  Still, I was
prepared for what I have found, because I met
Mrs. Bromley-Martin just now and she seems to
know everything.  She is very sorry for you, but
when I suggested that she should place her house
at your disposal for a few days, she flatly refused,
saying that her house was already too full.  My
dear Mrs. Charlock, what do you propose to do?
How can I help you?"

Kate Charlock threw up her hands in despair.

"I am stunned," she said.  "I am overwhelmed
by this cruel stroke.  Now you see what manner
of man my husband is.  Now you see the creature
that I have had to put up with.  A few minutes
since he taunted me with my extravagance and,
with a sneer on his lips, offered me the shelter of
his cottage.  I don't profess to have more courage
than most women, but the worm will turn at last,
and I refused to go.  He has left me nothing but
my belongings, nothing but this desolate house.
Ah, it is a true saying that it is always the woman
who pays."

A simulated indignation swept over Arnold
Rent.  Then his heart softened to tenderness and
love and pity.  Why should this beautiful woman
be left alone in the world?  Why should he not
help her?  Good heavens, how blind John
Charlock must be!  Thousands of good men would give
all they possessed to have the affection of a
creature like this.  She stood there in a supplicating
attitude, her large, pathetic eyes turned on Rent.
She was asking him as plainly as words could speak
for counsel.  Passionate sobs were breaking from
her.  She held out her hands to Rent, murmuring
piteously that he was the only friend she had in
all the wide world.  He caught those hands in a
firm grip.  He forgot everything in the delirious
excitement of the moment.  Once more the woman
was in his arms, his lips were pressed to hers, and
she was sobbing on his shoulder.

"Oh, I know this is terribly wrong," she murmured.
"But I am so miserable and so helpless.
What can I do?  What am I good for, except to
be the faithful wife and companion of some good
man who can understand me and whose heart is
entirely mine?  But that is a dream.  Tell me,
Arnold, that you are not ashamed of my impulsive
action."

Rent made no reply for the moment.  His mind
was moving quickly.  He looked eagerly and vividly
into the future.  He could see his airy castles
vanishing before the fragrant breath of the woman
who had abandoned herself to his embrace.  In
an instant all was gone to the winds, and a mere
man, palpitating and trembling with sheer humanity,
was holding in his arms that for which he was
going to forfeit the world.

"Not another word," he whispered hoarsely.
"I am glad I came here to-night, both for your
sake and mine.  You shall have no more anxiety
for the future.  We will live for that future, you
and me.  Dearest, I could not let you go.  Say you
will let me act for you.  Your honour is safe in my
hands."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`BEYOND THE BRIDGE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium bold

   BEYOND THE BRIDGE

.. vspace:: 2

Kate Charlock regarded the speaker with
startled eyes.  The crimson wave stained her face
and she stood as if the mere suggestion petrified
her.  It was as if she had suddenly stepped into a
world of sin and trouble from some Arcadia where
such things were only heard of or discussed in
whispers.

It was magnificently done, so spontaneous.
Arnold Rent was moved to a real, deep admiration.
It seemed strange to him that any man could be
cruel to so beautiful a saint.  He waited in a kind
of rapture for Kate to speak.

"Oh, no, no," she murmured.  "You cannot
mean it!  Do not think that I am angry with you.
Do not think that I am blind to the enormous
sacrifice that you are making.  You are speaking on
the impulse of the moment.  Think of your future!"

"I am not," Rent cried.  "If anybody had told
me this yesterday I should have repudiated the
idea with scorn and amusement.  But yesterday
and to-day are far apart, and I do not recognise
myself as the same man.  And I mean every word
that I say.  Otherwise, what would become of you?
You could not go back to that man now.  It is out
of the question."

Kate Charlock pressed her hands to her eyes and
shivered.  The gesture was more eloquent than
any words could be.

"Precisely," Rent went on rapidly.  "Though I
understand what is uppermost in your mind, you
stand at the parting of the ways, both of which end
in what the world calls folly.  But is it folly for
you to strike a blow for your just rights?  And,
really, you couldn't go back to the man whom you
hate and despise."

"But there is a middle course," Kate Charlock
murmured.  "I can go out into the world alone.
I can get my own living, as other unhappy women
have done before me.  And you will help me."

"That I will," Rent said.  "Ah, I am afraid you
do not realise what a terrible task it is.  And, mind
you, nobody cares for your future but me.  You
have no friends among the people with whom your
life has been cast lately.  Not one of them would
stretch out a hand to save you."

Kate Charlock shook her head sadly.  There
was no occasion for Rent to tell her that, for she
knew it far better than he did.  In worldly matters
this man was a mere child by the side of her.  She
glanced at her hands—those long, slim hands
which had not done a day's work for the last six
years.  And Kate Charlock knew her limits.  She
knew perfectly well that she was not clever, that
her mental equipment was slender.  She read no
literature, beyond the last thing in neurotic fiction.
Her education had been quite perfunctory.  Save
in the direction of the stage, there was no opening
for her.  And, with all her great talents, a stage
career was precarious, if not problematical.

She had nothing except her beauty and the sweet,
alluring sadness of her smile.  On one point she
was resolved: she was never going to share an
humble cottage with John Charlock.  As she stood
there, meek and resigned, with the slow dawning
of a smile upon her face, she was reckoning up her
chances as avidly as any Cheap Jack at a country
fair.  She saw the risks.  She had a luminous
grasp of the situation.  Her mental vision was
clear and cold as crystal.

She had done with John Charlock—of that there
was no question whatever.  She would be no slave
of his any more, even if she had to live on the dry
bread of adversity.  There was an end of that.
Possibly she might live upon the sale of her fine
jewels till she could get a footing on the stage, but
that was a slow process even to the cleverest.  And
here was this chivalrous fool holding the gate open
for her to pass, ready to sacrifice his future for the
mere shadow of one of her sweet, sad smiles.

Was the game worth the candle? she asked herself.
She was regarding the crisis from her point
of view alone.  She was not giving Arnold Rent
as much as a single thought.

It would be slow enough, she knew that perfectly
well.  Audacious as she was, in her heart of hearts
she knew that she would have to bend before the
storm and the stress of the chatter which was sure
to follow.  Even the most liberal members of her
own smart set would turn a cold face on her for
the time being, though they might wink at her as
they passed by.

For the time being!  Ah, that was the crucial
point of the problem.  It would be impossible to
stay in England.  She would have to go abroad for
a time—her means were too limited for England.
Rent would be rich—and her husband's heart was
weak!  Then she would take care that her story
was told.  She would see that among her friends
the sympathy was all for her.  Still, that meant
there was a long time to wait.  In the meanwhile,
could she live in fond hope?  Once more, was the
game worth the candle?

On the other hand, as far as Kate Charlock
could see, there was no other game to play.  Fate
had thrown this chance into her hands and she
was not disposed to release it.  Besides, Arnold
Rent was rich.  At any rate, if he were not rich
himself, he had a very wealthy mother who idolised
him.  That mother was going to be a bit of a
stumbling-block later, but that was Arnold Rent's
affair and did not concern the woman.  On the
whole, Kate Charlock had made up her mind.  But
it would never do to throw herself into the arms
of this man merely at his bidding.

"I ought to have time to think," she said.  "It
is cruel to press me in this way, and there is your
own future to consider.  Do you know that I shall
be a millstone round your neck, and that, as soon
as the world knows that we have thrown in our lot
together, your ambitions will die a natural death?"

"That is how I expected you to speak," Arnold
Rent replied.  "Always so unselfish and considerate
for the feelings of others, always putting
yourself in the background!  My dear, sweet saint,
what are those paltry ambitions of mine compared
with my love for you?  Who am I that I should
set out to reform the world single-handed?  Why
should not the world know your story, for that
matter?  I may be obscured for the moment, but
when people come to understand I shall rank as
high as ever.  With you by my side I could do
anything.  We could set up a creed and programme
of our own, based on the broader doctrines of true
charity.  I little thought when your husband asked
me to meet him here to-night——"

"To meet you here to-night?" Kate Charlock
cried.  "Do you mean to say that you came here
by appointment?  Oh, now I begin to see.  Now
I begin to understand."

She checked herself suddenly.  She pressed her
handkerchief to her eyes as if overcome with the
excess of her emotions.  The action filled Rent
with deepest and sincerest pity.  It was not for
him to guess how near the woman had come to
betraying herself.

So this had been part of John Charlock's revenge.
He had thrown these two deliberately together
at the very moment when defenceless beauty
must most need champion and defender.  A less
wise and more honest woman than Kate Charlock
would have told this to Rent, heedless of the fact
that his own suspicions might have been aroused.
But not Kate Charlock.

"I don't quite understand," she murmured.
"Why should you have been asked to come here
to-night at all?"

"Well, you see, I ventured to expostulate with
your husband.  I pointed out to him how cruelly
his new project would bear upon you.  It was not
a pleasant interview, I assure you.  Finally, he
asked me to come here this evening at eight o'clock,
when he would give me a practical idea of his
decision.  I little dreamt then what he meant, but I
see it plainly now.  The man is a monster in
human form, Kate, a cunning scoundrel, who is not
worthy to associate with honest men.  Do you
think he really intended that you and I——  Oh,
you know what I mean.  I cannot put it into
words."

"He gave me the choice of going with him,"
Mrs. Charlock said bitterly.  "That much is in his
favour.  And I suppose he could not help the fact
that his creditor was determined to avail himself
of his powers to take everything away.  I am trying
to think as fairly of my husband as I can.  It
is probable that he has forgotten about you."

Kate Charlock spoke eagerly.  Indeed, she appeared
to be sincere in her defence of her husband.
If any suspicion rankled in Rent's mind, it had to
be laid to sleep at once.  But there was no
suspicion in the man's mind, nothing but admiration
for this woman's spurious single-mindedness and
love and truth.

"We will say no more about it," he cried.
"Meanwhile, we are wasting time.  There is nothing
in this desolate place to attract you, no memories
to keep you lingering here.  And, in any case,
it is too late to draw back.  Get what things you
want and I will go down to the village and procure
a conveyance.  You are not afraid to be left here
alone?"

Kate Charlock smiled reassuringly.  There was
nothing she desired better than to be left alone for
a moment or two.  She went almost gaily up to the
room where her belongings had been stored.  Her
heart was light within her as that of a child.  The
sweet, innocent smile was still upon her face.  But
the smile was faint and wan when she came down
again.

"My jewels are gone," she moaned.  "The safe
has been forced.  No, my husband would not have
done that.  It was Hortense.  The wicked woman!
Oh, the wicked woman!  But perhaps I had better
keep this from Arnold Rent."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FIRST OF THE FRUIT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FIRST OF THE FRUIT

.. vspace:: 2

The darkness was gathering by the time that
Rent came back and Kate Charlock had her
property gathered together.  She had not packed up
many things—just the necessaries for an extravagant
woman like herself.  The rest could follow
later.  She trusted to her tact and discretion to
make the future smooth.  Rent would have been
dismayed if he had known how clearly she could
read his mind.  She had no intention of compromising
herself.  She was merely going to make use
of him.  But he need not know that yet.  He need
not know how perfectly she was able to take care
of herself.  A deep plot lay at the back of her
mind, a means by which she could bring her husband
to his knees.  This was no senseless, confiding
creature putting her future in the hands of a man
she had known only for a few months.  That she
had seen more of him than her husband was aware
mattered nothing.  She did not fail to note that
Rent looked greatly annoyed.

"I have been detained," he explained.  "A
business matter.  I may have to come back to-morrow.
But I can take you in the car I have borrowed as
far as Portsmouth.  Then we can get on to Devonshire
as soon as possible, where I want you to stay
with my mother.  I know she will be glad to help
you.  That will be the means of stopping all idle
gossip."

"How thoughtful you are," Kate Charlock murmured,
as the chauffeur disappeared.  "I have not
burdened myself very much, because I thought that
later—but I hardly dare to think of that.  If you
knew how frightened and terrified I am——"

The speaker broke off and a little sob came from
her throat.  It was dark now, and Rent took her
in his arms and soothed her with loving words.  It
was too dark to see the outline of the figure
standing by a belt of shrubs facing the door.  But on
the still air every word and sound carried, so that
John Charlock, from his hiding-place, missed
nothing.  He would have been hard put to say why
he had returned.  Perhaps his conscience had
smitten him.  Perhaps it had occurred to him that he
was treating his wife with undue severity.  But the
fact remained that he was back there again,
prepared with a new proposition.

For the moment he had forgotten Arnold Rent.
The man had never come into his mind again,
though, at the time, he had meant to give Rent a
sharp lesson on the prudence of minding his own
business.  He had come back through the
shrubbery in time to witness a tender little scene in the
porch.  A wave of sudden anger passed over him.
Then he grew calm and collected.  After all, why
should he interfere?  Why should he come between
this heartless woman and her platonic flirtation
with this besotted fool—this business man gone
mad?

For, man of the world as he was, Charlock had
not yet grasped the true inwardness of the situation.
That his wife was an actress to her fingertips
he had learnt by bitter experience.  Doubtless
Rent had arrived to keep the appointment and thus
these two had come together.  Charlock smiled
bitterly to himself as his mind dwelt upon the
dramatic story which his wife must have had to tell.
He could imagine how the woman would play upon
the feelings of the man as a master plays upon an
instrument.  And the setting to the play was worthy
of the great actress herself.  No doubt Rent had
been so moved by the whispered wrongs of this
outraged wife that he had placed all he possessed
at her disposal.  Doubtless he was removing her
to the loving custody of some relation who would
take care of her for the present.  But how far
things had gone Charlock did not know.  If he
had, he might have interfered—and again he
might not.  It all depended upon his sardonic
mood for the moment.  He stood there now, erect
and motionless, and disposed to watch the thing to
the end.  Presently the great car jumped forward,
and a few moments later the tail lights had
vanished down the drive.

"Well, why not?" Charlock murmured.  "Unless
I am greatly mistaken, Arnold Rent is a long
way from being a fool.  A little more knowledge
of the world, and he is likely to be a force to cope
with.  Let him find out for himself.  Let him
learn what I have had to put up with.  It will be
an education for him.  Upon my word, though he
little knows it, I am going to prove that young
man's greatest benefactor."

Meanwhile, the great car sped on through the
darkness, with Kate Charlock and Rent behind
and the driver in front.  They were very quiet and
subdued, for, after the first moments of his
mid-summer madness, Rent could not be blind to the
seriousness of the step he had taken.  And the
woman by his side, following his every mood and
phase of thought, played up to him like a past
mistress in the art of emotions.  She laid her head
tenderly on his shoulder and sighed, as she nestled
up to him.

"You do not regret already?" she whispered.

"Regret?" Rent murmured passionately.  "I
will never do that.  But one does not burn one's
boats and mock all the shibboleths without realising
the responsibilities that one is casting aside.  I
do hope that you understand that much, Kate."

Under cover of the darkness, the woman yawned
slightly.  She was beginning to long now for the
life and bustle of the hotel, and, besides, she had
not dined as yet, and, like most people who have
their feelings well in hand, she was possessed of a
healthy appetite.  She jumped down briskly from
the car as it pulled up at the Royal Solent Hotel,
and the hall porter, majestic in his uniform, threw
back the heavy plate-glass doors.  To Rent's
annoyance, the lounge was thronged with people in
evening dress.  He had forgotten the presence of
Royalty in Portsmouth.  He had expected to have
the hotel pretty much to Kate and himself.  It was
no far cry to Southampton, and there was the
chance of being recognized by somebody who knew
one or another of them.  Still, sooner or later, the
ordeal would have to be encountered and dealt
with.  The thought had hardly flashed through
Rent's mind before a strikingly handsome woman
in evening dress rose from the lounge and came
towards Kate Charlock.  Then, as she caught sight
of the man by her side, she appeared to hesitate,
and something like a scornful smile swept across
her dark features, and she slowly went back to her
seat.  But, all the same, she continued to stare at
Kate Charlock and her companion.  Kate grasped
Rent's arm.

"Lady Strathmore," she whispered.  "I am certain
that she recognised us.  Did you see how she
came down the hall and then turned back?  I wish
we hadn't come here."

It was the first blow, and the woman staggered
under it.  She stood there, perplexed and uneasy.
In a dim kind of way she comprehended the fact
that Arnold Rent was ordering rooms for himself
and Mrs. Charlock.  It all came to her in a kind of
dream.  But she roused herself presently as Rent
laid his hand upon her arm.

"This way," he said.  "Come along."

They passed up the whole length of the lounge,
so near to Lady Strathmore that Kate Charlock
could have touched her.  For the life of her she
could not restrain one glance in the direction of the
woman in black, and just for a brief moment their
eyes met.  Lady Strathmore's face was rigid as a
mask, and her features had just a tinge of scornful
amusement upon them.  But there was not the
slightest trace of recognition.  Then, as the couple
passed by, Lady Strathmore turned and whispered
something to her companion, and both broke into a
rippling laugh.  With a feeling of thankfulness,
Kate Charlock opened the sitting-room door.

"That is done," Arnold Rent said.  He placed
his hands on the woman's shoulders and looked
down into her eyes.  "Never mind, Kate.  Always
be kind to me, because, for your sake, I have given
up my life's ambition to-night."

In a kind of fever, Rent went down the stairs in
the direction of the lounge.  He was furiously
angry now and inclined to be quarrelsome.  He
would have liked to have it out with the woman
who had slighted Kate Charlock.  A month ago
he would have laughed at his own folly and been
scornfully amused at the idea that he should so far
forget himself, though he had long had a passionate
admiration for Kate.  Even now, he was not
quite clear what he was going to do.  Up to the
present he was inclined to play the honourable part.
Even now he had only the woman's true interests
at heart.  Strange that he should have been so
foolish.  Strange that he should have imagined
that his mother would take the same view of the
matter as himself.  But, then, she had always spoilt
him in the past, and, though she was a rigid
Puritan, doubtless she would continue to do so in the
future.

Rent was shaken out of these thoughts by a hotel
servant who approached him with a telegram.  The
man held out the envelope.

"You are Mr. Rent, sir?" he said.  "Pardon
me, but I think this must be for you.  It is so
strange a name."

Rent looked at the envelope in wonderment.
No doubt the message was for him, though he was
at a loss to know how any friend could have found
him out.  He opened the message and read:


"Danger here.  Come back at once."


"How did they find me?" he murmured.  "How
did they get on my track?  It was thoughtful,
at any rate.  Still, danger or no danger, I
cannot go back."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE DOCTRINE OF PLATO`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE DOCTRINE OF PLATO

.. vspace:: 2

Across the breakfast-table Kate Charlock was
smiling sweetly, but it was doubtful whether she
heard a single word that Rent was saying.  She
was busy with her own thoughts, which were none
of the sweetest.  In the first instance she thought
that she had counted the cost of her action, but on
second thoughts she was not so sure.  Still, she
was satisfied she could not have complied with
John Charlock's order, for it was nothing else.
She would have to make the best of it now.  She
was eager to get away from England until the
scandal had blown over.  Kate Charlock was by
no means devoid of vanity, and Lady Strathmore's
studied insolence of the evening before had cut
her to the quick.  There was the danger of a
repetition of this kind of thing so long as she and Rent
remained at the Royal Solent Hotel.

But she was not blind to the material side of
things.  It had been the height of folly to go
further without having first made overtures to
Arnold's mother.  If she should display anything like
hostility, then, indeed, Kate might be said to have
stepped out of the frying-pan into the fire.

"Oh, you needn't feel worried about that," Rent
said, looking up from his paper.  "No one ever
yet was afraid of my mother.  She is gentle and
kind-hearted, but if she takes up the cudgels on
anybody's behalf she can be amazingly firm.  I
don't think you need have any anxiety as to my
mother."

The shadow of a contemptuous smile flickered
across Kate Charlock's face.  From her point of
view, Rent's description of his mother was not
reassuring.  It was an outbreak of firmness of this
kind that Kate Charlock had most reason to dread.
It never occurred to Rent that his mother's
firmness might take a wrong direction.  Despite his
handsome face and intellectual strength, it seemed
to Kate that in many respects he was little better
than a boy compared with her.  The saint-like
woman by his side could have acted as
school-mistress to him.  In her mind's eye she already
pictured Mrs. Rent, heart-broken and humiliated
at the prospect of the ruin of her son's prospects,
and never yet was there mother who regarded her
son's wife as in any way worthy of him.  While
Rent was babbling praises of his mother, Kate sat
pondering the magnitude of the task which lay
before her.  So far she had hesitated to discuss the
plan of campaign, but it would have to be done
now.  The proper thing was to strike while the
iron was hot, to go straight to Devonshire and
confront Mrs. Rent with the cataclysm before she had
time to hear of it from good-natured friends
outside.

"Of course, your mother will have to know,"
she said sweetly and thoughtfully.  "I am looking
forward to seeing her, and yet I dread the thought
of meeting her.  You will have to be prepared for
a disappointment, Arnold.  Your mother is certain
to be shocked.  She would be less than human if
she does not lay all the blame upon my shoulders."

"Never," Rent cried.  "I will make it quite
clear that the blame is entirely mine.  I wrote a
long letter to my mother before breakfast, fully
explaining everything——"

"You have not posted it, I hope.  No?  Well,
I am glad of that, because I would prefer that
letter not to go.  There is only one thing for
it—we must travel to Devonshire at once and your
mother must receive the first intimation of what
has happened from your own lips.  Of course, I
shall come with you.  I am looking forward to the
interview with the greatest possible dread, but my
duty is clear.  Besides, we must get away from
here.  Can't we go this very afternoon?"

Rent reproached himself for his thoughtless
selfishness.  He was prepared to do anything that his
companion desired.  But nothing could be settled
before lunch.  Most of the people had finished
their luncheon, so that the two had the room to
themselves.  From the long balcony outside came
the sound of voices, and Kate Charlock flushed
uncomfortably as she recognised Lady Strathmore's
tones.  She had an uneasy feeling that she was the
subject of discussion.  A moment or two later Lady
Strathmore herself came into the dining-room.  She
flashed a brilliant smile in Rent's direction, but she
seemed to be unaware that he was not alone.  A
sudden anger possessed Kate Charlock.  With
audacious passion she came forward and held out her
hand.

"You seem to have forgotten me," she said
sweetly.

"Absolutely," the other woman murmured.  "I
am afraid you have a distinct advantage over me,
though when I come to look at you again I see you
bear a strong likeness to Mrs. John Charlock.
But, of course, a dear saint like that would never
so far compromise herself as to be lunching here
with any man but her husband.  Mr. Rent, can I
have a few moments' conversation with you?"

The stroke was so swift and merciless, so utterly
unexpected, that Kate Charlock had no reply.
Overwhelmed and uncomfortable, with the tears
smarting in her eyes, she sank into a chair, without
the slightest attempt to detain Rent.  His face
was crimson, too.  The corners of his sensitive
mouth trembled, but he followed Lady Strathmore
politely to the balcony.

"I am going to be candid with you," she said.
"Oh, I quite understand how things are.  I am a
woman of the world and can judge for myself.  It
is a pity you are not a man of the world, also, or
this would never have happened.  Can't you see
for yourself that you ought not to stay here?
Surely you recognised me last night.  I am speaking
for your own good, because you are a young man
whose education in some respects has been sadly
neglected.  Take my advice——"

"You are mistaken," Rent exclaimed.  "And
as regards Mrs. Charlock, she is as good and pure
as any woman——"

"Oh, I have heard all that before," Lady Strathmore
said, with a pitying smile.  "You see, I happen
to belong to the same set as Mrs. Bromley-Martin,
and we are not so shallow-minded and
frivolous as you appear to imagine.  One side of
a story always holds good till the other is told.
Don't you think John Charlock has a side to the
story as well?"

Rent muttered something incoherent.  Recalling
to mind now his strange interview with John Charlock,
he could not see that the latter had a single
claim to consideration.  It was useless to discuss
that matter with this hard, worldly woman.

"I see that I am wasting your time," Lady
Strathmore went on.  "Still, I might as well tell
you that Mrs. Bromley-Martin and some of her
friends are coming to have tea with me this
afternoon at four o'clock, and if in the meanwhile you
discover that you have important business elsewhere,
why—well, good-bye.  Wonderfully fresh
and bracing atmosphere this morning, don't you
think?"

The shrewd woman of the world smiled and
went her way.  Arnold Rent's thoughts were not
pleasing as he returned to the dining-room.
Already he was beginning dimly to comprehend the
far-reaching effects of his impulsive action, but his
heart smote him as he noted the pathetic droop of
Kate Charlock's shoulders as she sat toying with
her lunch.  Lady Strathmore was right.  It was
necessary to go away at once.  It might be possible
to reach Devonshire before night, and, on the
whole, it would be better to say nothing to Kate
about the impending visit of Mrs. Bromley-Martin
and her frivolous friends.

"What did she want?" Kate asked wearily.

"Really, I can hardly tell you," Rent stammered.
"I don't think she meant to be unkind,
though she is a bit hard.  The gist of our
conversation was that I should get away at once."

Kate Charlock smiled in her sweet, melancholy
way, though her heart was hot within her and
passionate words trembled on her lips.

"We must try to forgive her," she said gently,
"though she was very cruel to me.  But she is
right about leaving, and the sooner we set out for
Devonshire the better.  If you will pay the bill, I
will go up—what is the matter?"

"Upon my word, I am very sorry," Rent stammered,
"but I have only a few shillings in my
pocket.  In the excitement of yesterday I forgot
all about money.  Of course, I could telegraph to
my solicitors, but even then I could not hear till
the morning.  Still, I know one or two people here,
and I will go out at once and see if I can borrow a
few pounds.  I sha'n't be long."

She sat there till a waiter came into the room
with an envelope in his hand.  With some agitation
she noticed that the handwriting was that of
Rent.  She waved the waiter from the room and,
in a frenzy of eagerness, tore open the envelope.
There were only a few words hurriedly scrawled on
the back of a visiting card.


"There is no help for it," the missive ran, "but
I must go back to Cowes at once.  The business
is urgent and admits of no delay.  Stay where you
are until I return.  At the very most I cannot be
longer than two hours."


There was passion as well as hate in Kate Charlock's
eyes as she tore the card into fragments.

"What does this mean?" she asked.  "Can he
intend to leave me here?  But, no, I cannot
possibly believe anything of the kind.  And yet, how
very awkward!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A CRIME OR NOT?`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium bold

   A CRIME OR NOT?

.. vspace:: 2

It was the day following the dramatic disappearance
of Kate Charlock, and once more Tanza
and his companion were on board the yacht.  The
Italian had been away most of the morning, and
had only arrived in time for lunch.  He appeared
to be on excellent terms with himself.  There was
a merry twinkle in his eye as he contentedly sucked
his cigarette.

"You are not going to tell me anything, then?"
he asked.

"My dear sir, there isn't anything to tell you,"
Malcolm Grey replied.  "I won't say that I haven't
made a discovery or two, because that wouldn't
be true.  At the same time, I stick to my original
idea of keeping what I know to myself.  We will
both go our own way and see what we can make
of it.  But I am more or less convinced that your
original suggestion is correct, and that there was
foul play in the matter of the French maid."

Tanza's eyes sparkled brightly.

"I have never had the slightest doubt of it," he
said.  "I have an instinct for that kind of thing.
I knew that we had to deal with a scoundrel above
the common.  The whole thing is most fascinating.
I suppose you have heard the latest development?"

"Indeed, I haven't," Grey said.  "Tell me."

"Mrs. Charlock has left her husband.  There
are a good many versions as to the cause of the
quarrel.  But, at any rate, she has gone, apparently
leaving no trace behind her.  I dare say there
are faults on both sides; he is a hard man, and she
is an extravagant, thoughtless woman.  One never
knows what a man of the artistic temperament is
going to do.  It seems that Charlock has disposed
of his household goods and has made up his mind
to spend the next year or two in a cottage."

"Posing, I presume," Grey said cynically.

"No, I don't think so," Tanza went on.  "He
is too great a genius to indulge in childish follies.
He can afford to leave that kind of thing to the
log-rollers.  I understand that he has outrun the
constable, and that he has every desire to get on
terms with the world again.  Anyway, his wife
wouldn't go with him, and I believe they have
separated.  As the man is a friend of yours, I
thought you might have heard about this."

But Grey shook his head.  The information was
news to him.  He was a little annoyed, too,
because there were certain facts which he expected to
gather from Charlock.  He sat there debating the
matter for a short time in his mind, then announced
his intention of seeking out Charlock.  It was
possible the artist had not left the neighbourhood yet,
and there was no time to be lost.  Tanza raised no
objection.  He hinted that he had work to do
himself and that he could dispense with Grey's
company for the rest of the afternoon.

A little time afterwards Grey walked up the
drive of Charlock's house.  There was nothing in
the condition of the grounds to indicate that the
place was empty.  The lawns had been freshly cut,
the flower-beds were trim and neat as usual.  It
was only the blank, staring windows and the litter
of straw on the front door which told the story.
As Grey stood there the door opened, and Charlock
himself came out.  There was a grim, significant
smile on his face.

"You are astonished to see this?" he asked.

"Not in the least," Grey said.  "I should not
be astonished at anything you did.  But, if it isn't
an impertinent question, why are you acting in this
fashion?  It seems almost a sacrilege to strip a
beautiful place like this.  And if you must leave
it, why not have let it furnished?"

A cynical laugh broke from Charlock's lips.

"It takes time to let a furnished house," he said,
"even a little paradise like this.  And the lesson
loses nothing of its force because it is administered
promptly and speedily.  When I bark, I bite.  And
I don't want to give warning.  Ah, you don't know
what it is to be mated to an extravagant wife who
has no consideration for any one but herself.  I
should be, at the present moment, a rich man.  I
have no vices.  My personal expenditure is nothing.
But I do love to be surrounded by things that
are good and beautiful.  That is why I spent so
much in furnishing this house.  I thought I was
one of the happiest of men.  I thought I was going
to lead an ideal existence.  But I found I was tied
to a woman whose one idea was fashion, who
thought nothing of playing at gardening in a Paris
frock that cost fifty or sixty pounds.  And one day
I awoke to the fact that I was on the verge of
bankruptcy.  Great Scott! how those bills came
rolling in!  There was only one thing to be done—to
act at once.  There are no half measures with
me.  I cut everything adrift.  I have taken a
labourer's cottage.  I told my wife she would have
to live there with me and do everything till every
farthing was paid.  And now she has gone."

Charlock spoke harshly and bitterly.  It was
rarely, indeed, that he mentioned his own feelings.
But the wound was too recent.  And there was
something in Grey's manner that invited confidence.

"Your wife will think better of it," the latter
murmured.

"Will she?  Yes, perhaps, when the leopard
changes his spots and the Ethiopian his skin, but
not till then.  Oh, everybody will side with her,
of course.  Everybody knows that I am hard and
harsh and difficult to live with.  She will pose as
an injured woman, and the blame will be mine;
indeed, she has begun to do so already.  What do
you think of her making a convert of Arnold Rent?
Fancy that cynical man of the world, who would
stick at nothing to gratify his ambition, forfeiting
his future for the sake of my injured wife!  That
is the idea.  He has become her champion.  I presume
he is going to look after her welfare till I am
forced to make her a proper allowance.  Probably
you will hear of the thing again in the law
courts—the well-known artist and his outraged wife, and
all that kind of thing.  Well, let them take what
steps they like; I sha'n't trouble to defend it.  And
yet behind it all there is a comedy so amusing that
I feel inclined to laugh in spite of myself.  What
do you think of my wife's going down to Devonshire
to seek an asylum under the roof of Rent's
mother?  And what do you think of me as an
honoured guest in the same house?  I am not joking.
The thing is in my own hands; indeed, it is
more or less imperative, especially as I am not very
busy, and an early commission is essential.  There
is a situation in a play for you!  Think what Pinero
would make out of it!  But why should I bore
you with these sordid details?  They cannot interest you."

Before Grey could make a suitable reply Charlock
held out his hand and bade his companion a
blunt good-day.  He turned back to the house and
banged the door behind him, as if ashamed at this
display of feeling.  It was not often that the strong
man cried aloud so that the world might know of
his hurt.  He was furious with himself that he had
done so now.  And it seemed to Grey that it would
be in bad taste to attempt to follow his friend and
clear up the points which had been the object of his
journey.

He walked out of the gates and down the road
to the outskirts of the town to the newly erected
buildings where, until the past day or two, Arnold
Rent had been conducting a series of experiments
in wireless telegraphy.  The office was close to the
shore.  One or two workmen were engaged with
some apparatus the like of which Grey had not
seen before.  It was only natural that he should
be interested in what was going on, that he should
linger for a moment or two, until the office door
opened and a clerk emerged.  With some directness
of manner, but civilly enough, he asked Grey's
business.  The scientist turned to face the man,
abnormally thin and tall—a man with a face like
faded yellow parchment, lighted by a pair of
sombre, smouldering eyes.

"You seem to have forgotten me, Swift," Grey
said.  "Have I altered so much during the last
two years?"

The tall man gasped.  His features twitched
convulsively for a moment.  Then the colour of
his face changed.  A sullen red tinged the
parchment hue, leaving it still more pallid a minute
afterwards.

"Mr. Grey," he stammered.  "What do you
want here?"

There was something embarrassed, almost
guilty, in the speaker's manner.  Grey smiled as
he replied.

"I am interested in all these kinds of things," he
said.  "But don't think I come here to learn your
secrets.  As a matter of fact, I called to see Mr. Rent."

"He is away," the tall man explained.  "But
now a piece of business has turned up and I am
telegraphing him in the course of the day.  Is there
anything I can tell him?"

"I don't think so," Grey said thoughtfully.
"Anyway, there is no hurry.  And how are you
doing?  Have you got over the old weakness?  For,
if so, you are likely to realise the old ambitions,
after all.  Don't think me impertinent."

"I don't," Swift said indifferently.  "I am only
human, and I begin to realise that I shall never be
able to cope with that accursed thing.  Still, I am
better than I was, and I am fairly happy here
doing congenial work.  You see——"

What Swift was going to say was cut short by
the appearance of a third party.  He was a slight,
dapper man, with prominent features and sleek,
glossy hair.  His manner was heavily dashed with
audacity.  He was ludicrously overdressed, and he
carried the fact that he was an unregenerate scamp
written in every line of his face.

"You are wasting your time," Swift said coldly.
"Mr. Rent desires me to say that he does not know
you and has no desire to see you.  I hope I make
myself plain."

"Oh, very well," the stranger said.  "In that
case, I will wait till Mr. Rent comes back and see
him personally.  I shall find a way to refresh his
memory, and don't you forget it.  I don't allow
anybody to play the fool with Ephraim Bark."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`MODERN FRIENDSHIP`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   MODERN FRIENDSHIP

.. vspace:: 2

As Kate Charlock sat debating her position with
anxiety, the door opened cautiously and a gaily
dressed figure slipped into the room.  The place
seemed to be half-filled with billowing draperies
and the air was heavy with subtle perfume.  Kate
Charlock turned in amazement upon the intruder.

"Jessica!" she gasped.  "What are you doing here?"

"You may well ask that," Mrs. Bromley-Martin
tittered.  "But a little bird told me what was going
on, and when I had a wire from Lady Strathmore
this morning asking me to bring a mob over to tea
this afternoon, I jumped at the opportunity.  My
word, what a time we have had all morning pulling
your character to pieces!  And just now, when
Belle Langley bet me a dozen pairs of gloves I
dare not come up and interview you, I closed like a
shot.  Well, what have you to say for yourself?"

From head to foot Kate Charlock quivered with
indignation.  She was not blind to her own folly,
but, then, she had so hedged herself in with
self-pity that she did not regard herself as the average
woman who has fallen away from grace.  Her
case was quite different.  But she merely smiled as
she replied.

"I have nothing to say for myself," she
responded.  "I am content to leave my character in
the hands of those who, like yourself, are
acquainted with my unhappy domestic life.  My
husband chose to turn me out of house and home,
and the punishment should be his more than mine.
I know that socially my life is finished."

"Terribly sad," Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed
gaily.  "I am not going to blame you.  You are
no worse than two-thirds of us, as you know very
well.  Besides, we ought to be grateful to you for
giving us something fresh to talk about.  Still, we
shall miss our tall, white saint who was the
connecting link between ourselves and absolute
respectability.  But I must not stay longer.  One has to
be careful, you know."

"Yes, with a reputation like yours, one has to
be," Mrs. Charlock said sweetly.  "You may tell
your friends that they need not trouble to waste
their sympathy upon me.  I am quite happy."

Kate Charlock's looks belied her words as
Mrs. Bromley-Martin flitted from the room like some
great gauze butterfly.  She had little enough to be
happy about, she told herself; from the bottom of
her heart she resented the patronage of her late
visitor.  At length she was roused from her reverie
by the entrance of a servant with a telegram on a
tray.  It was addressed to Rent, but Kate opened
it and glanced carelessly at the contents.  Her face
did not move a muscle as she turned to the waiter
and told him that there was no reply.

Yet the few words were calculated to disturb.
They were charged with meaning and called
for immediate action.  It was clear that the
telegram came from Arnold Rent's mother.


"Have just received your letter," the message
ran.  "Am terribly surprised and shocked.  On
no account come here, as I am travelling to see you
and will call to-morrow afternoon.

"HELEN RENT."


Kate crushed the flimsy paper into a ball and
tossed it contemptuously into the fireplace.  A
moment later and she was reading the words again
thoughtfully.  Doubtless some enemy had done
this thing, and the words brought the reader no
sort of comfort.  Kate Charlock recognised
courage and stern determination of purpose on the
part of the sender of the message.  Her ready wit
saw that it was necessary to strike a counter-blow
without delay.  It was evident that Mrs. Rent
would adopt a firm attitude and could carry out
her part far better in the Royal Solent Hotel than
under her own roof.  She must start for Devonshire
instantly as the only possible way of saving
the situation.

Would Arnold Rent really return?  It was getting
on towards five o'clock and he had been gone
for two hours.  With a sigh of mingled impatience
and surprise, she heard him coming along the
corridor.  He looked uncomfortable.

"Upon my word, I am very sorry," he said,
"but, as luck would have it, I have not been able
to find a single friend.  We must wait till I get
money from my solicitors to-morrow morning.  The
delay is maddening!"

"Meanwhile, what are we to do about this?"
Kate asked, as she held out the telegram.  "This
is from your mother."

"Perhaps it is a good thing," Rent said.  "It
will save us a journey, at any rate.  You must not
be annoyed with my mother.  It is only natural
that she should feel like that, till the case is
explained to her.  When she has seen us and heard
everything she *must* be on our side.  We can have
dinner here and spend the evening together."

For a moment a gleam of anger came into Kate
Charlock's eyes.  She felt a wild desire to lay her
hand upon Rent, to box his ears, to do anything as
an outlet for her rage at his crass stupidity.
She schooled herself, though as she stood there
her finger nails were cutting into the white flesh of
her palms.

"You don't understand," she said.  "Your
mother may forgive you, but she will never forgive
me.  If we meet here, there will be an end of
everything.  But under her own roof she will be bound
by the dictates of hospitality to listen to what we
have to say.  I have been looking out the trains,
and if we start within an hour we ought to reach
our destination this evening."

"It shall be as you please," Rent said tenderly.
"I will go with you now, if you choose.  There is
one little thing you have forgotten—I have no
money, and the railway people won't give
credit——"

"Oh, please don't raise these obstacles," Kate
Charlock cried wearily.  "I suppose you carry a
watch?"

"Oh, no, my dear, I never carry one.  And if I
did, what use would it be to us just now?"

In spite of herself a laugh broke from Kate
Charlock's lips.  Would this man never improve?
She crossed the room to her dressing-case and took
out a diamond bangle.

"There!" she said.  "You are going to have a
new experience.  I daresay you will have no
difficulty in raising twenty pounds on that.  You
understand what I mean?  I have nothing else to
spare."

Arnold Rent inclined his head shamefully.

"Oh, I am speaking of a pawnbroker.  There is
no need to flush and look uncomfortable, because
the thing has to be done, whether you like it or
not.  And, besides, there is no disgrace in the
transaction.  The pawnbroker keeps open his shop to
do business and is as anxious for your patronage
as the butcher or the grocer.  Ask the first
policeman you meet where you can find a respectable
shop, and the rest will be easy."

"My dear girl," Rent said, with a hardening of
his lips, "I couldn't do it.  We must wait."

Kate Charlock shot one glance at him.  Then
she laid her head upon the table and burst into a
flood of tears.  The strategy was successful, for
Rent jumped in agitation to his feet and slipped
the bangle into his pocket.

"For Heaven's sake, don't cry," he said.  "For
your sake I will do anything.  I had quite forgotten——"

His voice trailed away in an incoherent manner.
He grabbed at his hat and left the room.  The
woman's eyes dried like magic.  A smile trembled
on her lips.  But the anxious feeling did not leave
her.  Her heart would not lighten till the express
train pulled out from the station on its long journey
to the West.  The fight was coming and Kate
Charlock did not mean to fail.

Despite the extent of his infatuation, the pill
was none the less a bitter one for Rent to swallow.
He was back again at the hotel presently, with the
sovereigns jingling as he came in.

"I am glad that is all right," she said.  "And
now tell me why you behaved so badly just now?
Surely you could not have had business of so great
importance as to take you away from me in a crisis
like this!  It is not as if you were engaged in trade.
Now tell me what it was.  You can trust me."

An ingenious prevarication trembled upon
Rent's lips, when the waiter entered the room with
a further telegram.  Rent glanced at it more or
less carelessly, but, though he was conscious his
colour changed, he managed to drop the telegram
coolly in the fire.

"The business was not my own," he said, "therefore
I cannot tell it you.  But I am afraid you will
have to be patient.  That telegram came from the
same quarter and admits of no delay.  You won't
mind very much if I go back to Cowes now and
return in the morning?"

Kate Charlock swallowed her passion.  She saw
that the time had come to act and struck
accordingly.

"Very well," she said.  "In that case I will go
back to my husband.  It is not yet too late and I
am not ashamed to meet him.  It must be one
thing or the other."

Rent stifled what sounded like a groan.

"As you like," he said.  "I shall not be the first
fool beguiled by a woman!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`BARK IS CONFIDENTIAL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   BARK IS CONFIDENTIAL

.. vspace:: 2

Malcolm Grey stood somewhat uncomfortably
outside the little office on the seashore, hardly
knowing what to do.  In some vague way the
features of the person who called himself Ephraim
Bark were familiar, though he could not place the
man.  He would have stayed a little longer, only
he seemed to be in the way; it looked, too, as if he
were listening to a private conversation.  He knew
Arnold Rent by reputation and personally.  He
was aware that the latter had the character of a
man about town, not too scrupulous where his
passions and fancies were concerned.  One or two
strange tales had come to Grey's ears, though, at
the time, he had paid small heed to them.  And
here was a man, whom no gentleman would touch
without gloves, actually speaking as if he held
some power over Rent.  No man who did not feel
positive of his ground would have spoken in that
bullying way, especially as the fellow gave every
indication of being a coward if he came to be
tackled.

At any other time Grey would have dismissed
the incident with a shrug of the shoulders, but he
had his own reasons now for learning all he could
concerning the past history of Arnold Rent.  Therefore
he lingered to see what was likely to be the
upshot of the interview.

He saw Swift's hands clenched with passion.  He
saw the desire to strike down the intruder gleaming
in his eyes.  Then Swift restrained himself, as if
suddenly remembering that this was an occasion
when diplomacy was wiser than strength.

"It is useless for you to hang about here," Swift
said.  "Mr. Rent is not in the neighbourhood, and
I don't suppose he will be back before morning.
You can come and see him if you like, but I should
not advise you to do so."

"That's all very well," the aggrieved Bark burst
out.  "But what am I to do in the meantime?  And
why should he have everything while I've got
nothing?  By the time I have had my dinner I
sha'n't have a cent to pay my lodgings.  Just hand
over a sovereign or two to go on with.  Do you
hear?"

"I hear," Swift said coldly.  "I regret that I
have no money to spare.  And I don't think I
should let you have it if I had.  Come, clear out,
or I'll have to put you off the premises."

For the moment it looked as if the truculent
Bark would show fight, but he contented himself
with vague threats and innuendoes as he turned on
his heel and sauntered away.  Grey no longer
doubted that the man had a powerful hold on
Arnold Rent.  He waited a few moments, discussing
general matters with Swift; then he, too, strode
into the road and followed Bark.  There was no
occasion to introduce himself to this individual,
for, without a moment's hesitation, Bark raised his
curly brimmed hat with what he believed to be
refined and courtly politeness.  Grey pulled up at
once.

"You'll excuse me, Mr. Grey," Bark said
effusively, "but I hope you won't mind doing me a
little favour?"

"You know my name, then?" Grey said.  "I
ought to recognise you, but my memory plays me
false."

A look of deep cunning came into Bark's eyes.

"You can't know me, sir," he said, "considering
that most of my life has been passed in Paris.  But
I know you by sight and reputation, because I am
by way of being a bit of a scientist myself.  I came
down to see Mr. Rent, and this is how they treat
me!  And to think of what I've done for that man,
to think of what I know about him!  Why, I have
only to raise my little finger and say the word, and
before a day passed our friend——"

A judicious fit of coughing put an end to further
revelations on the part of Bark.  He seemed to
realise that he was going too far and instantly
changed his tone.  But this did not deceive Grey.

"Ah!" said Bark, "I am talking too fast, as
usual.  You might think by my tone that I was
threatening Mr. Rent.  As a matter of fact, I am
only disappointed at his carelessness.  But it is
very awkward for me.  Here am I with only a few
shillings in my pocket, which would have been fifty
pounds if I had seen Mr. Rent.  Now, will you be
offended if I ask you for the loan of a fiver for two
or three days?"

Grey hesitated for a moment.  Would the
expenditure be justified?  Then, by inspiration, it
occurred to him that perhaps Tanza might know
this plausible scamp.  Certainly it might be worth
while to temporise.

"I am sorry," he said, "but I have very little
money in my pocket.  I can let you have ten
shillings, if you like."

Bark audibly expressed his disappointment.

"Well, perhaps I can do better than that," Grey,
said, with a smile.  "Let me give you the ten
shillings to go on with, and if you will be on the
landing-stage to-night at nine o'clock I will meet you
and give you the balance of the five pounds.  I
suppose that will be convenient?"

Bark's eyes gleamed with a greedy light.

"Spoken like a man and a brother," he cried.
"Now, there's a pal for you!  There's a friend in
need when a poor chap is down on his luck through
no fault of his own!  Mr. Grey, you're a gentleman.
And it is evident you know another gentleman
when you see him."

"I hope so," Grey said drily.

"That being so," said Bark, ignoring the
sarcasm, "I will be on the landing-stage at nine
o'clock.  Thank you very much.  In my hard-up
state even the half-sovereign is acceptable.  You
will excuse me if I leave you, as I have an
appointment to keep, a business matter involving
thousands."

So saying, Bark, with another flourish of his
hat, swaggered off down the street.  Grey smiled
to himself as he saw the flashy little adventurer
turn into a public-house.  Then, in a thoughtful
frame of mind, he went back to the yacht in search
of Tanza, whom he found sprawling in a deck
chair, deeply engrossed in his eternal cigarettes
and reading a French novel.

"What news?" the Italian asked gaily.  "I see
you have had an interesting morning by the expression
of your face.  At any rate, your conversation
will be more engrossing than this book.  Now
unbosom yourself."

"There isn't much to tell you at present," said
Grey.  "I have been following up my investigations
and have ascertained one or two important
pieces of information.  I rather wanted to see
Rent, but he is away.  I went down to his place,
where I found an old friend of ours in the person
of John Swift."

"Oh, indeed!" Tanza exclaimed, lifting his
eyebrows.  "Now that is a man who was made to
adorn anything he touched.  If he could only keep
away from the infernal drink he might now have
been one of our leading scientists.  What is he
doing in these parts?"

"Acting as assistant to Rent," Grey explained.
"But that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about.
I don't mind telling you I have got hold of a most
important clue, and as all roads are said to lead to
Rome, so everybody I am meeting at present seems
to be more or less mixed up with the matter I have
in hand.  While I was talking to Swift a man
turned up and demanded to see Arnold Rent.  He
was very disappointed to find that Rent wasn't at
home and was at no pains to disguise his feelings.
His manner had a suggestion of blackmail about it.
Also he seemed to be pretty sure of his ground.  I
don't suppose I should have given the fellow
another thought had I not felt sure I had seen him
somewhere.  And I thought perhaps that you, with
your amazing acquaintance with all sorts and
conditions of scoundrels, might know something about
him."

"Have you managed to learn his name?" Tanza
asked.

"Well, yes, I did, if he doesn't happen to be
passing under some *alias*.  He is called Ephraim
Bark.  Rather a curious sort of name, isn't it?"

"I know him quite well," he said.  "That is his
name.  At any rate, I never heard him called
anything else.  He is a most plausible and ingenious
rascal, and I should very much like to meet him
again.  I suppose you have his address; if so, we
will seek him out and entertain him after dinner."

Grey explained exactly what course he had
adopted, and Tanza was pleased to signify his
approval.  So it came about that shortly after nine
o'clock the two proceeded to the landing-stage.
There they found Bark arrayed in a somewhat
resplendent evening dress, the effect of which,
however, was slightly marred by the fact that the linen
was exceedingly dingy.  But he carried it all off
with a truculent air.  Obviously he had spent a
good deal of the half-sovereign in liquid refreshment,
and was in a condition which in a less seasoned
drinker might have been called an advanced
stage of intoxication.

"Well, Bark," Tanza said cheerfully.  "So we
have met again.  No, you needn't trouble to
express your gratification.  You are coming on board
my yacht with Mr. Grey to give us certain
information we are in need of."

"Lumme, yes," Bark said, with some emotion.
"I'll tell you anything.  I couldn't refuse an old
friend."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ILL TIDINGS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium bold

   ILL TIDINGS

.. vspace:: 2

In its modest way, Alton Lee, which stands
upon the South Devonshire coast, was quite a show
place.  There the Rents had held their sway for
the best part of three centuries, since the founder
of the family first came West and built the old
house, which his successors had altered out of all
recognition.  The history of the family had been
fairly uneventful.  They had married with their
neighbours, and more than one heiress had come
along to swell their fortunes.  For the most part
they had been people of moderate ideas,
clean-living, healthy-minded men and women, not
endowed with too much intellect, and perfectly
contented with their lot.  At present the Rents were
represented by Arnold himself and his mother, an
elderly lady, who was exceedingly popular with all
who knew her.

Ever since Arnold Rent had left school his
mother had been more or less afraid of him.  That
she was passionately devoted to her only son goes
without saying; but she herself had been brought
up in the simple, narrow way.  She had an almost
morbid horror of anything that was in the least
unconventional and a mighty regard for her neighbours.

And her boy was totally different in every
respect.  The knowledge that he had an inclination
for work had filled her with tranquil happiness and
a sense of security, which, however, was not
destined to last.  There being several livings in the
family gift, there had been no reason why Arnold
Rent should not settle down to the career of a
country parson.  But from the first he had other
plans which in Mrs. Rent's opinion were almost
revolutionary.  The limited field did not appeal to
a man of his views and restless energy, and with
many misgivings his mother had seen him start an
entirely different career of his own choosing in
London.  That he was squandering money on this
did not matter.  The past three or four generations
of Rents had not spent anything like half their
income, so there was money enough and to spare.
There was no anxiety on that score.

From time to time Mrs. Rent had reports of her
son's progress.  She was convinced that knighthood
was within his grasp if he could only control
some of his advanced ideas and bow to the voice of
authority.  At any rate he was strong and good
and in earnest.  On the whole, it seemed to
Mrs. Rent that Providence had been more than kind to
her.

She was in the garden now busy among her
roses.  The rose gardens at Alton Lee were
famous.  Even in that well-favoured spot there was
nothing like them.  And the lady of the house
fitted well in with the picture.  She walked with a
slight stoop; one long, slender hand was closed
upon an ebony crutch-stick; her delicate features
were half hidden by a large, shady hat.  For the
rest, her hair was grey and abundant, and her blue
eyes beamed with a kindly expression.  She was
the embodiment of an elderly lady of the old
school, which is fast becoming extinct.  With all
beneath her she had the widest sympathy.  No
tale of distress found her unmoved, but she had
undemonstrative pride, for all that.  There were
people in the neighbourhood who said that
Mrs. Rent was haughty and distant, but most of these
were newcomers whose money had been derived
from trade.  As to the wealthy financiers who play
so prominent a part in Society to-day, not one of
them would have been permitted to cross the
threshold of Alton Lee, though Mrs. Rent was
always pleased to see the little curate's wife to
dinner.

She cut the last of a basketful of large, dark,
red-hearted roses and dropped into a garden seat
with a sigh of placid satisfaction.  It was a perfect
afternoon, with just the suspicion of a breeze
rustling the great oaks in the park.  Across the middle
distance a herd of deer moved slowly and gracefully.
Away to the west the blue sea lay placid in
the sunshine.  From one of the side paths a girl
came along, carrying a huge mass of sprays of
maidenhair fern in her hand.  She was not particularly
tall or strikingly beautiful, but there was a
rare attraction about Ethel Margrave's face that
grew upon one the more her features were studied.
But the eyes of deep blue were the chief attraction.
No one ever failed to notice these liquid azure lakes
which drew to her every man and woman of her
acquaintance.  She came gaily along and dropped
into the seat by Mrs. Rent's side.

"My dear auntie, how busy you have been!"
she exclaimed.  "I thought I should have been in
time to cut at least half those roses for you; but I
suppose I stayed too long in the greenhouses
admiring the orchids.  I won't get the drawing-room
flowers done before tea-time, at this rate."

Mrs. Rent smiled indulgently at the speaker.
Next to her son, there was nobody in the world
whom she loved as deeply and sincerely as her
niece, Ethel Hargrave.  If she had one wish left
ungratified, it was that Arnold and Ethel might
some day be master and mistress of the old house.
The dream had gradually deepened till it had
become almost a passion, but it looked now as if the
elderly lady was going to be disappointed.
Perhaps the young people had been too much together
to fall in love with one another.  At any rate,
Arnold Rent had always looked upon Ethel as a
sister.  And there was something in Mrs. Rent's
disappointment that had a touch of pain in it.
Those kindly blue eyes could look keenly enough at
human nature sometimes, and Mrs. Rent had more
than a suspicion that Ethel cared deeply for her
son.  There were moments when this knowledge
filled her with anxiety.

"Let us sit here and talk a little longer," she
said.  "There will be plenty of time for your
drawing-room flowers.  Did I tell you that I had a letter
from your father this morning?  He hopes that
he will be able to get away from Australia for a
long holiday at the beginning of next year.  What
a long time it is since you saw him!  And what a
pity it is that you photograph so badly!  I have
been thinking it over lately and I am going to give
my brother a surprise.  I have been in communication
with one of the most famous artists of the
day, and he is coming here to paint your portrait."

"What a distinguished honour!" the girl
laughed.  "My dear, you are making quite a
Society woman of me.  Will the picture be exhibited
in next year's Academy and be reproduced in the
ladies' papers?  Really, I ought to be quite angry
with you for such extravagance."

"Oh, I am glad to find you don't mind," Mrs. Rent
replied.  "Besides, I want a proper picture
of you myself.  We were only talking about it the
last time Arnold was here.  By the way, have you
heard from him lately?"

The girl flushed at the mention of Rent's name.

"Oh, dear, no," she said.  "Arnold is much too
busy to trouble about a simple country girl like
myself.  The last time I heard from him his letter
was one of tirade and abuse of the doings of
Society.  I understood he was moving in it himself,
so that he would be able to speak from personal
knowledge.  Do you know, my dear aunt, I wish
Arnold wouldn't be so dreadfully serious.  One
feels a poor creature by comparison.  I should like
to see him do something foolish.  You know what
I mean."

"Oh, I think I do," Mrs. Rent smiled.  "It
would be nice if he made a mistake or two and
came down here for us to sympathise with him.
But one never feels sure of Arnold.  I expect to
hear every day that he has gone over to the
Rationalists, or taken monastic vows, or some equally
dreadful thing.  But you may be sure that Arnold
would never do anything to make one blush for him."

The mother spoke with a serene pride that
brought an answering smile to Ethel's face.
Attached as she was to Arnold Rent, she would have
preferred him to be a little more human.  Like
most girls who live a good deal alone, she had her
imaginative moods, and was fond of picturing
Arnold as wounded in a conflict and coming home
for her support and sympathy.  She dismissed the
mental picture now with a sigh of impatience.
There was not the least likelihood of Arnold
stepping from the straight path.  He would go to high
honours in the world.  He would marry some noble
woman of great intellectual attainments to help
him in his work.

"I think we spoil him," she said.  "However,
it is no use talking about it.  But, surely, my eyes
don't deceive me.  That must be Mr. Westlake
coming down the drive.  What brings him here?
Something dreadful must have happened to induce
him to leave his beloved London."

Mrs. Rent rose with a sudden feeling of
approaching trouble.  It was rare, indeed, for the
old family solicitor to come to Devonshire,
especially without warning.  The elderly man
approached the garden-seat and raised his hat.
Nothing could be gathered from his austere features
except a trace of anxiety on his brow.  He
murmured something in reply to Mrs. Rent's question,
then glanced significantly at Ethel.

"Very well," the girl said.  "I see you have
come on affairs of state, so I'll run away and finish
my flowers.  Don't forget that it is very nearly
tea-time."





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.. _`THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY`:

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   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY

.. vspace:: 2

Arnold Rent's mother waited for the lawyer
to speak.  She scented trouble.

"And now, my dear old friend, what is it?"
Mrs. Rent said quietly.  "I see you are in great
anxiety about something.  I suppose it has to do
with money.  But, in any case, I am sure you are
in no way to blame."

"It has nothing to do with money at all,"
Mr. Westlake replied.  "From that point of view,
things were never better.  Before I go any further,
have you had any news of your son lately?  Have
you heard this morning?  I thought, perhaps,
possibly——"

"Arnold!" Mrs. Rent exclaimed.  "Something
has happened to him!  You are keeping me in
suspense."

"Indeed, I am not," Westlake protested.  "So
far as I know, there is nothing wrong with your
son, who was perfectly well last night.  But it is to
consult you about Arnold that I have hurried here
to-day.  I learnt something yesterday and
immediately went out to Southampton last night, where
my worst suspicions were confirmed.  It struck me
as strange that a young man in his position should
be telegraphing for money, and I heard one or two
rumours in the early part of the week.  You must
not be too hard upon the boy, because one never
knows what temptations unscrupulous women put
in the way of impressionable men.  And, if I may
be allowed to say it, in worldly matters Arnold is
a little lax."

All the colour left Mrs. Rent's cheeks.  She sat
for a moment with her hand pressed to her heart.
Then her dignity and courage came back to her.
Her voice was tranquil as she spoke.

"Perhaps you had better begin at the beginning,
my dear friend," she said.  "A mother is always
anxious about her child.  She has gloomy moments
when she fears the worst.  I won't say that Arnold
has never given me any anxiety, because that
would not be true, but I never dreamt he would so
far forget himself as to tarnish his good name and
honour.  Do you mean to say that he allowed himself
to get entangled?"

"That would be hardly fair," Westlake said,
with lawyer-like caution.  "I am told that the lady
is exceedingly beautiful and that she has been very
unhappy in her married life.  She has been
described to me as a sweet saint, a kind of Madonna—just
the sort of creature who would be likely to
appeal to a chivalrous, romantic man like your son.
I believe that the husband turned his wife out of
the house, or that he sold the house over her head,
which comes to much the same thing.  Unfortunately,
Arnold appeared on the scene at that very
moment, and that is how the trouble began.  At
any rate, the mischief is done and nothing we can
say can alter it.  The worst feature is that Arnold's
career is seriously checked.  He will have to delay
matters.  He will have to abandon his experiments
till this fancy is forgotten.  No one would listen to
a man who had been god in the car to another
man's wife.  Of course, this sounds very cruel, but,
then, you are always so rational and reasonable
that I can speak to you the more freely.  Believe
me, I would have given half I possess if I could
have saved the situation before it was too late."

"I know it," Mrs. Rent said quietly.  "My dear
Richard Westlake, this is a bitter blow to me.  As
yet I can hardly realise it.  He must have been
mad.  He must have been carried away by impulsive
good-heartedness.  But we are wasting time.
I must see Arnold.  I suppose I shall even have to
see the woman.  I shall have to sit down in the
same room with her."

"That is the point I was coming to," Westlake
said, almost eagerly.  "I want to prevent those
misguided people from coming here.  That must
be avoided at any cost."

"Here!" Mrs. Rent murmured.  "Do you mean
to say that that woman would have the audacity
to come to Alton Lee?"

"I think you will find that that will be the
programme," Westlake said shrewdly.  "Unless I am
mistaken, Mrs. Charlock will pose as a martyr,
driven to despair by the brutality of a cruel
husband.  If she gets a footing here the whitewashing
process will be half complete.  It will be held that
she has the support and sympathy of so great a
lady as Mrs. Rent.  And even if the other man
takes proceedings, as he is sure to do, half the
people who read the case will come to the conclusion
that Mrs. Charlock is an injured woman.  She
may be a saint, of course.  But that is not a
synonym for a fool."

Mrs. Rent looked despairingly across the park.
She was beginning to appreciate the full force of
the disaster.  Her pride was in arms.  The strong
side of her character began to show uppermost,
and there was a depth and force in her moral
nature that few people dreamt of.  Her duty was
plain.  If it wounded her to the heart, she must
do that which was right and proper.

"I begin to see my way," she said quietly.  "I
will go and see my unhappy boy and this woman.
I will go up with you to-day.  It may be that there
are extenuating circumstances.  Indeed, I shall only
be too glad to be able to take a lenient view of this
disgraceful affair.  But if you will give me Arnold's
address I will telegraph to him that on no account
is he to come here.  It would be an outrage."

"To tell the truth," Westlake confessed, "I have
already taken the liberty of sending a telegram in
your name.  I did it directly I got the news.  You
see, there was no time to be lost, and they might
already be on their way."

"Quite right," Mrs. Rent murmured.  "By the
way, what did you say was the name of this
woman?  It sounded familiar."

"Charlock," Westlake explained.  "I believe her
husband is an artist, or something of that kind."

"I wonder if he is any relation to *the*
Charlock?" Mrs. Rent mused.  "I have been in
correspondence with him.  But I suppose that is out of
the question, especially as there are two or three
Charlocks who are artists."

Westlake glanced at the speaker.  She was taking
the blow with far greater resignation and courage
than he had expected.  The colour had crept back
into her cheeks.  Her face was strong and resolute.
Come what might, she would do the right and
proper thing; she would vindicate the honour of
the family.  She rose now and suggested that it
was time for tea.

"It seems strange to mention the meal," she
said, "but I suppose the world will go on the same,
even though this black disgrace has fallen on the
family.  But fancy having to tell Ethel!  My heart
sinks at the mere thought of it.  And the servants,
too, every one of whom was born on the estate.
But the thing will have to be done, bitterly as one
resents it.  Everybody must know.  There shall
be no attempt at deceit or prevarication.  As soon
as we have had tea you had better decide to take a
stroll in the garden and smoke a cigar.  I shall not
be able to rest till Ethel knows the story.  Now
give me your arm."

In silence they passed between the rose-bushes,
across the velvet lawns to the drawing-room.  The
light was subdued, and Mrs. Rent was grateful
for it.  She had no desire to be under the scrutiny
of Ethel's keen eyes.  The girl came forward from
behind a bank of roses and fern.  Something
suggested suppressed excitement in her manner.

"Well, are all the secrets told?" she asked gaily.
"Or has Mr. Westlake got a surprise in store for
us?  But, whether he has or not, I have a surprise
for you.  You know you were talking just now of
a famous artist who was to paint my portrait.
What would you say if I told you that Mr. John
Charlock is in the library at the present moment?"

Something like a groan escaped Westlake's lips.

"The husband," he murmured.  "The husband,
for a million.  Now, what on earth is the fellow
doing here?"

There was a startled expression on Mrs. Rent's
face.

"This had not occurred to me," she murmured.
"Strange that I had failed to notice it.  Fancy a
thing like this happening in so quiet and respectable
a house as Alton Lee!  It reminds one of those
dreadful plays where extraordinary events take
place in the most unexpected quarters.  Who could
have foreseen the elements of such a drama
four-and-twenty hours ago?  I should have said this
would be the last house in the world to entertain
anything like this.  But perhaps the misfortune
will prove to be a blessing in disguise.  Don't you
think we might settle matters, now that Mr. Charlock
is here, in such a way that there shall be no
scandal?  I cannot possibly believe that my son
is——"

"An ordinary human being," Westlake said
cynically.  "My dear madam, when a young man
comes in contact with a beautiful woman who is
cold-blooded and playing entirely for her own
hand, nobody knows what will take place.  Believe
me, this is not the time for weakness or compromise.
It may be that your son is acting from the
highest possible motives.  It may be that his soul
is full of chivalry and all that kind of thing.
Nevertheless, I should like to hear what you have to
suggest."

Mrs. Rent pondered the matter for a moment.

"Cannot you think of anything?" she asked timidly.
"Oh, I don't know how to act.  I can't think
what to do for the best.  And yet it seems as if
this were a direct intervention of Providence.  On
the other hand, you may say that it would be far
better if Mr. Charlock left the house without
delay."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`"LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG"`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   "LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG"

.. vspace:: 2

Ethel Hargrave turned with a startled
expression on her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked.  "Is there
anything wrong, aunt?  You both look as though
something dreadful had happened."

"Never mind that for a moment," Westlake
interrupted.  "It so happens that I am particularly
interested in this Mr. Charlock.  Tell me, what
is the gentleman like?"

"I like him," Ethel went on, "though he does
remind one strongly of a bulldog.  He has a
tenacious, fighting face.  But I always was fond of
bulldogs.  They are such gentle, faithful creatures
when you come to understand them."

"You have been talking to him," Mrs. Rent
murmured.

"Oh, dear, yes.  We had quite a long conversation.
Our introduction was as unconventional as
the most bohemian could have wished.  Mr. Charlock
came up the drive carrying a poor little terrier
in his arms.  I fancy the dog had been run over,
for it was bleeding from a wound in the side, and
making a horrid mess of Mr. Charlock's grey flannel
suit, which fact I ventured to point out to him.
He didn't even take the trouble to reply.  He was
too busy with the dog.  I suppose this incident
impressed me favourably.  Only a really kind-hearted
man would have taken all that trouble about a
toy-terrier."

Mrs. Rent and Westlake did not appear to be
listening.  The solicitor turned to his hostess and
elevated his eyebrows.

"This is certain to be the same man," he said.
"The circumstance is so extraordinary that it could
not be anybody else.  I think there is one thing we
can count upon—he has not come to make any
disturbance.  I should not be surprised to find him
utterly ignorant of any relations between that lady
and your son.  It is unfortunate that he should be
here at this moment, but it can't be helped.  Don't
you think it would be as well if I saw him and
explained matters?"

"Perhaps you had better," Mrs. Rent murmured.
"Naturally, I have a certain amount of
sympathy for Mr. Charlock, and I agree with you
that he has only come here to talk over Ethel's
portrait.  If you will be so good as to see him——"

"What is all this mystery?" Ethel demanded.
"Why am I being kept in the dark?  Not but what
I shall know sooner or later, because dear Aunt
Helen is one of the most transparent women in the
world.  It would be impossible for her to keep a
secret for more than a day."

Westlake turned to Mrs. Rent.

"You had better tell her," he said.  "Meanwhile,
I'll go and see what I can do with the
artist."

Westlake's tone was so grave that the smile
faded from Ethel's cheeks.  She placed an arm
around her aunt's neck and kissed the white cheek
tenderly.

"I know you are in some trouble," she murmured.
"Tell me what it is.  You have lost all
your money?"

"Not a penny," Mrs. Rent replied.  "A money
loss would be nothing to the trouble I am suffering
now.  It is difficult to tell you the truth, but it will
have to be told.  You know how proud I have
always been of Arnold.  You know how I have
boasted that the boy could do nothing wrong.
Well, he has disgraced us.  There is no other word
for it.  He has forgotten his duty to God and to
himself.  He has deliberately broken one of the
Commandments."

Ethel's face grew as pale and colourless as that
of her companion.

"Do not be afraid to speak," she murmured.
"Try to forget that I am not a child.  What has
Arnold done?"

"There was a woman," Mrs. Rent said incoherently.
"She was a married woman, which makes
matters worse.  And now she has left her husband
... with Arnold.  I could not say more if I sat
here all night.  Of course, one could find excuses
for the boy.  One could argue that he has acted
in this mad fashion from chivalrous motives.  But
the sorry truth remains that these two have gone
off together, and that scandal is bound to follow.
Of all the paths of dishonour that my boy might
have trodden, I cannot think of one more discreditable
than this.  Don't press me to say more.  Don't
ask me for details, for I have none to give you.
Mr. Westlake came here at once to break the
trouble to me, and I have no doubt that I shall
have a long letter from Arnold in the morning."

"What are you going to do?" Ethel asked.  She
could think of nothing else to say.  "You will see
him, of course."

"I don't know.  I am not sure.  I have been
a fond and loving mother to Arnold, and I have
striven to do my duty by him, but, also, I owe a
duty to society.  And everything that I possess is
at my discretion.  If I like to say the word, Arnold
will rise to-morrow without a penny.  I have not
said much, because I hardly realise the magnitude
of this disaster.  Shame and disgrace like this
must not be allowed to go unpunished.  I don't
wish to be too hard upon anybody, but I cannot
believe that that woman would have thrown in her
lot with my son unless she had known he had great
expectations."

"I see what you mean," Ethel said.  "You are
going to take a firm stand.  But why not wait?
Why assume that there is anything really wrong?
It is not just to Arnold.  You do not mean to
disown him?"

"Oh, no, no," Mrs. Rent cried.  "I could not
do that.  That might be the means of sending a
poor, unhappy creature headlong to her ruin.  We
may find Mr. Charlock——"

"Mr. Charlock!" Ethel exclaimed.  "Do you
mean to say——"

"I am afraid so," Mrs. Rent went on.  "I am
afraid that the cruel irony of fate has brought the
poor gentleman into this house at the most
inopportune time.  It may be mere coincidence, but
that is almost too much to hope for.  What was I
saying?  Oh, yes.  You see, when the law gives
Mr. Charlock his freedom, it will be a point of
honour on Arnold's part to marry this woman.
Common humanity will prevent me from interfering.
Common decency would compel Arnold to
take that step.  And do you suppose that that
wicked creature would care much, so long as she
had money to spend?  She would make Arnold
take her on the continent.  She would drag him
down to her own level.  The best years of his life
would be wasted.  But if I say that they must go
their own way, without assistance from me, Arnold
may pull himself together and live down his
disgrace.  Don't you see, I wish to find out what this
woman is made of?  Perhaps Mr. Charlock may
be a wretch, and have driven his wife in sheer
desperation to take this step."

"I don't believe it," Ethel said firmly.  "I don't
believe that a man who would take so much trouble
over a stray dog could be guilty of unkindness.
There is something about his face that I like.  But
I interrupt you."

"What was I saying?  Oh, I want to test the
woman.  I want to see if she will remain true to
the man whose life she has spoilt in the face of
adversity.  If so, then in the future she has little
to fear from me.  Meanwhile, I have made up my
mind.  I will stop Arnold's allowance.  He will
not receive another penny from me.  He is strong
and brave and clever.  He is equipped for the
earning of his own living.  All this I will tell him
when we meet to-morrow.  It will be something
for him to find out that I have a side to my
character which he has not dreamt of.  You may not
think that I am right.  You may say that I am hard
and cruel——"

"You could never be that," Ethel murmured.
"I am very fond of Arnold, and this has been a
terrible blow to me, not the least so because it has
wounded my pride.  But I don't want to talk about
myself.  I am certain you are right, and that, in
the circumstances, you could not do anything else.
But you will let me go with you to-morrow.  I
know that Mr. Westlake will accompany you, but
a man is so useless in times like these.  Besides, I
have a desire to see the woman who has come in and
wrecked our paradise.  I want to judge her for
myself."

"That is out of the question," Mrs. Rent decided.
"But here is Mr. Westlake."

Westlake came slowly into the room.  He could
see that Mrs. Rent had told Ethel everything, and
that, therefore, he could speak freely.

"It is just as I thought," he said.  "This is the
husband of the woman who has infatuated your
boy.  As you may imagine, Mr. Charlock feels the
situation acutely.  Of course, it occurred to him
that you were the mother of Arnold Rent, but he
himself is here on business.  He says that you
invited him to come at the first favourable
opportunity, offering your hospitality, which a day or
two ago he thankfully accepted.  In his letter he
fixed to-day, and said he should be here at the time
mentioned, unless he heard from you to the
contrary.  Taking your silence for consent, he came.
And, mind you, till I told him a few minutes ago,
he had not the faintest idea of this madness
between Arnold and his wife.  I should like to save
you as much pain as possible, but you must see him."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CUPBOARD LOVE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   CUPBOARD LOVE

.. vspace:: 2

Charlock's wife was easier in her mind.  When
the start was made she could see her way clearly.
The long journey was coming to an end at length
and the period of inaction was nearly over.  Kate
Charlock sat in her seat, her eyes half-closed,
smiling serenely.  Arnold Rent thought he had never
seen her smile like that before.  It seemed to him
that he was one of the most fortunate of men.
Hitherto, it had never occurred to him to ask
himself a question.  He had not paused to debate
whether this woman loved him or not.  Perhaps he
was afraid to face his own vanity.  He had made
the suggestion on the spur of the moment, carried
away by a spontaneous outburst of love and
passion, and Kate Charlock had responded without a
struggle.

Yet he could not doubt her.  It was impossible
to doubt her.  No woman with a face and smile
like that could have done other than follow the
dictates of her heart.  She had placed herself in
his hands, and so long as he had health and
strength she should never repent it.  No woman
had ever been loved before as he loved Kate Charlock.

And she, on the other hand, sat there with
beautiful lines of resignation on her face, looking the
embodiment of all that was good, and pure, and
holy.  She seemed to be raised above the level of
the common earth.  And yet she, too, was thinking
as she surveyed Rent under the long fringe of her
eyelashes.

He was a nice-looking fellow, she told herself.
She regarded him with a certain amount of
good-natured contempt.  No doubt he would make a
man in time, but he would have many lessons to
learn first.  He would be easy to manage, too,
despite his square chin and the resolute lines of his
mouth.  He would not be surly and self-contained,
like John Charlock.  On the whole, Kate saw a
pleasant prospect before her after the scandal was
forgotten and things resumed their normal footing.
She knew exactly what the process would be.
For a year or so they would be studiously avoided
by even the most frivolous of her friends.  Then
people would languidly inquire whether or not
there had been some scandal in the past, and after
that others, bolder than the rest, would be calling
on Mrs. Arnold Rent.  They would come fast
enough, provided there were good dinners and
entertainments worth sharing, and Arnold Rent
would have to provide all those things.  It was all
very well to talk largely of living in a quiet, frugal
way and giving nine-tenths of his income to the
poor, but Kate Charlock would see to all that.  It
was the man's obvious duty to make things smooth
for her and pave the way into the pale of Society
again.  It didn't matter much about the man, for
in these matters the man never suffers.  It is
always the woman who pays.

The prospect was alluring, and accounted for the
heavenly smile which Arnold Rent was studying so
rapturously.  And yet behind it all was a fear that
Mrs. Rent might step down from her high place
and shatter the fond illusion.  Arnold Rent might
say that his mother idolised him.  It was easy to
prophesy that she would come forward and
welcome the fugitive with open arms.  The elderly
lady might be all that her son claimed for her, but
she was proud and prejudiced, and had all the
conventions of her class.  What if she were to
put her foot down firmly?  What if she refused
to see them?  The telegram she had sent to her
son did not indicate a conciliatory spirit.  Still, if
once the threshold were crossed, it would not be
easy to dislodge the culprits, and Arnold Rent as
yet had not seen anything but the mere fringe of
the artifices which his companion had at her fingertips.
She turned to him presently, a little tired of
her gloomy thoughts.

"What is your house like, Arnold?" she asked.

Arnold Rent's face lighted up with pleasure.

"Oh, Alton Lee is a beautiful place," he said.
"I don't know what kind of architecture you call
it, for it has been built from time to time, as
occasion required.  Now it is one mass of ivy and
creeping plants.  To my mind, it is the most
beautiful place in Devonshire.  It is so restful and
peaceful, and I don't believe there are any roses
like ours in the world.  I suppose, too, there is
not a finer collection of antique furniture in the
South of England.  I have known my grandfather
entertain a hundred visitors without the slightest
inconvenience."

"How charming," Kate Charlock murmured.
"But that kind of thing is very extravagant.  I
suppose that is why so many of our great families
have become so poor."

The speaker uttered the words thoughtfully, as
she gazed dreamily out of the carriage window.
Rent did not notice what lay behind the simple
speech.

"Oh, we are by no means poor," he said.  "I
don't suppose the Rents have been more mercenary
than other people, but it so happens that most of
them married money.  Our tastes have been fairly
simple, too, and we have been very lucky in our
advisers.  The last time I saw our solicitor,
Mr. Westlake, he told me that I should some day have
the control of an estate worth nearly a million."

Kate Charlock smiled and murmured something
to the effect that money was not everything.
Nevertheless, the statement filled her with the keenest
pleasure.  In her mind's eye, she could see the
stately house rising above the sea.  Already she was
beginning to rearrange the various rooms with
their priceless furniture.  She saw herself a
popular hostess, eagerly sought after and invited
everywhere.  Arnold Rent was placing his future in her
hands now, but it was only like casting his bread
on the waters, and the thing would be worth a
struggle.  It would be glorious to live the scandal
down and force the people who regarded her coldly
at first to come cringing for an invitation to
Alton Lee.  For the moment Kate Charlock
thought she was genuinely in love with the man
opposite.  Truly, fortune was favouring her.  She
was getting her recompense for the five dreary
years which she had endured under the roof of
John Charlock.

She was quite convinced of the fact, too, that
the blame was wholly Charlock's.  It *must* be so,
since all her friends had said so.  She looked back
now to the past five years with complacent pride
and soothing self-satisfaction.  But all that was
going to be altered.  Before two years had passed
there would be no more charming or popular
hostess in England than Mrs. Arnold Rent of Alton
Lee.  If only Arnold's mother——

Ah, there was the trouble.  With a subtle instinct
all her own, Kate Charlock made no attempt
to blind the issue.  It was from this quarter the
trouble was coming.  She felt certain of it.  She
closed her eyes and feigned sleep.  She was
getting a trifle tired of the sound of Arnold Rent's
voice.  She wished he were a little less boyish, a
little less certain of his ground.  Then, for a while,
she sank into oblivion, sitting up with a start when
the train stopped at a small station.

"We are here," Rent explained.  "It is only a
short way to the house, and I will take you a near
cut through the grounds.  Let us slip away before
the station-master comes fussing along."

It was not dark yet.  The air was full of the
smell of flowers.  The peaceful silence was restful
and soothing.  But Kate Charlock was not thinking
about that.  Her mind was possessed with the
reflection that all this was her companion's
property, and that very soon she would be mistress.
She had no keen eye for the beauties of the
country, but even she was moved to admiration as the
path sloped upwards and the great sylvan
landscape began to unfold itself.  She saw the wide
stretch of the park, where the deer were moving
like phantoms in the dusk.  She noted the outline
of the grand old house beyond.  For the moment
she was touched and thrilled.  It was not the first
time she found herself in one of the stately
English homes.  She had always envied the lot of folk
who were blessed in this way, and soon she would
actually have one of her own.

"Is it not perfect?" Rent said, with a thrill in
his voice.  "Are you surprised that I should love
the place as I do?  The time will come when you
will be just as fond of Alton Lee as I am myself.
Isn't it a paradise?"

"It is, indeed," Kate Charlock said rapturously.
"But do not let us think so much of our own happiness
when there are others to consider.  I am more
concerned for your poor mother than anyone else.
Do you know, I should be almost thankful if you
made up your mind to turn back, even at this
moment.  Oh, Arnold, do you think that your mother
will allow me to stay?"

Arnold Rent smiled convincingly.

"I have no doubt about it," he said.  "Of course,
I don't disguise the fact that this will be a terrible
shock to my poor mother, but, you will see, she
will make the best of it, especially when she comes
to hear your story.  I am going to leave you here
till I can make you my wife.  That is one of the
ways by which we can stifle the breath of scandal.
And when you become a member of this household——"

Kate Charlock quickened her footsteps.  Something
like a chill passed over her for a moment.

"Come along and let us get it over," she said.
"The suspense is more than I can bear.  And
if your mother fails me in this dreadful crisis,
why——"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`UNBIDDEN GUESTS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center medium bold

   UNBIDDEN GUESTS

.. vspace:: 2

Meanwhile, Mrs. Rent was with Charlock in
the library.  She saw before her a tall, thick-set
man, whose hard features and smileless eyes
impressed her with a fancy that he was the central
figure in some dark tragedy.  Yet there was that
vague something about John Charlock that
appealed to the woman's sympathies, for he, too, had
suffered like herself.  The same woman who had
ruined Arnold Rent had brought shame and
disgrace to John Charlock.  He stood bowing gravely
till Mrs. Rent came forward and timidly held out
her hand.  Then, at length, he spoke.

"This is a cruel trick that Fate has played us,"
he said.  "Believe me, if I had known what had
happened I should not be here this evening.  I
suppose Mr. Westlake has explained to you how the
misunderstanding came about.  And I think I know
now why you did not get my letter.  I had placed
it with others on the hall table two days before.  It
was the day I lost my home.  You see, I have been
in great money difficulties, due principally to the
extravagance of the woman who is my wife.  One
of my creditors stripped my house of everything,
and left me nothing but the bare walls.  I am not
complaining.  I had fair warning, and the money
was honestly due to the man.  Doubtless, in the
confusion of the moment, my letters were lost sight
of.  But perhaps you will think that I ought not
to stay any longer.  I daresay I can find some
accommodation in the village till the morning."

"Indeed, you cannot," Mrs. Rent exclaimed, all
her hospitable instincts on fire.  "There is no house
of entertainment within some miles of this and the
few cottages around are impossible.  I appreciate
the delicacy of your feelings, but you will have to
remain till the morning.  And the thing is no fault
of yours."

"My wife's friends will tell you otherwise,"
Charlock said, with a bitter smile.  "They will
tell you that she is a sweet, saintly creature who
put up with my cruel indifference till human nature
could bear the strain no longer.  Indeed, your son
was good enough to tell me so.  As a friend of
my wife's, he ventured to expostulate with me, a
comparative stranger, on the way I treated her."

All the blood came flaming to Mrs. Rent's face.

"He didn't," she said hoarsely.  "He never went
so far as that.  It is incredible.  What did you
say?"

"I said nothing.  I never say anything.  The
heart knoweth its own bitterness.  There is no
man on earth who has learnt the wisdom of that
saying more than myself.  And why should I try
to put the world right?  In the eyes of most
people I am a boor and a brute.  I had no business to
tie a beautiful woman to a personality like mine.
Why should I waste my time in proving to the
world that the world is wrong?  Why should I
proclaim from the housetops that I am a broken
and disappointed man, with nothing but my work
to fall back upon?"

Charlock appeared to have forgotten himself.
The words burst in a stream from his lips as he
paced up and down the room.  Never before had
he shown his heart like this to a stranger.  Yet
there was something like sorrowful sympathy in
the eyes of his hostess that seemed to draw
confidences from him.

"I think I understand," Mrs. Rent said gently.
"Is your wife, then, so wonderfully prepossessing?"

"I think she is the most beautiful woman I
have ever seen," Charlock said, in the same tense
tones.  "She is outwardly the embodiment of
womanly innocence and purity, and I gave her all
the heart that a lonely and self-contained man
possesses.  How she has repaid me I leave you to find
out for yourself.  And yet, if she were to come
back to me now and place her hands upon my
shoulders and ask me to forgive her, I should be as
wax in her hands.  Wait till you see the woman
called Kate Charlock before you judge your son
too harshly.  But, then, you are a woman, and do
not know how we men feel when we come in contact
with temptation.  Mind you, I am not defending
myself.  I am going to make no defence.  When
your son came to me and spoke as he did I saw
that heart and soul he was the slave of my wife.
He did not know it.  He did not realise it at the
moment, but I let him chide me where ninety-nine
men out of a hundred would have kicked him out
of the house.  But I was patient.  I asked him to
come four-and-twenty hours later, when I would
show him what I was going to do.  At the end of
that time I knew that my home would be no more
than a name.  And then I forgot all about my
scheme of revenge.  And when the time came and
my home was no more, I stood within the bare
walls and made my wife an offer.  There was to
be an end of all her shameful extravagance.  I was
going into a cottage, where we should live without
a servant till my debts were paid.  My wife
refused to go, and in a fit of sullen indifference I
turned away and left her in the empty house....
It was then that your son came along....  I can
say no more.  I leave the rest for you to imagine.
And now, if you will permit me, I will seek some
lodging for the night."

Gently but firmly Mrs. Rent refused to listen to
the suggestion.  Till the morning, at any rate, she
would not hear of Charlock seeking quarters
elsewhere.  It would be a dull and dreary evening, but
that was inevitable in any case.  It was a quiet and
somewhat strained meal from which they all rose
presently with feelings of undisguised thankfulness.
It was barely dark, and the sea shimmered
in the afterglow of the sunset.  Charlock crossed
over towards the French windows and stepped out
upon the lawn, followed by Ethel.

"This is a lovely spot," he said.  "Isn't there a
wonderful walk here through the rose gardens
leading to the sea?  Would you mind showing it
to me?  I may never have another chance of seeing
it.  Won't you come?"

"We will all go," Mrs. Rent suggested.  "Anything
is better than sitting brooding in the house.
Ethel, will you run upstairs and get a wrap for me?"

They started off presently, Ethel and Charlock
a little in front of the rest.  For a time they were
silent, till, at length, the perfect beauty of the
scene fell like a charm upon Charlock and he
began to talk.  It was a new thing for him to have
a companion in sympathy with himself.  But the
responsive look in Ethel's deep eyes seemed to
draw him to her.  It was not so much what he said
as what he implied that led Ethel to believe that
he was both a miserable and a misunderstood man.
The church clock was striking the hour of ten
before they turned and made their way again towards
the house.

"I believe I have been talking for a good hour,"
Charlock said.  "I never remember doing such a
thing before in all my life.  I hope you will not
run away with the idea that I am a loquacious man."

Westlake and Mrs. Rent drew up to the rest,
and they all stood enjoying the fragrance of the
night.  Mrs. Rent turned at last with a suggestion
that it was getting chilly, and that it would be more
prudent to go indoors.

"A few minutes longer," Charlock pleaded.  "To
an artist such a scene is exceedingly attractive.  One
could forget all one's troubles in a place like this."

Before Mrs. Rent could make any reply a servant
came across the lawn and spoke to her mistress.
She seemed to be excited, and her eyes
danced with pleasure.

"What is it, Mary?" Mrs. Rent asked.

"Mr. Arnold has come back unexpectedly,
madam," the maid replied.  "He would like to
see you in the library, please.  I forgot to say that
there is a lady with him."

"Say I will come," Mrs. Rent said faintly.

Now that the crisis had arrived, the unhappy
mother felt like shirking it altogether.  She had
not forgotten what Charlock had said.  She was
prepared to make every allowance for her son.
But, even then, she would have to do violence to
her feelings.  She only wanted to be just, to do
that which was right and proper.  And, after all,
she only had John Charlock's word as to the way
in which he had been treated.  And she was bound
to confess that he did not look in the least like a
man capable of making a woman happy.  Perhaps
his wife was the injured saint she took herself to
be, and her son might be acting from the highest
and purest motives.  Such things had happened
over and over again, despite the fact that the world
was cold and critical.  But the matter had to be
faced, and the sooner the better.

In a dreamy sort of way Mrs. Rent saw her
son's smiling face.  She noticed the heightened
colour on his cheeks.  Then she saw the most
beautiful woman her eyes had ever fallen upon.  Oh,
it was impossible to believe that this was a cold,
scheming creature playing for her own hand.  No
one could look upon that face and think her
anything but innocent.  And Mrs. Rent thought she
could vouch for her son.

As she stood there she saw the smile on Kate
Charlock's face soften wonderfully.  The woman
advanced towards her with an obvious intention
shining in her eyes.

She stepped back instinctively.

"No, no," she cried.  "The time is not ripe for
that.  I cannot allow you to kiss me—yet."





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.. _`ACROSS THE THRESHOLD`:

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   CHAPTER XX


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   ACROSS THE THRESHOLD

.. vspace:: 2

Kate was in the house at last—in the long
drawing-room, where the servants had lighted the
lamps.  Though pale and agitated, she could not
resist the temptation to glance furtively about her.
She had not lived under the same roof with a great
artist for five years without learning something of
the value of beautiful things.  She was not slow
to appraise the works of art.  In her eyes the place
was a trifle old-fashioned and out of date.  Already
she could see her way to make an imposing salon
of the room.  Then, as she saw Rent looking
eagerly towards her, she lowered her eyelids and
sighed deeply.

"I ought not to have come in with you," she
murmured.  "I see that it was a mistake.  I ought
to have waited outside till you had seen your
mother and prepared her for my coming.  It would
have been so much more——"

The speaker's voice trailed off into a murmur.
She was going to say "dramatic," but she stopped
just in time.  At the same moment there were
sounds of voices outside, and the outline of dim
figures could be seen advancing across the misty
lawn.  Instinctively Kate Charlock drew closer to
Rent's side.

"My dearest, there is nothing to be frightened
of," he said soothingly.  "That was my mother's
voice you heard.  See, she is coming this way.  I
can't make out who the others are, but one of them
looks to me like our solicitor, Mr. Westlake.  If
so, it is rather fortunate.  Westlake always takes
such a common-sense view of matters.  He is sure
to be on our side."

There was nothing more to be said, nothing to
do but wait for the coming of Mrs. Rent.  And
she seemed in no hurry to detach herself from her
companions.  Why did she not come? Arnold wondered.
Usually she was so eager to see him.  In
the selfishness of the moment it had not occurred
to Rent that the ordeal his mother was about to go
through would be more distressful than his own.
And the cruel shock of finding that he was here in
defiance of her telegram was not calculated to make
the mother's heart any the less sore and angry.
Mrs. Rent stood outside, her hands tightly clasped,
looking first from one to the other for support.

"Oh, this is downright cruel," Ethel burst out.
"He ought never to have come like this.  If he
came at all, it should have been alone.  My dear
aunt, sit down and collect yourself.  I know you
will be brave and steadfast when it comes to the
point, or perhaps you would like Mr. Westlake——"

"No, I must go through with it myself," Mrs. Rent
said.  "This is a burden that no one can
share with me."

"I am afraid the fault is mine," Charlock said.
"I ought to have gone away when I found out
whose house I had come into.  I should not have
hesitated.  It is a cruel stroke of fortune, and no
one regrets it more than myself."

"It is no fault of yours," Mrs. Rent murmured.
"Will you mind talking to Miss Hargrave while
Mr. Westlake and I go into the house?  I should
like him to be near me, though I do not wish him
to be present at the interview."

Ethel and Charlock stood alone together, silent
and anxious.  They watched the others as they
went slowly towards the house, then Charlock
touched his companion's arm.

"We had better not stay here," he suggested.
"We can see and hear too much.  Do you know,
I feel as if, in a measure, I have thrust this black
humiliation and disgrace upon you.  I feel hot and
cold all over that I should even be discussing the
thing with one so young and innocent as yourself."

"And why?" Ethel said.  "I am not a child.
I have heard of these things before, though I never
dreamt that I should live to see the like of this at
Alton Lee."

"It is like a romance," Charlock laughed bitterly.
"What puppets we are in the hands of Fate!
And I thought once that I was a strong man
capable of defying the world and shaping my own
destiny.  I daresay you will say that it is my own fault,
and perhaps you will be right.  I don't know why
I should be talking to you like this.  But the
peacefulness of the night and the look of sympathy in
your eyes invite my confidence.  But I will swear
to you that if I could have foreseen that this
honourable old family would be disgraced in this
fashion, I would never have let my home go.  I would
have worked all the harder to gratify my wife's
extravagance.  I would have made it worth her
while to stay.  Perhaps I was too candid, too
brutal.  Do you suppose she would have left me as
she did if she had come back the other night and
found the homestead intact?  Oh, dear, no.  With
all her air of purity and sweetness, my wife always
had a shrewd sense of business and self-interest."

"Yet you loved her once," Ethel murmured.

"My dear young lady, I love her now.  She has
only to say one word and the whole past is
forgotten.  It may seem strange to you, brought up
as you have been, that a man should love a woman
for whom he has the deepest contempt.  But there
are many such cases in the world.  Call it madness,
call it fascination—anything you like.  It is
possible for a man to love a woman devotedly and
yet not to speak to her, though she is under the
same roof as himself.  That has been my case during
the last four years.  I have despised myself for
my weakness—I, who in other matters can be so
strong.  I am a self-contained man, and five years
ago I thought I had found paradise.  Then it
began slowly to dawn upon me that I had made a
mistake.  There was sweetness and melancholy
and fascination in my wife's smiling face, but no
atom of sympathy behind it.  She had no feeling
for me.  She had no kind of pride in my work.
Even when she began to hang the millstone of
debt about my neck she had no concern, though on
more than one occasion I was on the verge of a
breakdown.  But I don't ask you to take all these
things for granted.  I don't even ask you to believe
me.  You will know my wife later, and it is probable
that she will convince you that I am a brute
and a boor and not fit to mix with decent people."

Ethel made no reply.  There was something in
this man's grim tones that moved her strongly.
Someone was coming from the house.  She could
hear footsteps on the gravel.  Then the light from
the drawing-room windows fell upon the face of a
woman who was slowly crossing the lawn.  Her
features were serene and beautiful.  Her eyes
glistened with heavy tears.  It was only for a moment
that Ethel saw the vision before it vanished in the
shadows.  The girl felt Charlock's hand tighten
on her arm.

"My wife," he said hoarsely.  "She has come
out to leave her lover and his mother alone.  Did
you see her face?"

"Indeed I did," Ethel murmured.  "The beauty
of it!  And such an air and expression of sweetness
and resignation I never saw before.  It seems
impossible to believe——"

"I see you pause," Charlock said grimly.  "I
know exactly what you are going to say.  It does
seem impossible.  Before God, it seems to me
sometimes that it is impossible and that I am only
dreaming.  It would go hard with me if we both
stood before a jury of our countrymen and she told
her tale after I had finished mine.  But I won't
say more.  I will leave you to judge for yourself.
You have seen us both, and you must rely upon
your own instincts.  I won't ask you to give any
verdict, because I feel sure it will be against me."

"I am very, very sorry," Ethel murmured.

"Of course you are.  But the point is, whom
are you sorry for?  There is no halfway in the
business."

Ethel hesitated for a moment.  She hardly
seemed to know what to say.  A bitter smile crossed
Charlock's lips.

"Let me put it plainly to you," he said.  "And
yet I don't know why I should worry you with this
business.  I have never spoken to a living soul like
this before.  At any rate, I am going to be candid
now.  Let us assume that my wife has a genuine
grievance against me.  Say that I am too great a
bully and savage for any decent woman to live
with.  I am prepared to admit that I did turn her
out of doors in a brutal fashion.  It is possible she
can justify her conduct in her own eyes and that
she is here with the purest and most disinterested
of motives.  Mind, in her way, she is a good
woman—that is, she is highly virtuous.  She would
never forget herself.  She would never step
over the border, not even for the sake of
Arnold Rent and all the fortune he is to inherit.
No doubt she has persuaded herself that she has
been right in coming here, that she has a moral
claim upon Mrs. Rent's protection.  She would
argue it all out in her own mind.  She would wait
for me to commit some blazing indiscretion, and
then invoke the aid of the law to release her from
such a creature as myself.  She would think that
the proper thing to do.  And after that she would
be in a position to marry Arnold Rent and settle
here as a county lady.  Whether she would keep
it up or not is another matter.  And now, after
I have told you this, let me repeat my question.
You said you were sorry just now.  Is your
sympathy for her or for me?"

Ethel hesitated for a moment, and Charlock
watched her with an anxiety which surprised himself.

"I think," she said in a voice little above a
whisper, "that I am the more sorry for—you."





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.. _`THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY.`:

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   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY

.. vspace:: 2

Meanwhile, an entirely different scene was
being enacted in the drawing-room.  All her life
Mrs. Rent had lived most placidly.  She had never
been confronted with a crisis like this.  Indeed,
the mere suggestion that such a cataclysm could
have happened in the family would have moved
her to gentle scorn.  And now, on the spur of the
moment, and almost solely upon her own initiative,
she had to decide between her duty and her beloved
son.  It had cost her an effort to speak as she
had done to Kate Charlock, and when she saw the
half-wounded expression on the woman's face her
heart smote her, and she became, for the time
being, almost infirm of purpose.

Still, the situation had to be faced.  She had a
stern and rigid duty both to her conscience and to
the family whose name she bore.  There was a
curious vein of Puritanism in her blood which came
to her aid now.  And it was very difficult, indeed,
to stand looking at these two, to see her son
advance with outstretched hands, and yet to hold
back.  He would have taken her in his arms and
kissed her, but something warned him that the
occasion was not opportune.

Under her long lashes, Kate Charlock watched
him demurely.  Why was he hesitating?  It was
necessary the fortress should be taken by storm.
And Arnold Rent stood there shyly, his face downcast
like that of a child detected in some fault.

"Mother," he murmured, "have you nothing to
say to me?  Have you no kind of welcome to offer
to-night?"

The words were pleading and almost passionate,
but seemingly they did not move Mrs. Rent at all.

"I am at a loss to understand why you are here,"
she said.

"Why I am here?" Arnold echoed.  "Where
else could I go?  When you have heard all the
circumstances of the case——"

"I have heard them already.  Mr. Westlake
came down on purpose to tell me.  Come and stand
here where I can see you—where the light shines
full upon your face."

Arnold Rent came obediently a step or two forward.

"Strange," the mother murmured.  "You have
not altered.  To all outward appearances you are
still the man of honour and integrity you used to
be.  And yet you can commit this crime and come
here to boast of it without the shadow of remorse,
even without a word of apology.  It seems incredible."

"But what apology should I make?" Arnold
demanded.  "What have I done that you should
speak to me like this?"

"You ask me what you have done!  Are you so
blind as not to see the results of your indiscretion?"

Kate Charlock raised her head suddenly.

"May I not be allowed to speak?" she pleaded.
"Is it not possible that when you come to hear my
story——"

Mrs. Rent raised her hand imperiously.

"Tell her to be silent," she commanded her son.
"Oh, I do not know what to do or what to say in
such a crisis.  Is it not bad enough without
bringing your partner in folly under this roof?  To
think that I should have lived to see a scene like
this at Alton Lee!  To think that I should be the
instrument chosen by Providence for the
punishment of my own son!  For that is what it comes
to, Arnold.  I was stunned at first.  I was unable
to believe the evidence of my senses.  But I begin
to see my way clearly.  The path of duty lies
plainly before me."

There was something cold and chilling in the
words.  They filled Kate Charlock with dismay.
All the world seemed to be slipping from under
her feet.  If the opportunity were lost, the chance
would never come again.  She darted forward and
threw herself in an *abandon* of grief on her knees
before the mistress of the house.  The ready tears
were streaming from her eyes.  Her beautiful
features were almost irresistible in their entreaty.

"Oh, won't you listen to me?" she said.  "You
are a kind, good woman; your face tells me that.
And yet, though you would be good and generous
towards the world, you decline to listen to one poor
woman's story.  Can't you understand how one
may suffer year by year until the strain becomes too
great, and, in a moment of passing madness, sacrifice
everything that a woman holds dear?  That
is my case exactly.  Oh, it is all very well for you,
whose married life has been the path of happiness,
to judge humanity from your own standpoint.  But
there are others——"

The woman's voice snapped suddenly like the
breaking of a harp-string.  She covered her face
with her hands, her whole frame shaking with
convulsive sobs.

Nor was it all acting.  For the time, Kate
Charlock was convinced that she was the unhappy,
abandoned wife of a man who had driven her
almost to madness in one moment of divine
despair.  She thrilled with self-pity.  She saw her
airy castles crumbling to the ground.  Unless this
old woman could be moved, there would be no rest
for the sole of her foot at Alton Lee.  The face
that she raised once more to Mrs. Rent's dark eyes
was stained with tears and broken with emotion.
Fighting for self-control as she was, Helen Rent
was moved now as she had seldom been moved
before.

"Get up," she said, almost gently.  "It is
unseemly that you should be kneeling here.  If you
have a story to tell, I may be disposed to listen to
it presently."

Slowly Kate Charlock rose to her feet and felt
her way across the room to a chair.  She had made
an impression.  On that point she felt certain.  If
she could only remain here a week, or even a day,
she had no fear of the result.  Alton Lee was
growing nearer.  She began to see herself installed.
She could hear the swish of the cards on the
green-topped tables.  She could imagine the rooms gay
with the laughter of friends.  But not yet, she told
herself, not quite yet.

"I will say no more," she murmured.  "Indeed,
when I came here I had no intention of speaking
at all.  I see now how wrong it was to come.  But
in the moment of my madness and despair——"

Once more the pleading voice ceased.  Once
more the ready tears rained down the beautiful
white face.  Surely this was no abandoned
creature, Helen Rent thought.  Surely John Charlock
had much to answer for.  No woman could be bad
with a face like that.  If Mrs. Rent could imagine
a saint stepping aside from the path of grace, then
was Kate Charlock in similar case.  And, in common
fairness, most of the blame must fall upon the
shoulders of her own son.  A wave of madness
must have come over him, in which he had forgotten
everything excepting the features of a woman
and his wild desire to sacrifice the world for her
sake.  Other men, in most respects both great and
good, had fallen in like manner.  A score of them
rose before Helen Rent's mental vision.

Yet she must be firm.  She must keep her head
throughout this ordeal.  Her white lips moved
rapidly in prayer for strength and endurance.  Kate
Charlock noted the flutter of those white lips, and
her subtle instinct told her what was passing
through the other woman's mind.  As a child she
had seen her mother at a crisis of her life praying in
like fashion.  The scene rose curiously before her
mind.  She could see it all as clear as if it had
happened only yesterday.

"It seems to me that we are wasting time,"
Mrs. Rent said, presently.  "I cannot ask you both to
leave the house to-night, because that would be
impossible, and there is nowhere else to go.  But
to-morrow will be different.  I have made up my
mind what I am going to do in your case."

"What is that, mother?" Arnold asked.

"That I will tell you when we are alone.  It only
concerns our two selves.  If you will come with
me——"

"No," Kate Charlock cried.  "Let it be here
and now.  As for myself, I wish to be alone for a
time in the open air."

Without waiting for remonstrance on the part
of either, she crossed the drawing-room and threw
back the windows.  She stood there with her face
turned up to the purple glory of the summer sky.
She saw the golden pageant of the stars; the
flower-laden breath of the evening was infinitely cool and
refreshing.  Here were the wide, trim lawns with
their well-ordered flower-beds.  Here was the noble
sweep of the stone terrace, and beyond it the dim
vista of the park, with the trees floating in a mist
like ships on a peaceful sea.

And all this was likely to be hers if she had but
the skill and patience to play for it.  There was
no regret in her heart for John Charlock.  He had
gone his own way.  He had left her free to choose
her own path.  And there was always the chance
of renewing the battle again on the morrow.

There were many cards to play, too, and if the
worst came to the worst, Kate Charlock would play
the great card of self-renunciation.  She would
offer Arnold back to his mother.  She would go
out into the world alone, hopeless and penniless, to
work out her own salvation.  Not in vain had she
been studying Helen Rent's features, under the
long fringe of her eyelashes.

"I wonder how he will manage it?" she murmured
to herself.  "I can stand here and listen,
and if my presence becomes necessary, well, then,
I shall be at hand."





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.. _`BREAD AND SALT`:

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   CHAPTER XXII


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   BREAD AND SALT

.. vspace:: 2

Helen Rent thought she should have been
conscious of a great feeling of relief when the
room was free of the presence of the woman who
had brought about her son's delirium.  But such
a sense was not experienced, nor even suggested.

"Now tell me how this happened," she said.

"Mother, I really cannot tell you," Arnold
responded.  "The truth is, I do not know.  It was
all so spontaneous.  It seemed so natural and
inevitable at the time.  Here was one of the most
beautiful women in the world, a good and true and
pure woman, mind you, neglected by her husband
in a manner that was positively shocking.  Don't
forget that there are some natures to which neglect
or hard words are worse than any physical cruelty.
Kate Charlock's case is one in point.  She was
being slowly driven mad by the creature to whom she
was tied.  She was forced to go into frivolous
society, or she would assuredly have lost her
reason.  It was at the house of one of these Society
women that I met her.  Even among a gathering
like that she was looked up to and respected as
none of the rest was.  I saw her most cruelly
insulted by her own husband in a house where I was
spending the evening; in fact, the thing was so
brutal that I ventured to expostulate.  Perhaps I
went too far, but Charlock did not seem to mind.
I implored him to treat his wife differently, and it
seemed to me that I had made some impression.
Then he asked me to call upon him at a certain
time in the evening, when he would give me a
practical reply.  And what did I find when I got
there?—the house stripped of everything, and the
woman alone, with no better home to go to than a
labourer's cottage, where she would not even be
allowed the use of a servant.  That is how Charlock
treated so perfect a woman as his wife.  And
then, I don't know how, but the whole rest
happened on the spur of the moment, and I am here
to-night to tell you this strange story.  I could not
say more."

"It sounds amazing," Mrs. Rent murmured.
"Let me put another point to you.  Suppose
Mr. Charlock had no alternative but to part with his
home!  Suppose that his wife's extravagance had
brought him to the verge of ruin!  Suppose that a
creditor had removed everything to pay his debt!
Do you think, in these circumstances, that the
woman was justified in refusing to share the
cottage which the man had to offer her?  Don't you
think it was her bounden duty to make every
sacrifice until those debts were paid?"

Arnold Rent waved the question impatiently aside.

"I don't know where you get your information,"
he said, "though I am prepared to admit, for the
sake of argument, that what you say is true.  At
present other things trouble me.  For better or
worse, I have cast the die.  You will admit that I
cannot change my course now."

"I should be the last to suggest it," Mrs. Rent
said mournfully.  "What are you going to do in
the meantime?  Your friends will turn their backs
upon you.  You will have to abandon your career.
But I will not dwell upon that.  I will confine
myself to the moment.  What are your plans?"

"My plans are simple enough, mother," Rent
replied.  "For the present I shall continue my
scientific work.  Nothing could interfere with that.
And from now, until Charlock makes up his mind
what to do, I do not intend to see Kate.  You will
acknowledge I want to prevent all the scandal I
can, and in that respect I am looking forward to
your assistance.  If you will allow Mrs. Charlock
to stay here and give her your moral support, I
am certain——"

"Oh, the boy is mad," Mrs. Rent exclaimed.
"That woman's beauty has intoxicated you.  I see
now what a mistake I made when I regarded you
as unspotted by the world.  My friends were right
when they said I should have sent you to a public
school and university.  Do you suppose for a single
moment that I could dream of having that woman
here?  Do you suppose that I could allow her to
come in contact with Ethel Hargrave?"

"Need Ethel know?" Rent suggested sullenly.

"She knows already.  I had to tell her.  No,
you shall stay one night here, but to-morrow you
must go elsewhere.  I have thought this matter
out, and I have made up my mind what to do.
Your path is plain.  You must make this woman
see her folly and return to her husband.  But did
it never occur to you to ask yourself one question
before you took this fatal step?  Do you suppose
that this woman would have thrown in her lot with
you if she had not known that you are Arnold Rent
of Alton Lee and the heir to a large property?  If
I call her and tell her that everything is at my
disposal, do you think she would not want time for
consideration?"

"You malign her," Arnold cried.  "I am certain
she never gave the matter a thought.  For my
sake——"

"Ah, for your sake," Helen Rent said.  "That
is just the point I want to arrive at.  For your sake
I am going to try that woman in the balance.  We
shall see whether she is found wanting or not.
From this week your allowance ceases.  You will
receive no more money from me.  You will be
thrown upon your own resources.  You will have
to earn your own living, and you will be the better
man for it.  The same remark applies to Mrs. Charlock,
though not to such an extent, because,
until the law settles the differences between her and
her husband, she will be entitled to an income.
Mr. Westlake told me this—I think he called it
maintenance.  It will not be much, but, at the same
time, it will be enough to keep her in a modest
way with due and becoming economy.  I don't say
that my decision is final, because if I find, say, at
the expiration of five years that there is likely to
be no more of these self-indiscretions and platonic
follies, I may change my mind.  But I am not
going to see Alton Lee made an asylum for social
experiments.  Had my prayers been answered and
you had asked Ethel to be your wife, I might think
differently.  But this matter is quite another story.
I hope I have made my meaning plain.  I hope
I have made you understand that you will have to
face the world now and work for your own living.
You little realise how much it hurts a mother to
speak in this fashion.  Perhaps you will know
some day.  Meanwhile, I have nothing to add to
what I have said.  Do you follow me?"

"Oh, I hear right enough," Arnold said bitterly.
"I hope before long that you will realise the cruel
injustice of what you are doing.  And you may be
sure that nothing will make any difference to Kate
Charlock.  She will be only too proud and pleased
to have the opportunity of showing the stuff she
is made of.  I suppose I have to thank Mr. Westlake
for all this."

"Indeed, you are absolutely and entirely wrong,"
Mrs. Rent exclaimed.  "The idea is wholly mine.
Of my own feelings I have said nothing.  I have
not alluded to the terrible grief and disappointment
that this thing has been to me.  To think
that a son of mine could so far forget himself—but
it is useless to go into that.  I am tired and
worn out, and this interview has tried me more
than I thought.  And there is another element in
the drama of which as yet you know nothing.  It
may surprise you to hear that Mr. John Charlock
himself is under this roof."

"He came to see you?" Arnold cried.

"Yes, but under the impression that your folly
had ceased.  You can imagine how distressing it
was when the discovery was made.  And now, how
am I to get out of this dilemma?  You will agree
that one of you must go.  It only remains for you
to make up your mind which it is to be."

"I am prepared to do anything you ask," Arnold
said.  "But what about Mrs. Charlock?  What
can we do with her?"

Mrs. Rent could only look at her son with
troubled eyes.

"It is very strange how perverse women are,"
Arnold went on.  "One would almost think you
are wilfully misunderstanding me.  Do you realise
how much the woman sacrifices, and how little the
man gives in return?  It has always been a fancy
of yours to regard me as a saint.  Let me tell you
now that I am nothing of the sort.  When I first
saw Mrs. Charlock, when I first understood how
unhappy she was in her domestic life, when I found
what that woman really was, it was a revelation
to me, and from that moment I laid aside all my
selfish aims and ambitions, and I was prepared to
make any sacrifice to save her from trouble and
affliction.  She is good and pure as Ethel Hargrave,
and I want you to befriend her for her own
sake, if not for mine.  To all intents and purposes,
Charlock has deserted her.  He has been guilty of
legal cruelty by turning her out of the house and
compelling her either to leave him or to degrade
herself by menial work.  His next folly will give
her the chance of appealing to the law to release
her altogether.  And then I shall be in a position
to make her my wife."

"Mistress of Alton Lee?" Mrs. Rent stammered.

A gleam came into Rent's eyes.  There was
something almost threatening in his attitude.

"Ay, I mean that," he murmured.  "Nothing
less.  And the sooner you understand it the better."





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.. _`BEHIND THE VEIL`:

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   CHAPTER XXIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   BEHIND THE VEIL

.. vspace:: 2

In the purple stillness of the night, Kate
Charlock could hear all that was taking place in the
drawing-room.  It did not occur to Arnold or his
mother that there was any chance of the cause of
all the trouble playing the eavesdropper.  Indeed,
the whole situation was so strange, so full of
dramatic surprises, that it was impossible to think of
anything but the word and the moment.

Kate Charlock had come back to herself with a
start as her husband's name was flung at her, so to
speak, from the drawing-room.  Thitherto she had
been listening in a vague sort of way, her mind
too full of plans for the future to take much heed.
Even now she had not given everything up for lost.
She followed with satisfaction Mrs. Rent's declaration
of what might happen if only the object of
Arnold's infatuation proved to be anything like the
woman he declared her to be.  It would not be
difficult to break down this wall of opposition when
she was Arnold's wife.  On the whole, it was worth
while to take the risk.  The struggle might be a
long one.  On the other hand, Kate Charlock
remembered that perpetual dropping wears away the
stone.  It would be no fault of hers if she were not
mistress of Alton Lee at the end of a year.  Doubtless
she would eat the hard bread of adversity in
the interval.  But the milk and honey to come
would make up for all that.  Surely a place like
Alton Lee was cheaply bought at the price of a
year's poverty.

Then the edifice suddenly crumbled and broke as
John Charlock's name was mentioned.  There was
no mistaking the significance of Mrs. Rent's words.
At that very moment Charlock was under the same
roof as his wife.  But why had he come?  What
scheme lay at the back of his mind?  It seemed
impossible he had come to fetch her away.  For a
moment it flashed across the woman's mind that
Charlock had journeyed to Devonshire hot-foot
for revenge.  He was just the kind of man to shoot
Arnold Rent and then take his own life.  He would
probably leave a long statement behind him detailing
his troubles from his own point of view—the
sort of statement that the press glories in and
publishes in prominent type.  If that happened, then,
indeed, would she be a marked woman for the
remainder of her days.  The rest of her years would
be spent like those of the heroine of the *Scarlet Letter*.

But it was not for long that these distracting
thoughts gripped Kate Charlock.  Then she smiled
at her own folly.  Charlock was a guest.  He had
partaken of Mrs. Rent's hospitality.  No, there
must be something deeper and more subtle in his
movements than this.  And there were other things
to think about.  It was impossible that she and
Arnold Rent and her husband could all sleep at
Alton Lee that night.  One or two of them would
have to go.  The air would have to be cleared.

Here was a situation that the turning of a hair
might transform into farce or hideous tragedy.
The elements of both were strongly in evidence.
Something would have to be done, and that swiftly.
But if John Charlock was in the house, where was
he?  Most of the windows of the living-rooms
were open.  The lamps were lighted, so that it was
possible to pass along the terrace in the darkness
and examine the various apartments without being
seen.  Here were the billiard-room, and the
dining-room, the library and the morning-room, but all
were empty.  It was rather disappointing, because
Kate Charlock was missing that fascinating
conversation in the drawing-room, without any
compensating advantage in return.  She stepped back
swiftly behind a clump of azaleas as two figures
came up the steps leading from the rose garden
and paused close to her.  One was the tall, slender
figure of a girl, whom Kate Charlock knew instinctively
must be Ethel Hargrave.  The other she
saw, with a sudden thrill, was her own husband.
It was not too dark for her to make out his
features.  She saw John Charlock hold out his hand,
which the girl took reluctantly.

"It seems a pity," the latter murmured, "but, as
you say, there is nothing else to be done."

"Of course there isn't," Charlock said in his
grim, level tones.  "Believe me, had I known what
was going to happen, I should never have come
near Alton Lee.  But who could picture anything
so repulsive as this?"

"It is very, very dreadful," the girl murmured.
"But what are you going to do?  I see you have
made up your mind not to stay here a moment
longer, but it is impossible for you to sleep out of
doors, even on a night like this."

"Sleep!" John Charlock said bitterly.  "I feel
that I shall never want to sleep again.  When I
am thinking out a new picture I often walk for
hours at a time.  I cannot rest.  But now that I
am thinking out a new life, it is infinitely more
serious.  Believe me, it would be torture to shut
me up in four walls to-night.  When I leave here
I shall walk as far as Exeter.  I shall probably
reach there to-morrow evening, by which time my
plans will be made.  But I am sorry that
circumstances have prevented me from painting your
portrait.  I never saw a face that appealed to me so
much before."

Kate Charlock drew a deep breath of relief.
Now she understood for the first time what had
brought her husband at this perilous moment to
Devonshire.  He had come to execute a commission,
ignorant of the fact that matters with Arnold
Rent had gone so far.  The thing was a cruel
coincidence, but John Charlock was doing his best to
clear the situation.

"You will say good-bye to your aunt for me,"
he said.  "I thought at first that I would see her
and give her my decision.  But, on the whole, it
would be much kinder simply to disappear.  I will
write and let you know where to send my things.
And now I will say good-bye.  And when, in the
future, you come to take the woman's part, as you
inevitably will, try to look upon me as not
altogether a monster.  Try to think the best of me."

"I shall always do that," Ethel murmured.  "You
have not said much, but I know you are a man who
has been deeply wronged.  I am certain that I shall
never take any other view."

"Oh, yes, you will," Charlock said grimly.  "You
have no idea what a subtle force you will have to
contend with.  Beauty and tears are more efficient
weapons than strength and courage.  You heard
what Mrs. Rent said to-night.  She would be strong
and resolute.  She was going to put the woman
who had humbled her pride and broken her heart
through an ordeal of fire.  She meant what she
said, honestly meant every word of it.  But within
a year from now Arnold Rent and his wife will be
master and mistress of Alton Lee as sure as I am
speaking to you at this moment.  The thing is
inevitable.  And then I will ask you to think of me
and my prophecy.  As for me, I will know how
to act."

Charlock lifted Ethel's fingers to his lips and
turned away abruptly.  The girl called to him
softly as he strode down the terrace, but he gave
no heed.  Ethel stood there, quiet and thoughtful,
until the last echo of Charlock's footsteps died
away.  Then she turned towards the house.  She
would have entered one of the open windows
leading to the morning-room had not Kate Charlock
stepped out from her hiding-place and laid a
detaining hand upon the girl's arm.  She started
back violently and a wave of colour rushed over
her cheeks as she saw the woman.  There was an
involuntary shrinking, a dislike and loathing in her
eyes that brought a corresponding glow into the
face of Kate Charlock.  The lamplight streaming
through the open windows picked out the features
of each so that there was no disguise.

With all her hatred and repugnance for the
author of this mischief, Ethel could not deny the
sweetness and beauty and purity of the woman's
face.  It was the face of an angel, pleading, timid
and humble; the tears in her eyes heightened their
loveliness and stole like diamonds down her cheeks.
Her whole attitude was one of supplication, of
appeal to womanliness and pity, and yet so natural
and spontaneous that there was not the slightest
suggestion of acting.

"You know who I am?" the woman whispered.

"I can guess," Ethel said, still studiously cold.
"You are Mrs. Charlock.  Is there anything that
I can do for you?"

"Ah, there are many things that you can do for
me," Kate Charlock whispered.  "Oh, my child,
I know how you feel.  My feelings would be just
the same if our positions were reversed.  It is
always the rich man who is hardest upon the want
of honesty in his poorer brother.  It is always the
woman who has never known trouble or temptation
who most reviles her sister who has fallen
in the gutter.  You think I am wrong.  Well,
perhaps I am, but I wish I could tell you of my life.
I wish I could make you understand how the
torment of a whole existence can be crammed into
the space of a single month.  If I had only had
one friend like yourself——"

The voice broke and trembled.  The long, slim
hands were pressed to the streaming eyes.  The
ice round Ethel's heart melted suddenly.
Impulsively she came forward and held out her hands.





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.. _`MISTRESS OF HERSELF`:

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   CHAPTER XXIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   MISTRESS OF HERSELF

.. vspace:: 2

Without looking up, Kate felt the girl coming.
The capitulation had been even more swift
than she had expected.  She knew now that she had
made a powerful friend in Mrs. Rent's household.
In those brief moments the recollection of John
Charlock's trouble and the words that he had
spoken were wiped clean from Ethel Hargrave's
memory.  This was not in the least like the picture
she had conjured up of Mrs. Charlock.  Beauty
and grace she had expected, but either the hard,
cold beauty of the calculating woman, or the
sensuous loveliness of the Circe.  And here was a very
woman, broken and bent by trouble, who had
fallen into dire folly because she could stand the
strain no longer.  And, after all, it was only
natural that any woman should give her heart to
Arnold Rent.

"I hope I did not appear to be hard," Ethel
murmured.  "But, you see, this is really a dreadful
business.  Nothing of the kind has ever come to
Alton Lee before.  We never dreamt that Arnold
would do anything that was not right and proper.
Perhaps we are a little old-fashioned and inclined
to take an exaggerated view of the situation.  I
daresay, in time, when we come to know you
better——"

"Please don't say any more," Kate Charlock
replied.  "It is enough for me that I have your
sympathy.  You are acquainted with my husband;
indeed, I saw you together just now.  Perhaps a
little knowledge of him would be the best excuse I
could have.  It was unfortunate he should have
come here at this time, but I will do him the justice
to say that he could not have known——"

"Oh, he didn't," Ethel cried.  "And he has
gone.  He could not remain at Alton Lee——"

"No, no, I understand.  And therefore he has
gone.  We may leave him out of our reckoning for
the present.  But that does not make things any
the easier for me.  I begin to see that it was wrong
for me to come here at all.  I started on the spur
of the moment, not realising till just a short time
ago that my presence under this roof is little less
than an outrage.  Indeed, Mrs. Rent as good as
told me so.  I could fall at your feet and die of
shame when I think how indelicate this must seem
to you.  And as I stood here just now I could not
help overhearing certain words which passed
between Arnold and his mother.  Her dictates of
hospitality are too fine for her to turn us out
to-night.  But one of us will have to go, and that
one must be me."

Ethel murmured something sympathetic.  She
saw the speaker's point and liked her all the better
for it.

"Of course, it must be Arnold," she said.  "Indeed,
there is no other alternative.  There is no
accommodation for you in the village.  You are a
stranger here.  Won't you come into the drawing-room
with me? and I will do my best to set matters straight."

Kate Charlock shuddered and shrank back as if
the mere idea were abhorrent to her.  Tears were
still in her eyes.

"I think not," she said.  "I have been too sorely
tried to-night to be able to stand any more, and
Mrs. Rent doubts me.  Do you know what she is
going to do?  From to-morrow Arnold practically
ceases to be her son.  She turns him out into the
world to shift for himself.  We are to face the
future as best we can.  Perhaps at the expiration
of four or five years, when I have proved my
single-mindedness and sincerity, we may be taken
back to the fold again.  Just as if there were need
for doubt, as if the love of a man like Arnold were
not enough for any woman."

The words were spoken with sincerity and passion,
but they cut into Ethel's heart like a knife.

"I must be loyal to my dear aunt," she said.  "It
seems to me that she has done quite right, though
I am sure it will be a bitter wrench, for she is
acting against every impulse of her kindly nature.
And if you can show her that she is wrong, why,
then, it will be a great triumph for you.  It will
go far to bring the happiness back to Alton Lee
again.  And now, if you will come with me into
the drawing-room——"

"No, no," Kate cried.  "Let me know how you
have settled it, and then perhaps you will be so
kind as to find me somewhere to sleep, for I am
weary and worn out.  Let me go into the library
and wait till you come back."

There was no more to be said.  Kate Charlock
flung herself back in an armchair and closed her
eyes.  When she opened them again she was alone.
Her tears had vanished.  The fatigue she had
spoken of seemed to fall from her like a garment.
She crossed rapidly over to the writing-table, and
in her clear, bold hand began a letter.  It was a
fairly long letter, but it was finished at length and
addressed to Mrs. Rent.  Kate proceeded to put
it in a conspicuous place and very quietly passed
into the hall and took down her hat and long
travelling wrap.  A few moments later she was
walking rapidly down the avenue in the direction of
the road.  Her face was clear and bright.  There
was something like a smile in her starry eyes; her
heart was free from fear.

Meanwhile, the conference in the drawing-room
was finished.  Arnold was standing pale and stern
by the side of his mother as Ethel entered.  He
hardly appeared to notice her at all, beyond a
sullen nod which brought the blood flaming to the
girl's face.  Very quietly she made her explanation.

"Oh, we have settled that," Arnold laughed
bitterly.  "It is I who am going away.  I can walk
as far as the station and stay in the waiting-room
for the early express.  Then, to-morrow,
Mrs. Charlock must do as she pleases.  I am certain
that she will lose no time in ridding you of her
detestable presence."

"I do not like to hear you speak like that,"
Mrs. Rent said.  "Ethel, will you go and ask the lady
if she will come this way for a moment?  I should
like her to feel——"

There was an uncomfortable pause for a few
moments till Ethel came back with a letter in her
hand.

"I cannot understand it at all," she said.
"Mrs. Charlock has disappeared.  Her wraps have
vanished from the hall, too.  She seems to have left
this letter behind, which is addressed to you, aunt.
After the way she spoke to me just now I am not
surprised to find that she has not felt equal to the
ordeal of staying here even for a single night."

"It was a fatal mistake," Arnold said hoarsely.
"I see it all now.  Only it is too late to rectify
matters."

Mrs. Rent reached for the letter and slowly
broke the seal.  She read aloud so that the others
could hear:


"All I can say is, forgive me.  It was wrong to
come, and I can stay no longer.  Though I am
without friends, I am not without resources, for
I have a little to assist me.  And yet I am glad to
have seen you all, even if it has been only to
convince you that I am not the hard, brazen, calculating
creature you took me to be.  I am going away
till I am free.  I shall not look upon any of you
again till I am ready to send for Arnold.  I want
no money or favour now, nor in the future.  I
want to show that I have given my heart to one
who will be able to support me without help from
anyone.  To be in receipt of your favours would
ruin the whole romance of the situation.  Perhaps
later, when I have proved myself, it may be
possible—but I can write no more."


The paper slipped from Mrs. Rent's fingers and
lay upon the carpet.  The eyes that she turned
upon her son were troubled and haggard.  He
turned away with a passionate gesture.

"Ah, yes," he murmured hoarsely, "she was
right to go.  All the same, mother, you have done
a cruel thing."

After all, Mrs. Rent was a woman.  She had
lived long enough as My Lady Bountiful in that
quiet country village to have become imbued with
the idea that hospitality and generosity were two
of the leading virtues which led directly to the
reward of heaven.  She had never before listened
unmoved to a tale of distress.  She had never
refused food or shelter to the most undeserving
object.  And now she had more or less deliberately
turned a human being out of her own house to face
the night, unaided and alone.  And, to make things
worse, she had acted with studied cruelty to a
woman who, whatever her faults might be, was
defenceless.

"I could not have expected this," she murmured.
"To confess freely, I had not looked for such pride
and independence of spirit.  You are right,
Arnold."

"Of course I am," Rent said grimly.  "But
perhaps you will tell me what is to be done."

"You must try to find her," Mrs. Rent went on.
"Bring her back here and do your best to induce
her to see that I have a point of view as well as
herself.  There will be plenty of time in the morning
to decide as to the future; indeed, it is always
well to sleep upon troubles like these."

Arnold Rent waited no more.  He strode from
the room and out into the darkness of the night,
leaving his mother to commune with her own
anxious thoughts.  She was distracted and torn this
way and that.  A thousand doubts assailed her.

"What could I have done else?" she murmured.
"What other way was there out of this bitter
trouble?"





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.. _`A PLAUSIBLE SCOUNDREL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXV


.. class:: center medium bold

   A PLAUSIBLE SCOUNDREL

.. vspace:: 2

We left Ephraim Bark on the landing-stage at
Cowes expressing his joy at his good fortune in
meeting Tanza once more.  But, despite his
appearance of engaging candour, the little man
seemed to have some difficulty in swallowing a
large lump which had risen at the back of his
throat.  His muddy features had turned pale.  He
glanced about him as if looking for some avenue
of escape, presenting at the same time a ludicrous
resemblance to a jackdaw recently encaged.  On
the other hand, Tanza appeared to be enjoying
the interview.  His features beamed with
good-nature.  There was a kindly smile upon his face.
But, as a great many criminals had discovered to
their cost, this was just one of the moments when
the Italian was most dangerous.

"You fill me with pleasure," he said.  "It is
always a happy thing to find an old acquaintance
so ready to resume friendship.  But come along,
we are wasting time.  We shall be much more
comfortable and sociable on board the yacht."

Bark protested that there was nothing he would
like better.  Nevertheless, his bluster was forced,
his air dejected, and, for the time being, he had
lost all his swagger.  Even when he found himself
seated in a luxurious cabin chair, with a famous
brand of cigar in his mouth and a well-filled glass
by his side, he presented the same apologetic
appearance.  There was very little resemblance to
the man who had accosted Malcolm Grey so
shortly before.  Tanza beamed on his guest.

"Now we are going to be really happy and
comfortable," he said.  "Let us talk about old times.
Have you been in Paris lately?  And, if so, how
are the old people?  The last time I was in Paris
a most extraordinary thing happened.  It chanced
that one night, as I was walking along——"

"Oh, drop it," Bark broke out suddenly.  "Never
was a gentleman like you.  You play and play with
a chap, and just when he thinks everything is nice
and snug you drop down upon him and he doesn't
know where he is.  Reminds me of a boy with a
cockchafer on a pin, it does.  I've never done you
any harm, and I am ready to answer any questions
you like.  But don't sit there smiling in that
friendly way just as if you've got nothing on your mind.
I can stand punishment, but I like to know where
it is coming from.  Just say what you want to say
and get it over."

"That's candid, at any rate," Tanza smiled.
"Very well.  If you are ready to take it lying down,
we'll come to the point at once.  There are certain
matters going on here that interest me greatly, and
on those matters I am sure you can throw some
light.  I shouldn't have identified you with the
business, only my friend Mr. Grey told me that he
met you at Mr. Rent's office.  Just now Mr. Rent
and his doings fascinate me.  How long have you
known him?"

"I'll tell you everything," Bark said.  "On and
off, I've known him for the last five years.  And,
between ourselves, he isn't a bit better than he
ought to be.  A regular mixture of a man, I call
him.  One day he is going to give up the world and
go into a monastery, and the next day you find
him enjoying himself in some fast set as if he had
been accustomed to it all his life.  I never knew
a man who was more guided by the feelings of the
moment.  But this last game of his beats all.  Fancy
a man who has ten or fifteen thousand a year before
him running the risk of losing the lot simply
for a woman who cares no more for him than the
cigar I've got in my hand."

"You are speaking of Mrs. Charlock," Tanza
said quietly.

"That's right enough.  Not that it is any business
of mine, but there are ways and means of doing
things which even I don't approve of.  Rent is a
clever fellow, but no man can manage to make love
to two women at the same time without getting
into trouble."

Tanza's eyes gleamed.

"Ah, now you are speaking about that French
maid?" he exclaimed.  "I mean the poor woman
who was called Hortense."

Bark glanced at the speaker with unfeigned
admiration.  It was not for him to know that Tanza's
quick mind had grasped the point like a flash of
lightning, but, for aught he could tell, Tanza might
have been working on the problem for some time.

"Quite right," he said.  "Between ourselves,
Rent is a bit of a blackguard.  He has never put
his foot into it because there never has been any
occasion.  He has always had more money than he
needed, or you may be sure that he would have
gone to the dogs long ago.  But he is not a bad
fellow as men go.  He would stick at nothing as
far as his interests were concerned.  A clever chap,
too, and one who, with any luck, will make his
mark in the world of science.  But he is cruel and
vindictive.  He is making a fool of himself over
Mrs. Charlock now.  He has got a rare handful to
deal with there.  Still, it is a brazen thing to be
making love to the mistress and the maid at the
same time.  That's what he was up to."

"Oh, ho," Tanza said gently.  "We are getting
along.  I suppose this is where you come in.  What
do you know about this lady's maid?"

"She was my sister," was the unexpected reply.
"You see, we are as much French as English.
Hortense spoke the language like a native.  She
was a Parisienne to her finger-tips.  That is why
she called herself Hortense and passed herself off
as a Frenchwoman.  French maids are much more
sought after than English ones and get much more
money."

"No doubt.  Now, how long had your unfortunate
sister been in Mrs. Charlock's employ before
she met with her accident?"

"I suppose about two years," Bark explained.
"But why?"

"Oh, we shall come to that presently.  Perhaps
you can tell me who put it into your sister's head
to steal her mistress's jewels?  That is the point I
want cleared up."

Bark looked at the speaker with open-mouthed
admiration.

"No use trying to keep anything from you," he
said.  "But, as a matter of fact, I don't know.  I
am telling you the truth.  Indeed, I would have
nothing to gain by lying to such a clever gentleman
as yourself.  But my sister is dead, and anything
I say can't do her any harm.  She wanted to return
to Paris.  She was finding things very slow with
Mrs. Charlock, and I suppose the idea of taking
her mistress's jewels was her own.  They were a
pretty fine lot, I understand, but the trouble was
to get them away without arousing suspicion.  My
sister wrote to me about it and told me what she
was going to do.  I don't mind admitting that I
gave her the best advice I could, because I am sure
you won't use this evidence against me.  I came
over to see my sister and Mr. Rent at the same
time.  I had had a bit of bad luck lately, and I
knew that Rent would help me out.  I had only
got to mention a little thing that occurred in Paris
some years ago and he was good for a hundred
pounds at least."

"Blackmail," Tanza suggested.

"Oh, blackmail be hanged!" Bark said vigorously.
"I was never properly paid for my share
in the job, and Rent knows it perfectly well.  He
has been keeping out of my way lately.  But it's
only putting off the evil day.  It is a small world,
and I wasn't surprised to find that my sister knew
Rent as well as I do.  I wasn't long in finding out
that he was making love to her for some purpose
of his own.  And perhaps it is a good thing for
him that Hortense is out of the way.  She was a
fine hater when she chose."

"We are getting wide of the point," Tanza
suggested.  "What I want to know is where your
sister put those jewels."

Bark protested by all his gods that he hadn't
the faintest idea.  Tanza did not press the point,
though, from his view, Bark was lying strenuously.
But there was nothing to be gained for the
moment, and Tanza changed the conversation.  It
was perhaps an hour later that Bark left the yacht,
on the whole not displeased with his visit.  He
was palpably afraid of Tanza.  He had expected
to find himself closely cross-examined as to certain
dark passages in his life, and he was only too
thankful to get off so easily.  He thought he had
parted with no information of the slightest value
to himself; indeed, he flattered himself that so far
as the missing jewels were concerned he had led
Tanza astray.

He might have been less easy in his mind if he
could have lingered behind and listened to what
took place as soon as he had left the yacht.  Grey
turned to his companion.

"You are a most extraordinary man," he said.
"You don't seem to have learnt anything from that
scamp, and yet you appear to be absolutely
satisfied.  Tell me what you are driving at."

"No, no," Tanza said good-humouredly.  "Let
us keep to our bargain.  We are both working
from different points, though we both have the
same object in view.  A little time ago it was your
opinion that Hortense, Mrs. Charlock's maid, had
died from an accident.  On the other hand, I was
convinced that she was the victim of foul play.  If
you have not changed your mind——"

"I have," Grey said curtly.  "But go on."

"Perhaps I have changed my mind, too," Tanza
continued.  "I begin to see the possibilities of
suicide.  It was only to-day that Fortune placed in
my hand a clue to this conclusion.  But perhaps
I had better show you what I mean.  Wait here a
moment till I go and fetch it....  Now what do
you think of that?  Isn't it strange that I should
gain possession of it?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE JEWEL CASKET`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE JEWEL CASKET

.. vspace:: 2

As Tanza spoke he laid on the table a small,
brass-bound, mahogany box, the patent lock of
which had been forced; indeed, the whole thing
appeared to have been so badly used that even the
neatly made hinges were out of place.  Inside were
drawers and trays lined with crimson velvet, all
wet and saturated as if they had been soaked in
water for some time.

"You see what it is, then?" Tanza observed.
"This is a jewel box.  On the lid you will notice
a little glass frame behind which is a sheet of paper
inscribed with a list of the articles which at one
time formed the contents of the box.  When this
casket was brought to me it was empty as you see
it now; indeed, one of my men found it at low
tide not very far away from the landing-stage, half
imbedded in the sand.  It is easy to guess whom
it belongs to, seeing that the owner's monogram is
on the outside, together with an address.  Beyond
question this once belonged to Mrs. Charlock.
Mind you, I haven't heard that Mrs. Charlock was
robbed of her jewels.  I am simply deducing the
thing from the condition this casket is in at present.
In the first place, you see the casket has been
forced open.  Now, nobody but a thief would do
that.  In the second place, the casket was thrown
into the sea, which is also what a thief would do.
Now, who would be the most likely person to
commit a crime of this sort?  Who would be in a
position to do so?  But you know that my deductions
are correct, because that rascal Bark told us who
the thief was.  Where the stones are is another
matter.  That will be something for us to find out
when the mystery of the woman's death is cleared
up.  Meanwhile, we had better stick to the original
mystery and do one thing at a time.  I am bound
to confess that I have slightly changed my mind,
and should not be surprised to find that this lady's
maid committed suicide.  It is possible that
Mrs. Charlock discovered her loss and traced it home
to the thief.  On the spur of the moment the latter
goes off and drowns herself in the fountain by
the sundial."

"And there," Grey said emphatically, "you are
wrong.  I shall be able to prove that to you before
long.  I, on my part, have not been altogether idle.
Still, we will keep to our bargain, as you say, and
each go his own way.  Clever as you are, and much
as I respect your opinion, I am prepared to back
myself to get to the bottom of this mystery before
you do.  Within a week I promise not only to
solve the mystery of Hortense's death, but also
to produce the missing jewels."

"Ah, that's all right," Tanza exclaimed.  "You
are a pupil after my own heart.  Do you mean to
say you suspect the place where the jewels are
hidden?"

"I don't suspect anything," Grey said quietly.
"I know.  I could put my hands upon the jewels
within four-and-twenty hours."

Tanza nodded approvingly.  It was characteristic
of the man that he displayed no curiosity and
asked no further questions.  Nor had it occurred
to him that Grey was speaking in a boastful spirit.
He made no effort to move when Grey rose from
his chair, saying he had important business on
shore which might detain him to a late hour.

"All right," he said.  "I presume you are on
the same business still.  You will be able to tell
me what has happened in the morning.  Well,
good-night and good luck to you."

It was very late when at length Grey skirted the
town and proceeded along the shore to the small
block of buildings where Rent was carrying on his
experiments.  The buildings were in darkness.  But
that did not seem to trouble Grey, who threw
himself down upon a bed of sea pinks and proceeded
to light a cigarette.  He had barely finished two
before a tiny speck of light appeared in one of the
windows, followed by a brilliant illumination
behind the blinds as if some one was turning
on the gas.  As a fact, it was electric light, as
Grey very well knew.  He moved forward almost
immediately until he stood under the shadow of
the buildings.  The main door was slightly open,
and Grey hesitated whether he should enter or
not.  There was no one about, so far as he could
see, though he could hear voices in the room where
the light had been turned on.  There was nothing
to gain by timidity, so he pushed his way into the
building and felt cautiously along the corridor.
The door of the room where the light was stood
ajar, and the intruder could see Swift standing on
one side of the table and Bark opposite.

"And now you have got me here," Swift was
saying, "what do you want?  Why all this
mystery?  Why couldn't you have come to my
lodgings like any other man?  Instead, you drag me
here as if I were a thief or something to be
ashamed of."

"What else are you?" Bark said brutally.  "And
what else is that employer of yours, for that
matter, either?  Look here, my friend, I know too
much about both of you to stand any nonsense.
I don't want to put the cat among the pigeons, but
unless I have this money by midday to-morrow
somebody is going to get into trouble.  That is all
I have to say."

"But I haven't got it," Swift said passionately.
"I haven't got a tenth part of it.  Mr. Rent will
be here to-morrow and you had better see him for
yourself.  I am sick of all this business.  I begin
to wish I had never come here at all.  And now
the sooner you clear out the better."

"I'm going when I like," Bark said sullenly.
"And, mind you, I won't be played with any more.
I can say too much and I can prove too much to
be treated as if I were some tramp trying to beg a
copper or two.  If you take my advice you will
leave Arnold Rent to his own resources.  No man
ever yet trusted him without repenting it
afterwards.  Poor as I am, I wouldn't be under a
favour to that man unless I was obliged to, and it is
possible that I may not have to come here to-morrow,
after all.  I have a scheme on, and if it turns
out trumps you can tell your employer that he isn't
likely to see me for a bit.  What are you up to
here?  What's the little game?"

"We came here on a purely scientific errand,"
Swift said coldly.  "And, in any case, our experiments
will not be of the least interest to you.  And
now, as I am busy——"

"Oh, I'm off," Bark laughed.  "I don't want
to pry into your secrets; I've plenty of my own to
worry about.  Good-night."

Bark turned away and swaggered down the passage,
so close that Grey could have touched him
as he passed.  He emerged into the road and went
off towards the town with the air of a man who
has much to do before he seeks his bed.  Grey
followed him at a respectful distance until he came
to the lodge gate leading to the house recently
occupied by John Charlock.  Bark pushed through
the gate and made his way along the grass
towards the lawn at the back of the house.  Here he
stopped and produced a box of matches from his
pocket.  There was little or no wind, so that the
match flamed out clearly, so clearly that the
watcher could see Bark's evil face carefully
examining a piece of paper which he had in his hand.
So still was it that Grey could hear Bark's
muttered comments.

"Hang me if I can make it out.  What an awful
fist she wrote, to be sure.  Now, is it on this side
or the other?  And what does she mean by a hundred
and fifty to the right?  And where the dickens
is the right supposed to begin?  I wish I had a
tape measure.  Not that it would be much use on
a dark night like this.  Still, it won't do to work
with a lantern."

The match went out and Bark's musings came
to an end.  Grey had been gazing so steadfastly
at the match that when it was extinguished
suddenly he could not see anything for the moment.
Then, when his eyes became accustomed again to
the gloom, he found that Bark had vanished,
leaving not the slightest trace behind.

The incident was annoying as it was unexpected.
There were trees all about the lawn standing back
in dense shadow, so that it was almost impossible
to make out in which direction Bark had gone.
Grey could do nothing but go back to the road and
wait till Bark came back again.  There was, of
course, a chance that his time might be wasted.
But he had gone so far now that he did not care
to abandon his search.  He went slowly and
cautiously back to the road and stood by the lodge
gate for the best part of an hour.  He was
thinking of giving up the adventure when Bark came
down the avenue muttering to himself and groaning
as if he were in considerable pain.  He did not
appear to think it extraordinary that Grey should
be there.  On the contrary, he grinned knowingly
and inquired affectionately after Tanza's welfare.

"You are wasting your time to-night, anyway,"
he said.  "So am I, for the matter of that.  There
is something wrong with this place.  Never mind
why I am here.  I stumbled over a fountain
arrangement in the garden and fell with one hand in
the water.  It was only for a second, and now look
at my fingers.  Painful!  Well, rather.  But what
the devil is it?  Strike a match and look for yourself."

Bark held up a shaking hand in the light of the
match.  His fingers were shrivelled and blue, as if
they had been badly scalded.  There were blisters
here and there, and Bark writhed with the pain
he made no effort to conceal.

"What do you make of it?" he groaned.  "Tell
me what you make of it."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`KATE COMES BACK`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   KATE COMES BACK

.. vspace:: 2

Grey was startled, but Bark was in too great
pain to notice that.  It was some time before the
former trusted himself to speak.  When he did so,
his tones were clear and distinct.

"I shouldn't like to say," he remarked.  "Probably
you are suffering from some irritant poisoning
which the water has excited.  This is rather out of
my line, and you had better go into the town at
once and see the doctor.  You really ought not to
delay.  My studies of medicine did not go far
enough to enable me to deal with a case like this.
But I should like to know how you get on.  And
I hope you will come aboard the yacht to-morrow
afternoon."

"I might just as well," Bark growled.  "It is
evident you don't intend to lose sight of me.  I
suppose that is why you followed me to-night."

Grey deemed it prudent to make no reply.  Without
further words, Bark turned sullenly away and
walked down the road.  Grey went back to the
yacht as soon as possible.  He felt that he had not
wasted his time, though, on the whole, the events
of the evening had not turned out quite so successfully
as he had hoped.  For the best part of the
next day he waited on the yacht in expectation of
seeing Bark, but the latter did not put in an
appearance.  Another day of almost enforced idleness
followed, and it was not until after dinner on the
next evening that Grey received a letter from John
Charlock asking him to call at the house and
favour him with a few minutes' conversation.  He
handed the letter to Tanza, who had been out all
day and had only come back in time for dinner.
The little Italian chuckled as he read.

"Now what is the meaning of this?" he said.
"In the course of my investigations I have made
a few inquiries, and was under the impression that
Charlock had gone into Devonshire.  I thought
Arnold Rent was in Devonshire, too, but was
surprised to see him this evening going off towards
that laboratory of his.  To make the matter even
more complicated, I had a telephone message to
call at the Queen's Hotel and see Shiplake.
Imagine my astonishment when the first person I saw
was Mrs. Charlock.  Now there is a nice problem
for you.  What do you make of it?"

"I think I understand," Grey replied.  "I
believe Rent has been playing the chivalrous fool
over Mrs. Charlock.  I don't believe he was thinking
about himself at all.  He was going to take her
down to stay with his mother till some arrangement
could be made.  Now I happen to know a good
deal about Mrs. Rent.  She is a splendid woman
in many respects and a rigid Puritan at heart.  You
may depend upon it that she told Rent pretty plainly
not to look to her for anything until he had got
out of the scrape he had walked into with his eyes
open.  Rent, not being a fool, had to explain to
the lady, and she, not being a fool, saw the difficulty
at once.  I shouldn't mind betting that Mrs. John
Charlock has resolved to return to her husband.
At any rate, that is the only logical explanation
I can offer."

"It sounds plausible," Tanza said.  "But you
will know better when you have seen Charlock.
He may want you to be present when he meets his
wife.  If he has a friend, you are probably that
remarkable person."

"He is a queer man," Grey said, as he turned
the letter over in his hand, "but not to blame.
However, I'll let you know what happens."

Half an hour later Grey was walking up the
drive to the deserted house.  Lights were burning
in one of the windows, and behind the curtainless
casement Grey could see two candles standing on a
table.  There was a litter of papers on the table
and a chair on each side.  As Grey rang the bell
the clang of the metal sounded hollow in the empty
house.  Charlock came to the door.

"I am glad you have come," he said.  "I take
it very kindly of you.  I daresay you wonder why
I am here and why I wrote to you.  Perhaps this
letter from my wife will explain matters.  Yes, I
want you to read it.  There is no reason why you
shouldn't."

With some reluctance, Grey took the letter and
read it.  It was from Mrs. Charlock, in her own
neat handwriting, written as carefully and regularly
as if it had been a serious business communication.
There was no sign that it had been written
in a hurry, or that it had been inspired in a
moment of anxiety and emotion.  There was no
heading to it and nothing at the foot but the
writer's signature.  As to the body of the letter, it
might have been read by anybody.  It pointed out
that there had been a difference between husband
and wife, and that perhaps there had been faults
on both sides.  The writer regretted that in a rash
moment she had been so foolish as to take a step
which might have compromised her in the eyes of
the world.  But she pleaded in extenuation that
her husband's harsh conduct had driven her to
retaliate.  On thinking the matter over, she had
decided it to be her duty to return home and place
herself in her husband's hands, only stipulating
that residence in the cottage should be restricted
to a definite period.  The writer concluded by
asking an interview and stating that she had returned
to the neighbourhood for that purpose.  Grey laid
the letter down with a murmur to the effect that it
seemed to him to be right and proper.

"You think so?" Charlock said, with a hoarse
laugh.  "You are more confiding than I am.  Do
you know what has happened?  That woman
bewitched Rent.  For the time she made him forget
his own selfish schemes.  She wanted to pose as
an injured woman, though that was not a new
*rôle*.  She wanted to get rid of me.  She wanted
to force me to some crowning folly, so that the law
might release her, and then she would have every
claim to marry Arnold Rent.  Doubtless it struck
her as a fine thing to become a county lady of
unlimited income.  But, then, you see, she reckoned
without another woman in the person of Rent's
mother.  Mrs. Rent displayed a firmness which
upset her calculations altogether.  And Mrs. Rent
played exactly the right card.  She told these two
platonic fools that her son had nothing to expect
from her.  Perhaps in five years' time she might
hold out her hand to help them.  But they were to
understand that meanwhile Arnold Rent was no
better off than any other penniless man of good
education.  I know all about it, because I was on
the spot.  The irony of circumstances took me to
the house.  And when those people fully realised
what was to happen, their common sense came
back to them.  Mind you, I am going on supposition
now.  But I don't think events will prove me
to be far wrong.  Otherwise, why is my wife here
again?  Why has she asked me for an interview?
And why has she agreed to listen to my terms?  It
suited my mood to grant that interview at this
hour of night.  It was my whim to ask you to be
present.  You will see for yourself that what I
have said is literally correct.  And now, will you
be good enough to open the front door for me?
She may be here at any moment."

Grey went off obedient to Charlock's request.
He stood outside for a moment in the stillness of
the evening until Charlock joined him.  They were
quiet for a little while.  Then Charlock began to
speak in the bitterness of his heart.  But Grey did
not appear to be listening.  He raised his hand
as if to impose silence.

"Hush," he said.  "Didn't I hear a cry?"

Charlock shook his head.  He had heard nothing.
A moment later the cry was repeated, so far
as Grey could judge, from the bottom of the garden.
It was not a loud cry.  It sounded as if from
someone in dire pain.  Grey moved hastily
forward.

"It is nothing," Charlock said, "nothing but
mere fancy.  One's nerves get out of order sometimes."

But Grey was not to be moved.  He knew that
his imagination had not played him false.  He
could hear a stifled moan again.  Almost like an
inspiration he traced the sound to its source and
raced across the lawn.

"Bring one of the candles," he cried, "and follow
me to the sundial.  I am certain that is where
the cry came from."

Charlock muttered something in reply, but presently
Grey saw the light twinkling across the lawn.
He waited till Charlock came to his side, then with
a trembling hand snatched the candle from Charlock's
fingers.  He bent down over the clear water
of the fountain and saw something black and limp,
something that seemed in parts to glow and glisten
in the flickering light of the candle.  Then, a
moment later, the mysterious something lay motionless
on the grass, and Grey was wiping his fingers
as if they stung him.  But he was not thinking of
the physical pain.

"There," he said hoarsely, "I told you so.  Take
the candle and hold it down so that we can see the
poor creature's face.  Good heavens!  To think
that she should come to this!"

Charlock held the candle low.  He appeared to
be singularly quiet and self-contained.  He made
no sound as the light fell upon the dead white face.

"My wife!" he said.  "What is she doing here?
Grey, what does this mystery mean?  What curse
lies on this place?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A STARTLING CONTRAST`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   A STARTLING CONTRAST

.. vspace:: 2

Mrs. Bromley-Martin's rooms were well
filled as usual, for she was giving one of those
bridge parties of which she and her set never
seemed to tire.  It seemed strange that they had
not become weary of their pursuit.  But, then, the
element of gambling entered largely into their
calculations, and of this they never tired.  It was a
perfect night out-of-doors.  The long French
windows leading to the lawn were invitingly open.
But probably few of the guests appreciated the
beauty of the night.  The rooms were hot and
stuffy and there was a cackle of conversation and
high-pitched chatter without which no smart function
is complete.  There were a dozen tables going,
and from time to time those whose hands lay on
the table were gathered together round the
fireplace discussing choice morsels of scandal.  The
hostess herself, resplendent in blue and silver, was
being listened to with rapt attention, for she had
something especially fresh and piquant which she
was relating to the motley throng around her.  Her
shrill voice rang through the room.

"I assure you it is perfectly true," she said.  "I
saw her myself at the station.  She came back this
afternoon and went straight to the Queen's Hotel."

"Did you speak to her?"

Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed.

"My dear, of course I did," she screamed.  "Did
you ever know me do anything like other people?
Did you ever know me care two straws for what
folk said?  Oh, I know I ought to have walked by
with my head in the air and my skirts drawn about
me as if I feared contamination from her very
touch.  But I did nothing of the kind.  Behold in
me the Good Samaritan!"

A wild cackle of laughter followed this suggestion.

"Oh, you may laugh," Mrs. Bromley-Martin
went on good-temperedly.  "Besides, I was
desperately curious.  And there she was, looking more
saint-like than ever; indeed, I felt quite a sinner by
contrast.  Besides, she is no worse than the rest
of us.  The only difference is that she has been
found out."

"But has she been found out?" a tall man asked
seriously.  "Can you mention one single thing
against Mrs. Charlock?  Here is a woman married
to a boor, who is supposed to ill-treat her because
he can't have his own way; he sells the house
over her head, and says she can remain if she
please.  A woman ought to be able to get rid of
a man for less than that.  Upon my word, I think
it was one of the most chivalrous things I ever
heard of.  Then there is Arnold Rent, whom we
all regard as a clever fellow, who, apart from his
science, is living entirely for himself.  I have heard
it said that he has no heart and no feeling.  And
yet he makes a deliberate sacrifice for the sake of
a woman who apparently cares nothing for him.
Really, in these prosaic times, for a man to go out
of his way to offer a suffering woman the shelter
of his mother's roof is touching.  This kind of
thing an author might make into a book.  I
suppose nobody has heard anything of Rent?"

"Indeed, they have," a voice interrupted.  "It
is my turn now to contribute to the harmony of
the evening.  Our charming hostess has given us
the first act of the comedy.  Now I can proceed
to write up the second.  What the third act will
be like is a matter for speculation.  Anyway, as I
was coming here to-night, I saw Rent going along
the shore to his offices.  He wouldn't allow me to
stop him; he would hardly allow me to speak to
him.  At any rate, he is back again, and the
Charlock-Rent romance is at an end.  I am sorry to
spoil sport in this way, but I am bound to speak
the truth.  It looks to me as if the story had a
commonplace ending, after all.  Probably Mrs. Rent
threw a cold douche of common sense upon her
son's argument, and Mrs. Charlock has made the
best of it by coming back to her husband.  That is
my conclusion."

"I don't believe a word of it," Mrs. Bromley-Martin
cried.  "I refuse to have my illusions scattered
in this way.  If I had only known Arnold
Rent was here I would have asked him to come
round this evening.  His appearance would have
created a sensation.  And sensations in these
times——"

The speaker paused, conscious that there was
something wrong.  Her back was to the door.  She
did not see that someone had come into the room.
That everything was not quite in order she could
gather by the expression on the faces of her guests.
No one was sneering or smiling.  Most of them
were looking blank, and one or two decidedly
uncomfortable.

"What is the matter?" Mrs. Bromley-Martin
asked.  "Have I said anything so very *outré*, or
have you all suddenly become——"

"It is a pure matter of conscience," a cold, clear
voice said.  "You have every right to your own
opinion.  But on this occasion, gracious lady, you
are absolutely wrong, much as it grieves me to
tell you so."

A little spurt of colour flamed to Mrs. Bromley-Martin's
face.  Possibly it was the first time she
had blushed for years.  She forced her voice to a
higher pitch as she recognised Rent.

"Talk of an angel and you hear his wings," she
cackled.  "How dare you stand there and listen to
what I was saying!  Why, bless my soul, a set like
ours, if we all knew what our neighbours thought
of us, would be deadly enemies in a week.  Still,
my dear boy, I forgive you, because it was so
thoughtful of you to come round this evening to
make my party a success.  But did you hear what
I was saying?"

"Every word," Rent said gravely.

"In that case, it would be foolish of me to
apologise.  We were talking of Mrs. Charlock and
yourself.  I believe it was under this roof that you
met her for the first time.  It was here that the
tender romance had its initiation.  It was here,
also, that John Charlock behaved in such a brutish
way and played into the hands of his wife.  I
daresay you recollect the occasion."

"Perfectly well."

"What a sphinx it is!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin
remarked, with a shrug of her shoulders.  "Why
don't you try to help me out?  You must
know what conclusion we came to.  We all give you
credit for acting the part of the cavalier without
fear and without reproach.  But when both parties
came back in this prosaic fashion, why, naturally——"

"One moment," Rent said coldly.  "Loth as I
am to spoil your recreation, I must speak.  You
are all mistaken.  It is true that chance gave me
the opportunity of befriending Mrs. Charlock
when she was badly in need of advice, but there the
thing begins and ends.  I might have been wrong
in offering Mrs. Charlock a temporary home with
my mother; I am not prepared to say that I had
given the matter due consideration.  However,
Mrs. Charlock has thought the matter over and
come to the conclusion that she cannot do better
than fall in with her husband's wishes.  That is
why she is here, and you can guess why I have
returned, also.  It will be just as well in future to
drop this subject."

There was something so cool and self-possessed
in the speaker's words that no one in the group
round the fireplace ventured even to smile.  Rent
flashed a challenge from one to the other, but no
one offered to take it up.  There were one or two
murmurs of approval, and Mrs. Bromley-Martin
thought it wise to change her ground.

"I am sure, I beg your pardon," she said.  "I
had no idea you would take it in this way.  You
see, it is so seldom that anybody in our set is serious
that one forgets that there are real responsibilities
in life.  Now let us go back to the tables and
devote ourselves to the business of the evening."

Rent bowed gravely.  Mrs. Bromley-Martin
had gone as far in the way of an apology as she
was likely to go.  Before he could say anything
there was a further commotion at the door, and
another man entered, apparently bursting to relate
some item of news.  Mrs. Bromley-Martin heralded
the intrusion at once as a godsend.  Here
was a speedy and graceful escape from the position
she had taken up, and she hastened across the
room.

"Well, colonel, what is it?  What fresh scandal
is afoot?  Positively, we are so dull here that
anything, even if it is deliberately untrue, will be
welcomed."

"Oh, this is true enough," the man replied.  "I
was coming past Charlock's house just now, and I
met that fellow Grey coming out of the gate in a
hurry.  You know the man I mean—he is staying
with that clever Italian, Tanza, on his yacht.  At
first, I could not make out what was the matter
with him.  It appeared he was asking me to fetch
a policeman, as something terrible had happened
in Charlock's grounds.  Mrs. Charlock had fallen
into a fountain, or something of that kind.  At any
rate, when Grey and Charlock found her she was
lying there quite dead."

A sudden exclamation broke from Rent's lips.
He turned a white, set face towards the speaker.

"In the fountain?" he asked hoarsely.  "By the
sundial, do you mean?  Oh, the thing is incredible."

"All the same, it is quite true," the newcomer
said.  "I saw it for myself before I went off for
the police.  And the strange part of the whole
thing is that mistress and maid perished in the
same way.  There seems to be a fatality about that
sundial."





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.. _`A LAPSE OF MEMORY`:

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   CHAPTER XXIX


.. class:: center medium bold

   A LAPSE OF MEMORY

.. vspace:: 2

Arnold Rent seemed to be striving for words
to express his feelings.  He pressed his hand to
his throat, as if something had risen and choked
him.  There was a deadly pallor on his face, too,
which some of the guests did not fail to notice.
They were quiet now, for this *dénouement* was
calculated to suppress the frivolous spirits even of
Mrs. Bromley-Martin's guests.

"Tell us some more," the hostess murmured.

"There is very little to say," the man who was
telling the story went on.  "I met a policeman
within a few yards of Charlock's lodge gate and
sent him off headlong to bring his inspector and a
doctor.  Then I went back to the scene of the
tragedy to see if I could do anything.  I heard
voices in the garden and went down towards that
now famous sundial.  I had heard of the thing
before; in fact, I remember reading a paragraph
or two in the papers when Charlock bought it.  At
any rate, there it was, looking pale and ghostly in
the gloom, and by the side of it stood Charlock
and Grey bending over an object on the grass.  As
a matter of fact, they had no business to disturb
the body at all.  Still, the thing was done, and I
helped to carry the poor creature into the house.
I came away as soon as I decently could, because
it was no place for an outsider."

"Dreadful!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin shuddered.
"What a fate for a beautiful creature!  And what
did John Charlock say?  How did he seem to
take it?"

The man who was telling the story shrugged his
shoulders.

"Don't ask me," he murmured.  "Charlock is
not like other people.  You see, he is a genius, and
geniuses are allowed to express their feelings in
their own way.  So far as I could see, the discovery
made not the slightest difference to him; excepting
that he lives and breathes like most of us,
he might have been carved out of stone.  There
was no expression whatever on his features, not
one word escaped his lips.  I was glad to get away."

Arnold Rent listened to this recital with the air
of a man who dreams.  More than once he appeared
as if desirous of asking a question.  Then
he changed his mind.  By this time it had already
reached those who were deeply immersed in cards.
As the various rubbers were finished people began
to gather by the fireplace and discuss the tragedy.
The first feeling of awe had passed away and
everybody was talking at once.

Rent was unnoticed.  He seemed to have fallen
into the background, and before anyone was aware
of the fact, he had slipped out of the drawing-room
into the hall, where he donned his coat and hat.
Then, without the formality of saying good-night
to Mrs. Bromley-Martin, he walked down the
spacious drive into the road.  He came presently to
the lodge gate of Charlock's house, where he
paused.  Now and again he passed his handkerchief
over his forehead to wipe away the beads of
moisture which had gathered.  The night was
warm, but not sufficiently so to account for the
water trickling down his face.

"I've got to do it," he groaned.  "Lord, what
a coward I am!"

The last words came with an accent of bitter
self-reproach.  It seemed as if Rent were taking
hold of himself and impelling his feet unwillingly
forward.  He came at length to the house, where
the lights were still burning in the front room,
where he could see John Charlock and Grey standing
facing each other across the table.  There were
other shadows in the background, but of these
Rent took no notice.  He would have liked to
knock at the door and make inquiries, but even his
audacity shrank from going so far.  It was not the
time to face John Charlock.  The only thing was
to wait until Grey came out.

The young scientist emerged presently and
closed the door behind him.  He turned very
coldly, almost offensively, to Rent when the latter
accosted him.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I have just heard the news," Rent said hoarsely.
"I had gone as far as Mrs. Bromley-Martin's
when Colonel Suffield came in and told us.  He
was the man you sent for the police.  It seems
incredible.  It seemed all the more impossible to
grasp because it was told before that frivolous lot
yonder.  I could not wait a moment.  Suffield told
me you were here.  Of course, I could not ask for
Charlock in the circumstances."

"That would be playing the blackguard," Grey
remarked pointedly.

"You are altogether unjust," Rent murmured.
"If you knew the whole story you would not blame
me in the least.  I only acted on Mrs. Charlock's
behalf as any other man would have done.  Surely,
a good and pure woman is above scandal.  But I
am not going to discuss that.  I want to know what
has happened."

"There is very little to tell you," Grey said.  "I
came here by appointment to see Mr. Charlock.
He wanted me to be present because his wife was
coming back, and he deemed it best to have a third
party at the interview.  We heard a cry of
distress from the bottom of the garden and immediately
proceeded in that direction.  To make a long
story short, we found Mrs. Charlock's dead body
lying in the fountain by the sundial, precisely in
the same way as her late maid's was discovered.
Beyond that I can tell you nothing.  What more
would you know?"

It appeared as if Rent could have known a great
deal more, but he restrained his feelings and
walked silently down the drive by Grey's side.  The
two parted at a turning in the road, and Rent made
his way across the foreshore to his offices.  There
was no light, so far as he could see, and this seemed
to fill him with relief.

"I suppose Swift is away to-night," he muttered.
"Well, perhaps it is for the best.  And yet I told
him particularly that I wanted him at eleven.  That
accursed drink again, I suppose!  I shall have to
get rid of him."

Rent struck a match and fumbled with his key
in the lock.  He left the front door open on the
off-chance of Swift coming back.  Then he proceeded
to the inner office and switched on the electric
lights.  From a safe let in the wall he proceeded
to take out some electrical appliances, and with
these in his hand he turned rapidly towards the
door.  Then he stepped back with an oath and a
cry of vexation as he saw someone standing there.
The intruder's face wore a wide grin, but his dark
eyes were set in stern determination.  Ephraim
Bark was not pleasant to look at.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Rent
demanded.

By way of reply Bark closed the door and took
a seat.  Then he produced a cigarette, which he
lighted coolly.

"What is the good of talking that rot to me?"
he said.  "I have been looking for you for the
past week, and you have been keeping out of the
way because you were afraid to meet me.  Oh, it is
all very well to smile, but if you weren't afraid,
why didn't you toe the scratch like a man?"

"I have been away on business," Rent said,
lamely enough.

"Business be hanged!  Now, look here, I am
not going to waste words with you.  After that
little affair in Paris you promised me two hundred
pounds, not a penny of which I have had yet.  Why
should I be walking about on my uppers while you
are rolling in money?  A rich man like yourself——"

"I am not a rich man," Rent protested.  "As a
matter of fact, I have an allowance which is quite
insufficient for me, and, apart from that, I am
dependent for every penny upon my mother, who
can leave it all away from me if she pleases.  Yes,
and she would do it, too, if she knew the sort of
life I have been leading."

"I know all about that," Bark grinned.  "I make
every allowance.  But you must have something
to spare.  I tell you, I am penniless, desperate
almost, and I am going to have a hundred pounds
or its equivalent before I leave you to-night."

Rent burst out into furious epithets.

"I tell you, I haven't got it," he protested.  "I
have never been so hard up as I am now.  There
are particular reasons why I cannot appeal to my
mother just now.  In the course of a fortnight or
so I may be able to accommodate you."

Bark laughed insultingly.  He made use of
expressions which brought the blood flaming to
Rent's cheeks, but he dared not retaliate openly.
He was in this man's power, as he reflected
bitterly.  A murderous instinct rose within him.  He
reached out and grasped a heavy ruler, and ere he
knew what he was doing he was holding the
weapon threateningly over Bark's head.  There
was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes.  There
was no time for further argument, as Bark saw.
He closed at once with Rent.  He crooked his foot
dexterously behind the latter's heel and Rent fell
heavily to the ground.  He staggered as he fell, so
that his head came in violent contact with the
corner of the iron fender of the fireplace.  He lay
still and motionless, with Bark bending over him.

"Lord, I've done it now," the latter said ruefully.
"I believe I've killed the beggar.  Well, if
I have——"

Bark paused suddenly and lifted up his head
like a hare.  He seemed to hear footsteps coming
closer.  If he had dealt Rent a fatal blow, he had
no mind to be caught red-handed.  And no one
had seen him come.  He darted from the room
like a flash and raced across the sands as if the
Powers of Darkness were after him.





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.. _`"THOU ART THE MAN"`:

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   CHAPTER XXX


.. class:: center medium bold

   "THOU ART THE MAN"

.. vspace:: 2

It was some time before Rent came to himself
and sat up, wondering what had happened.  His
brain was dizzy and confused.  His head was
aching violently.  In some vague way he was haunted
with an idea that he had come down to the office
on some important errand which had life or death
behind it.  But, cudgel his brain as he might, he
could not recollect what it was.  There was no
mark of violence on his forehead.  He could not
remember how he got there.  He would have
found it difficult, indeed, to put a name to the man
who had brought this catastrophe about.  He sank
down into his chair, a profuse perspiration breaking
out on his brow.  He had utterly forgotten the
past up to a few minutes ago.  Yet all the time he
was haunted with an insistent feeling that he had
something to do, that he had something to obliterate,
or suffer consequences disastrous to himself.

"I suppose it will pass off presently," he
muttered.  "Let me see, wasn't there somebody with
me?  Was Bark here, or did I dream it?  Yes, he
certainly was here.  But what happened?  Why
did I come to myself lying in the fireplace?  And
what was it I had to do?  Perhaps Swift can
tell me."

But, though Rent sat there with his head in his
hands for half an hour, his treacherous memory
did not come back to him.  He looked up eagerly
as he heard a step in the passage and Swift came
in.  With a certain feeling of thankfulness he
recognised Swift.  But all that had taken place during
the past week was a blank complete and absolute.
Swift gazed into the face of his employer with
uneasy surprise.  He had not been drinking to-night.
His faculties were clear.

"What on earth is the matter?" he asked.  "You
look so white and wild.  What have you been
doing?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rent groaned.  "I came
for a special purpose a little time ago, but what
brought me I haven't the remotest idea.  I suppose
I had a fainting fit or something of that kind,
for when I came to myself I was lying in the fender,
and now I can recollect nothing that has taken
place during the last few days.  I have heard of
brain lapses of that kind, but I have never believed
in them before."

"Did you come alone?" Swift asked.

"That I can't tell you.  And I don't know how
long I have been here, either.  Oh, my head is
dreadful!"

Swift shrugged his shoulders indifferently.  He
had his own idea as to what had taken place, but
saw that it would be a waste of time to cross-examine
Rent further.  He glanced about him.  The
man smiled cynically as he saw the end of a cheap
cigarette in a saucer on the table.  It was not the
sort of cigarette that Rent would smoke.  Possibly
that kind of tobacco might appeal to a man like
Bark.  Swift did not require to be told any more.
He had reconstructed the whole scene in his mind's
eye.

"I am very sorry," he said.  "Unfortunately, I
can do nothing to help you.  If you take my advice,
you will go back to your hotel without delay and
send for a doctor.  It is uncommonly awkward
for a man who leads your sort of life to forget all
that happens for the best part of a week.  An
accident like that might lead to unpleasant
consequences.  Now let me take you back."

Rent raised no objection.  He was too
thoroughly frightened and broken down to heed his
assistant's sarcasm.  And all the time he was filled
with a haunting dread that he was leaving some
work unfinished, some task which, if neglected,
might involve him in a veritable catastrophe.  He
submitted quietly to follow Swift.  No words
passed as they walked through the deserted town.
Near the harbour they met Malcolm Grey on his
way to the yacht, but neither seemed to observe
him, though he recognised them plainly enough.

"I wonder what these two fellows are up to?"
Grey mused.  "I would give something to see into
the back of Rent's mind at the present moment.
But, still, I know how to act now."

When he reached the yacht he found Tanza
awaiting him, the little man's eyes sparkling, as
usual.  He appeared to be on excellent terms with
himself.

"So you have been busy?" he exclaimed.  "Well,
I have not been idle, either.  But tell me all about
this extraordinary accident to Mrs. Charlock.  You
needn't be surprised to find that I know, because,
for the last hour or so, I have been at the police
station.  Is this another case of suicide?"

"Pure accident, I should say," Grey replied.
"But one can never tell.  You are going your way
and I am going mine, but it is odd if we can't
arrive at the truth between us."

"And how did Charlock take it?" Tanza asked.

"Well, he didn't take it at all," Grey replied,
"if I may put it in that way.  For all the emotion
and feeling he displayed we might have fished a
dog out of the reservoir instead of his wife.  But
his feelings are so keen and intense that he keeps
an extra tight hold upon them.  I am to see him
in the morning.  I want an excuse for going over
his house, and, if I am not mistaken, I shall make
a sensational discovery or two in the course of
to-day or to-morrow.  I'll have one of your
cigarettes, after which I'll go to bed."

There was no change in Charlock when Grey
reached the house on the following morning.  He
found the artist in the same quiet, self-contained
mood.  There was nothing to show that his feelings
had been played upon, except for certain hollow
rings under his eyes.

"I am glad you have come," he said.  "It is
dreadful being here alone.  I have got a few things
in the house and furnished a sitting-room for the
time being.  They tell me the inquest is at ten
o'clock.  I shall be glad when it is over, for the
police are worrying me with all sorts of questions
more or less impertinent.  I have the greatest
difficulty in keeping my hands off some of them.  Ah,
here is another.  It is the inspector this time.  He
rather wants to see you.  Meanwhile, I'll get out
of the way till he is finished."

Charlock slipped quietly out of the room as the
inspector came in.  He was a pompous little man
with a heavy manner, who appeared to think that
he had the care of the universe on his shoulders.
Nevertheless, when he began to speak his questions
were very much to the point.

"I don't want to bother you, Mr. Grey," the
inspector said, "but I think you can give me certain
information.  I have been talking the matter over
with Mr. Charlock and he has shown me his wife's
letter.  It appears that the lady came here last
night at her own suggestion.  It was Mr. Charlock's
idea that you should be present at the
interview.  Of course, we don't want to go into the
details of a domestic quarrel, but it must be
admitted that the relationship between husband and
wife was exceedingly strained.  I suppose you know
that?"

"You are stating it fairly," Grey said cautiously.

"Exactly.  Mr. Charlock was inclined to be
harsh, and the lady, I understand, was terribly
extravagant.  There had been a serious quarrel
before Mrs. Charlock made overtures for reconciliation.
It doesn't matter why Mr. Charlock decided
to call you in, seeing that you were here.  Now,
have you any reason to believe that Mrs. Charlock
was in the house alone with her husband before
you came?  Did you see any evidence of it?"

The question startled Grey.

"Indeed, I didn't!" he said.  "I understood
from Mr. Charlock that he had not seen his wife.
He put it plainly to me that I had been asked to
go round an hour before Mrs. Charlock was
expected, so that in the first place he could explain
to me why I had been sent for.  I feel sure I am
right."

By way of reply the inspector produced a light
dustcoat, which he held out for Grey's inspection.

"I think I shall prove that you are wrong," he
said.  "I traced Mrs. Charlock's movements all
yesterday, and I am prepared to show that the
lady was wearing this dustcoat at the very time
that she left her hotel last night.  She was seen by
several people to whom she is personally known.
You will perceive for yourself that this cloak is
quite dry, and that it is not in the least stained, as
it would be had it been immersed in water.  Now,
last night, after I came here at your suggestion, I
went all over the house, and in the drawing-room,
by the side of one of the French windows, I found
this cloak.  The window was unfastened, so that
anybody could get in who liked, and I came to the
conclusion that Mrs. Charlock was either in the
house when you came or she had been here before.
As a matter of fact, the cloak proves it."

"I am afraid it does," Grey was fain to admit.

"Thank you," the inspector said.  "But I have
not done yet.  I have been examining the lawn for
footmarks, and I find traces of a pair of boots, or
rather of tennis-shoes, which go right round the
side of the lawn to the back of the sundial.  These
shoes were worn by Mr. Charlock and yield
distinctly the same impressions as were given by the
shoes which marched side by side with yours when
you were on your way to the fountain last night.
Now, can you explain this?"

"It is very awkward for Charlock," Grey murmured.





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.. _`AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND`:

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   CHAPTER XXXI


.. class:: center medium bold

   AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND

.. vspace:: 2

Inspector Battley nodded his head gravely.

"I suppose I ought not to tell you these things,"
he said.  "But I understand you are a friend of
Mr. Charlock's; in fact, so far as I know, you are
the only friend he has.  Of course, this may not
be more than a mere coincidence, but you might
mention the matter to him, and no doubt an
explanation will be forthcoming.  I could not take
any action at present."

"Of course you couldn't," Grey exclaimed,
"especially in view of the evidence which I have
already given you myself."

"That is exactly the point," Battley said eagerly.
"According to what you say, you heard a cry of
distress and hastened off at once in the direction of
the sundial.  There you found the unfortunate
lady lying dead in the fountain.  I suppose you
are quite sure that it was her voice you heard?"

"Well, that's rather a large order," Grey said.
"But, on the other hand, if it wasn't Mrs. Charlock,
who could it have been?  I am pretty sure
that I am right, and that my evidence would
convince any jury that Mr. Charlock had nothing to
do with his wife's death."

"It is a good point," the inspector said.  "Still,
the lady was in the house before you came, beyond
all doubt.  It would be a good thing if we could
ascertain what brought her here.  I hope you will
recognise that I am doing my best to help Mr. Charlock."

"Oh, I quite see that.  And as to Mrs. Charlock's
presence here before I came, that can be
easily explained.  There is no secret in the fact
that Mr. Charlock and his wife were on exceedingly
bad terms, owing to the wife's extravagance.
So far as I can gather, she did not seem to have
the least idea of the value of money.  She spent
all she could get in reckless fashion, and she did
not hesitate to pledge Charlock's credit to the
utmost capacity.  Rightly or wrongly, she became
possessed of the idea that he was merely a
money-making machine, a kind of slave to minister to
her wants.  Charlock is a peculiar, self-contained
man, like most people with deep-seated feelings,
and this reserve has given him the reputation of
being an unfeeling brute who did not deserve such
a wife as Mrs. Charlock.  At any rate, that is the
view that most of their friends take, and at one
time, I confess, it was my opinion, too.  Of course,
it was foolish of Charlock to turn his wife out of
the house——"

"Did he do that?" the inspector asked.

"Well, that is what it came to.  He had made
up his mind to sacrifice everything with a view to
getting out of debt.  He had taken a small cottage,
where he intended his wife to do the domestic
work, and where he meant to remain as long as a
penny was owing.  Perhaps it was natural that
Mrs. Charlock should refuse to fall in with this
suggestion.  Charlock took the bull by the horns
by stripping the house entirely, and when
Mrs. Charlock came back one evening she found the
place as bare as you see it now.  Two courses were
open to her—either to go to her own friends or
follow her husband.  There was one more alternative,
and that was to live for the time being on the
sale of her jewellery, of which she possessed a
considerable quantity.  But the jewellery had been
stolen, or, at least, so Charlock tells me.  He
seemed to be under the impression that the French
maid, Hortense, had had some hand in the robbery.
My impression is that Mrs. Charlock came
an hour or so before the time appointed for the
interview in order thoroughly to search the house
for the missing gems.  I think you will find that
Charlock hasn't the slightest idea that she has been
here at all."

"Oh, it is possible," Battley remarked.  "Perhaps
you will be good enough to mention this matter
to Mr. Charlock.  I don't want to allude to it
for the present.  I have been candid with you, and
perhaps you will do your best to get an explanation
of this peculiar point."

Before Grey could reply, Charlock returned.  He
asked impatiently how much longer Grey would
be.  He seemed to be put out about something.

"I am coming now," Grey said.  "By the way,
I have had an interesting conversation with
Inspector Battley.  He wants to know why
Mrs. Charlock was here for some time before I came
in response to your letter."

"Who says she was here?" Charlock demanded.

"Inspector Battley is in a position to prove it,"
Grey said significantly.  "Lying on a chair yonder
is the wrap she was wearing when she left her
hotel last night, and the wrap was found on a chair
by the French window, perfectly dry, so that it
must have been discarded before she found her
way into the water.  You were also wearing a pair
of tennis-shoes last night, the prints of which
Inspector Battley says he traced to the back of the
sundial.  Of course, the inspector doesn't suggest——"

Charlock burst into a hoarse laugh.

"Oh, no, he doesn't suggest anything," he cried.
"He hints all sorts of mysterious things, which is
a great deal worse.  He will be saying next that I
had a hand in removing the woman who was such
a hindrance and encumbrance to me.  Not that it
in the least matters, because if he doesn't say so,
somebody else will.  There are scores of people
who regarded my wife as an injured saint and
myself as a monster of cruelty.  I didn't see my wife
last night.  If she was here, as you say, I know
nothing whatever about it.  She had her own
reasons for coming, no doubt, and her visit was made
in absolute secrecy.  Possibly she was looking for
her lost jewels, of which she had a quantity.  I
ought to know, because I paid for them, like the
fool that I was.  I understand that the jewels were
stolen, and I don't mind admitting I was very
pleased they were.  They were bought at a time
when I had no means of paying for them; they
were the final cause of all my trouble.  But that
doesn't matter.  You may depend upon it, my wife
came back to have another look for the missing
stones, and, for certain reasons of her own, she
didn't want me to know it.  And now, if you have
anything else to say, perhaps you will say it to me
honestly and straightforwardly."

There was something truculent in Charlock's
expression.  A gleam of defiance lighted his eyes.
The inspector reddened slightly.

"I beg your pardon," he said.  "I am bringing
no accusation against you.  I merely remarked that
your wife was here last night, and that you had
said nothing about the fact.  I admit now that you
did not know of it.  You may regard this as a
mere detail, but in our profession trifles often turn
out to be of the greatest importance.  I asked
Mr. Grey to mention this matter to you in an entirely
friendly spirit.  I did not expect that he would
have done so just yet."

"There was nothing to be gained by delay," Grey said.

Battley curtly agreed, and took himself off
without delay.  In his queer, sardonic way, Charlock
seemed to be amused about something, for he
chuckled to himself as he walked up and down the
room.

"What foolish things clever men can do sometimes,"
he said.  "Now, you see perfectly well what
that fellow has got in his mind.  Nothing will
persuade him that I hadn't a hand in my wife's death.
He is convinced that I had an interview with her
before you came into the house.  It is lucky for
me that you can give evidence to the contrary."

"Are you not a little foolish yourself?" Grey
ventured.  "You might have taken what the
inspector said in a more friendly spirit, and you admit
that there are plenty of people who regard you as
a most undesirable man to marry any woman.  Of
course, I know I am going rather far——"

"My dear fellow, nothing of the kind.  I know
you are only too ready to help me, and in my own
way I am grateful.  Besides, I am certain that I
am right.  Let us assume for a moment that
Hortense stole those jewels.  The night my wife left
here on her foolish mission with Arnold Rent she
intended to take her diamonds with her.  With all
her saint-like purity and innocence, she did not
forget their value.  But the diamonds were gone.  It
did not matter so very much, however, seeing that
my wife was to find an asylum with Mrs. Rent and
remain under that lady's roof till I should
generously make a fool of myself and give her the
chance of getting rid of me altogether.  But when
Mrs. Rent figures as a woman of firmness and
determination the whole situation is changed.  Then
it becomes necessary to secure those gems.  That is
why my wife came here.  And you needn't be
afraid about what people say of me.  What does
it matter what they say?  What does anything
matter?  My life has been blackened and ruined
because I was fool enough to mistake a cold-blooded,
self-seeking creature for a good and true
woman.  If they like to say that I had a hand in her
death, they can if they please.  They ought to be
grateful to me for giving them something to talk
about!"

It was in vain that Grey protested, for Charlock
turned a deaf ear to him.  Then the artist walked
out of the room across the grass towards the sundial.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`SWIFT COMES OUT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXII


.. class:: center medium bold

   SWIFT COMES OUT

.. vspace:: 2

As was only natural in the circumstances, the
tragic death of Mrs. John Charlock created a
profound sensation.  The accident to the French maid
had set most people talking, but the unfortunate
end of the mistress in the same mysterious fashion
bade fair to become a general topic of conversation.
The whole thing was so simple, and yet so
strange and out of the common.  A score of theories
were set on foot, but not one of them worked
out in a satisfactory manner.  The police were
plainly at fault, and though Inspector Battley was
reinforced by a colleague or two from Scotland
Yard, the end of the week found the authorities
no nearer the solution of the trouble than they had
been at the beginning of the inquiry.

As for Grey and Tanza, they went their own
way, which was by no means the way taken by the
police.  Ephraim Bark was still in the neighbourhood,
and his movements were watched by Tanza
and Grey with a patient care which would have
astonished that worthy had he only known of it.
Grey had his own theory, which he was developing
slowly.  It was an integral part of his theory
that Bark could have said a great deal more had
he chosen to do so.  And there was yet another
person whom Grey was keeping a close eye upon.
He had by no means forgotten the torn photograph
he had found in the French maid's room.
He did not ignore the information as to Arnold
Rent's strange friendship with the dead Frenchwoman.
And there was another item of which, as
yet, Grey had said nothing to anyone.  He was
coming to his conclusions now—conclusions so
strange and startling that he hardly dared trust
himself to believe them.  A week passed slowly,
during which nothing particular had happened,
and Arnold Rent appeared to get no better.  So
far as Grey could gather, his brother scientist had
had a nasty fall, which, for the time being, had
affected his intellect.  There was a good deal of
mystery about the affair, and Grey was at some
pains to make the acquaintance of the doctor
who was attending Rent.  The thing was accomplished
at length through Tanza, who made some
pretext for inviting the doctor to dine aboard his
yacht.  Very cautiously and patiently Grey led up
to the subject which was next his heart.  The thing
was so naturally done, and Tanza played into his
hands so cleverly, that the doctor fell into the trap
at once.

"Oh, so you know Mr. Rent," he said, as he lay
back in a deck-chair smoking a cigar.  "An
exceedingly clever fellow, who, unless I am much
mistaken, will make his mark in the world yet.  A
strange illness that of his, by the way."

"I was going to ask you about that," Grey murmured.
"I hear he is suffering from the effects of
a severe fall.  I hope the accident won't leave any
permanent injury."

"I don't think so," the doctor said.  "I had a
specialist down to-day and he takes a very sanguine
view of the case.  All that is wanted is rest.  For
the moment my patient has a partial lapse of
memory—a sort of hiatus of a week.  In other words,
he can recollect everything perfectly well, except
that the past seven days are a complete blank to
him.  And during the last day or so before his fall
he had been engaged in some experiment, the
results of which ought to be placed on record at
once.  This seems to worry him terribly.  It has
affected him to such an extent that he is making
himself seriously ill over it.  Imagine a man who
has some great commercial deal on and has to buy
or sell at a given moment suddenly forgetting the
very thing he has to do.  That appears to be Rent's
case.  Anybody might suppose that he had
committed murder and had forgotten to hide the clue,
by the way he goes on."

A sudden exclamation broke from Grey, which
he checked immediately.  The doctor looked up
inquiringly.

"A twinge of pain," he muttered.  "Nothing
much to trouble about.  A most interesting case,
doctor.  And you think that in time Rent will be
quite himself again?"

"Oh, I am certain of it.  If I could only prevent
him from worrying, I should have had him right
by this time.  Of course, what I am saying to you
is in strict confidence."

Grey and Tanza gave the desired assurance, and
the conversation became more general.  When the
doctor left he was accompanied by Grey, who said
he had business on shore.  He left the man of
medicine at the corner of a street leading up from
the quay and proceeded along the shore to Arnold
Rent's workshop.  He stood for a long time making
a mental calculation, after which he walked
several times round the building, examining the
ground carefully as if in search of something.
Apparently, nothing had rewarded his efforts, for he
shook his head impatiently and crossed over to the
office, in the window of which a light was burning.
Someone inside was singing a snatch from a comic
opera in a loud, blustering voice.  An unsteady,
flickering shadow crossed the blind once or twice,
and Grey's features broke into a grim smile.

"Friend Swift has broken out again," he
murmured.  "What a pity so clever a man should be
the victim of a curse like this!  Still, his misfortune
is my opportunity, and if there is anything he can
tell me, now is the time to learn it."

Without further hesitation, Grey pushed his way
into the office, which was flooded with half a dozen
powerful electric lights.  The large slate-topped
table had been cleared of all kinds of electric
appliances.  There were the remains of a supper at
one end, flanked by two or three empty bottles.
The reserved and saturnine Swift seemed to have
changed altogether.  His dark features wore a
look of reckless gaiety; his sombre eyes were shining.
He did not appear to be in the least surprised
to see Grey; in fact, he might have been expecting
him.  His unsteady gait and thick speech, however,
told their tale.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed.  "So you have come to
pay me a visit?  You have come here to learn the
secrets of the prison-house?  Ah, my dear fellow,
you are very clever, but your tuppenny discoveries
are nothing compared to what we are on the track
of here.  For we've got it, my boy, we've got it.
You remember the dream you used to indulge in
at school?"

"Intermittent electricity," Grey exclaimed.  "A
wireless current.  You don't mean to say you have
got to the bottom of that!"

Swift seemed to be sober for the moment.  A
sullen, obstinate look came over his face, but he
did not appear to be half so agitated as was his
visitor.  Only for an instant did it occur to the
dull brain that secrets were being betrayed, and
in the same instant Grey saw that he had gone too
far.  He changed the subject with a quickness that
fogged Swift.

"What did I say to you?" the latter asked, as
he passed his hand across his face.  "I hope I didn't
make a fool of myself?"

"Not at all," Grey hastened to say.  "Besides, I
haven't come here to-night in the guise of a spy."

"Quite right," Swift said, with a sudden change
to amiability.  "Of course, you didn't.  You are
too much of a gentleman for that.  Now, Arnold
Rent isn't a gentleman, for all his pretence.  He
treats me like a dog.  He uses my brains and then
passes off my discoveries as his own.  He knows
that no one else will employ me, that nobody else
would look twice at a man who is often drunk a
week at a time.  But I can't help it, Grey.  Upon
my word, I can't.  I inherit it from my father.
I fight against it and fight against it till the sweat
runs off my forehead and my limbs refuse to carry
me.  Then, all at once, everything grows misty
and I can't recollect anything more till I am
gloriously drunk.  That's why Rent puts up with me.
But he is a blackguard, all the same, and he will
come to a bad end.  Don't you trust him, Grey.
Don't you trust him, or it will be all the worse for
you.  Now come and sit down and make a night
of it with me."

Grey declined the tempting offer.

"I can't stay many minutes," he said.  "I merely
looked in to see how Rent was getting on."

"He is bad, downright bad," Swift said, with a
chuckle.  "And he has got something on his mind.
There is something he has to do, some piece of
infernal rascality to conceal, and his brain fails him,
and he can't for the life of him think what it is.
And all the time the trail is open for anybody to
pick up, and he might find himself in trouble at
any moment.  That is what's wrong with Arnold
Rent, and I can't say I'm sorry.  Do I know what
he has been doing?  No, I don't, and I don't care.
You think that his accident is the result of a fall.
Nothing of the kind, my boy!  He and that
blackguard, Ephraim Bark, had a quarrel the other
night and Bark knocked him into the fender.  How
do I know that?  Well, you see, I came in directly
afterwards and Rent tried to persuade me that
nobody had been here.  Unluckily for him there
was a cheap cigarette on the table, and I guessed
at once Bark had been smoking.  But why don't
you sit down and make yourself comfortable?  You
are different from me.  You always know when to
leave off—when you have had enough."

Half-defiantly, Swift helped himself to another
strong glass of whisky, and a moment or two later
was lying back in an armchair, more or less asleep.
It was a good chance for Grey to get away and
he seized it promptly.

"That's a lucky call," he muttered.  "Now I
see what it was that puzzled me.  Rent has learnt
the secret of the intermittent current and he has
been using it.  It will be my turn next."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A WORD IN SEASON`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   A WORD IN SEASON

.. vspace:: 2

Mrs. Rent might have possessed all the
strength and determination for which she gave
herself credit, but she lost no time in responding to
the call of duty directly she heard that her son had
met with an accident.  She had waited till nearly
daybreak for Rent's return on that eventful night
when he had gone out in search of Kate Charlock.
She had waited, too, with an anxiety which she
strove in vain to conceal.  But there came no sign
of Rent until a letter reached her in a day or two
saying that he had reconsidered the whole position
and had come to the conclusion that she was right
and he was altogether wrong.  The letter was
couched in terms of due filial affection, and was
none the less convincing for being a tissue of lies
from beginning to end.

But Mrs. Rent read it all the more lovingly
because she wanted to believe that her son meant
every word he wrote.  He told her how he had
talked the matter over with Kate Charlock and
how the latter had agreed that his mother had
acted entirely for the best.  No doubt she had
appeared to be harsh and cruel, but she was only
cruel to be kind.  Mrs. Charlock was going back
to her husband and she and Arnold Rent were not
likely to meet in the future.  Meanwhile, the
writer would work as he had never worked before
and try to wipe out every suggestion of his folly.

For the next two or three days life had resumed
its old peacefulness at Alton Lee.  Then came a
few curt lines from Swift to the effect that Rent
had met with a nasty accident and that it would
be as well if his mother came at once.  Within
twenty-four hours Mrs. Rent was installed by her
son's bedside, with Ethel Hargrave in close attendance.
It never struck either of them that there
was anything sinister about the patient's constant
complaint that he had something to do which he
could not remember.  There were hours and almost
days together when he sat in sullen silence, taking
no notice of anybody and apparently trying to work
out some problem in his clouded mind.  At such
times Mrs. Rent preferred to be alone with her
son, and urged Ethel to go out of doors as much
as possible.

It was lonely for the girl, but she had not
forgotten the events of the last few days, and found
herself thinking a good deal about John Charlock.
There was a romantic vein in her nature which
rendered her different from most girls, and her
solitary life at Alton Lee had given her plenty of
time to think and form her own conclusions.  From
the very first she had taken a fancy to John
Charlock.  His rugged austerity and reserve did not
repel her as it did most people.  She saw beneath
it a depth and sincerity of feeling with which she
was in absolute sympathy.  And simultaneously
with the appearance of John Charlock her idol in
the form of Arnold Rent had fallen to the ground.
She had been asking herself many questions lately,
and when the first shock was over she knew in her
heart of hearts that she did not care for Arnold
in the way in which a woman should care for the
man she hoped to marry.  She had heard both
sides of the question, too.  She had interviewed
John Charlock and his wife, and the more her
mind dwelt upon the matter the more convinced
she was that the woman had been to blame.  Of
course, Ethel had heard of the tragic death of
Kate Charlock, and now that she was in the
neighbourhood she felt herself irresistibly drawn
towards the house where Charlock had spent some
of his unhappiest days.  Ethel thought that it
would be safe to stroll through the beautiful
grounds, for the house was still empty, and she had
not the least idea that Charlock was in the district.

On the third day of her visit she ventured to
pass the lodge gate and walk down the drive
towards the house.  The place looked blank with its
staring windows, but there was no sign of neglect
in the garden.  Here the lawns were cut and
trimmed, and there were beds luxuriant with
flowers.  Here, too, gleaming in the sunshine, was the
white marble of the sundial on the fountain, near
to which those two terrible tragedies had taken
place.  It was impossible to connect so fair a spot
with mystery and horror.  As Ethel was standing
almost fascinated, she heard a step on the gravel
behind her, and when she turned she saw John
Charlock watching her.

"You startled me," she said, a faint wave of
colour tingeing her face.  "I am ashamed you should
find me here."

"And why?" Charlock demanded in his imperious way.

"Well, it seems so unfeeling.  It suggests
impertinent curiosity.  Believe me, I would not have
come had I known you were here."

"Well, I am glad you didn't know," Charlock
retorted.  "You see, I have to stay here for the
present.  I am doing my best to let the house, but
so far without success.  It is possible that I may
come back again.  My wife is dead and I must say
nothing about her, but I think that, seeing I have
no longer any reason to fear her extravagance, I
might manage with economy to remain here until
I am free of debt.  I suppose you came with
Mrs. Rent to look after your invalid.  I hope he is
progressing favourably."

"Well, no," Ethel said.  "He doesn't seem to
get any better.  To all appearances he is well, but
he seems to be suffering in his mind.  There is
something which he has to do, but he can't
remember what it is.  Mrs. Rent and I are taking turns
nursing him.  The doctor says the cloud may lift
at any moment and then Arnold will be himself
again.  What a lovely place you have!"

"I thought so at one time," Charlock said.  "I
had dreams of being happy here, but, in fact, it is
here I have passed the most miserable days of my
life.  Oh, I am not complaining.  I am not blaming
the place.  But, tell me, did you happen to see
my wife after I left Alton Lee?"

Charlock asked the question in his abrupt fashion.
His eyes were fixed steadily upon his companion.

"Yes, I saw her," Ethel said.  "A beautiful woman."

"No fairer on God's earth.  And I suppose she
managed to persuade you that she was an injured
innocent and I an absolute monster.  Still, I am
glad you saw her, because it is well to hear both
sides of a question.  And yet I am conceited enough
to think that you cannot imagine so much evil of
me, or you would not be talking as you are at this
moment."

"I am still of the same opinion," Ethel
murmured.  "I think your wife had the peculiar
temperament which can sincerely make out that wrong
is right.  Certain men justify dishonourable
actions in the same way.  I might have been
prejudiced.  I might have been offended by your wife's
coming to Alton Lee at all.  But I told you that
night in the garden that I was sorry for you and
I see no cause to change my opinion."

The words cost Ethel somewhat of an effort,
but she uttered them bravely.  Then she turned
away as if the conversation were ended, and
Charlock sought to detain her no longer.  There was
that in his silence, a suggestion of delicacy of
feeling, for which the girl was grateful.  She shook
hands with him by the lodge gate, and the favourable
impression he had created in her mind was
not lessened by the absence on his part of any
suggestion that they should meet again.

But all thoughts of Charlock faded from the
girl's mind when she reached home and saw how
pale and worried Mrs. Rent was.  The doctor was
coming down the stairs and was urging his patient's
mother to rest for an hour or so.  Ethel cordially
supported this suggestion.

"I ought to have been back before," she said
contritely.  "Oh, surely you can leave Arnold to
me for a little while.  It isn't the first time that I
have had him in my care."

With obvious reluctance Mrs. Rent gave way.
There was little or nothing to do, for the patient
was sitting in his armchair, with his head in his
hands as usual, pondering the problem which occupied
his mind to the exclusion of everything else.
He made no reply to Ethel's question as to how he
felt.  The girl picked up a book and gradually
became interested in the story.  She was roused
presently by a loud exclamation on the part of the
patient.  He was standing upright, his eyes gleaming,
a peculiar fixed smile on his face.  He crossed
the room with rapid strides and proceeded to open
a cupboard door with a key which he took from
his pocket.  Somewhat alarmed, Ethel watched
him with dazed astonishment.  She saw he held
in his hand a mass of india-rubber bandages and
something that looked like a pair of gloves.  From
the expression of his eyes and the way he looked
over her head he seemed to be oblivious of her
presence.  Yet he held the gloves out towards her.

"Come along," he said hoarsely.  "Thank
Heaven, I recollect it at last.  But we have not a
moment to lose, for the secret might be discovered
at any moment.  Why are you standing there staring?
Why don't you do what I tell you?  You
have been drinking again."

Ethel sprang to the wall and rang the bell.  At
the same moment Rent dropped his burden on the
floor and once more lapsed into the old sullen state
of mind.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A BLACK SUSPICION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   A BLACK SUSPICION

.. vspace:: 2

There was no occasion for Ethel Hargrave to
be afraid.  There had been no suggestion of
violence on the part of her patient, but yet, in some
unaccountable way, she felt her heart sinking and
her nerves throbbing as if the shadow of a great
disgrace was hanging over her.  She had ceased
to care for Arnold Rent; indeed, she was almost
grateful to him for showing her that she had made
a mistake in her estimate of his character.  All
these years she had lived so quiet a life, she had
seen so few men, that she had come to regard
Arnold Rent as typical of what was best in his sex.
In this she had been encouraged by Mrs. Rent's
pride and delight in the progress of her son.  Ethel
thought she was fortunate above women, inasmuch
as she would some day become the wife of Arnold
Rent.  The whole thing had been a tacit
understanding, and at first when disillusion came the
pain had been smart and keen.

But this was due to wounded vanity, though
Ethel did not know it.  It was her first contact
with the meaner side of human nature and it left
its mark.  Despite the fact that Ethel had lived
so long alone, she had read a great deal and knew
much of the world and its ways.  It did not need
anyone to teach her that Arnold Rent had behaved
foolishly in the matter of Mrs. Charlock, and since
then one or two little things had opened Ethel's
eyes.

She was glad the disclosure had come before it
was too late.  She could only regard Arnold Rent
in the light of a friend, and found herself contrasting
him with John Charlock, much to his detriment.

And now she could not rid herself of the idea
that there was something more than mere hallucination
here.  The blow which Rent had received
would be hardly accountable for his acting in this
fashion.  Undoubtedly, the man had something
desperate on his mind.  He had every appearance
of it in the uneasy, haunted expression of his face
and the gleam of his eyes.  Something was fearfully
wrong, and Ethel felt her heart sink as she
watched the moody, disconsolate figure seated in
the chair opposite her.  What it was he had to
conceal she did not know, nor could she manage,
with all the patience at her command, to find out
what was amiss.

"Is there nothing I can do for you?" she asked.

Rent shook his head sulkily.  The mass of
matter which he had removed from the safe lay on
the floor, but he took no notice of it.  The cloud
had fallen again.

"Don't bother," he said.  "It has all gone again.
There was something I had to do and I can't for
the life of me think what it was.  I had to go
somewhere.  There was a little thing——"

He broke off abruptly and smote his forehead
passionately with his hand.  Ethel watched him
curiously.

"Surely there is some way I can help you," she
said.

"No, there isn't.  You know nothing about it.
Besides, in any case, it is not a woman's work.
Swift will be all right.  But, then, you can't trust
Swift, because you never know when he is going
to give way to one of his drunken bouts.  The most
useful man I know is Malcolm Grey.  He can
manage it."

Rent was speaking rationally enough.  It was
only the uneasy gleam in his eyes which proved
to Ethel that he was still wandering.  But she
caught at the suggestion.

"Would you like to see Mr. Grey?" she asked.
"I understand that he is here; he has called to ask
about you once or twice.  He is staying with a
friend who has a yacht in the harbour."

"That's the idea," Rent said eagerly.  "Send
for Grey at once.  Well, why don't you go and do
it?  Why do you sit looking at me in that
extraordinary way?"

Rent's voice was harsh and hard and his face
wore an angry look.  Ethel rose from her seat, but
before she could leave the room Rent sprang up
and detained her.

"You are not to go," he whispered.  "Do you
hear me?  You are to stay where you are.  What
do you mean by making such a suggestion to me?
Do you want to get rid of me?  Why, if Grey so
much as guessed, I should never know a moment's
peace again."

It was hard to tell what to do in the circumstances,
and Ethel could only regard her companion
with astonishment.  He dropped back in his seat
and the same sullen silence fell over him.  There
was nothing to do but to humour the patient, and,
to her great relief, a little later Ethel saw that he
was asleep.  She slipped from the room into that
of Mrs. Rent, which adjoined, but that lady lay on
her bed without sign or motion.  No doubt she
was asleep also.  It was with a sensation of relief
that Ethel heard the doctor coming up the stairs
presently.  As his quick glance took in the state
of affairs, he crept quietly from the room and
beckoned to Ethel to follow him.

"I am glad to see that," he said.  "Whatever
you do, don't disturb him.  The more sleep he has
the better."

"Mrs. Rent is sleeping, too," Ethel said.

"That is right," the doctor murmured.  "I am
sure she wants it.  If we could only induce a sleep
like this on the part of the patient oftener he would
get better much the sooner.  It is impossible for
him to recover so long as he keeps on worrying
his brain as he does.  And now, at the risk of being
impertinent, I am going to ask a personal question.
I understand you have known Mr. Rent for a long
time.  Is that so?"

"I have known him all my life," Ethel said.

"Then you'll be able to tell me what I want to
know.  Of course, I recognise that he is an
exceedingly clever man and that he has a very active
and intelligent mind.  I am told that he sits up
half the night working out problems and fascinating
experiments.  These men make the most difficult
patients when there is brain trouble.  Tell me,
do you think Mr. Rent has anything weighing
heavily on his mind?"

Ethel hesitated.  She was startled to find the
doctor's train of thought very like her own.  He
put the question with a gravity which impressed
her.  But he was the doctor in charge of the case
and had every right to the information of which
he was in search.

"I am afraid so," she said.  "It has been dawning
upon me for the last day or two that there is
something very wrong.  Arnold Rent seems to be
full of the idea that he has left some task
unfinished.  He is dreadfully afraid lest somebody
should find out certain information which his
illness prevented him from concealing.  It may be
that he has hit upon a new invention—something
startling in the way of a discovery.  On the other
hand, it may be that he has done something to be
ashamed of and does not want it known.  I was
going to ask his assistant, Mr. Swift, about the
matter, but Mr. Rent never trusts him with anything
of importance, because the latter has a weakness
for drink.  I feel pretty sure that the secret
has something to do with a scientific discovery,
because, a few minutes since, your patient was
anxious to send for Mr. Malcolm Grey, a brother
scientist.  Then he suddenly changed his mind and
told me to do nothing of the kind.  I can't make
it out at all."

The doctor looked grave.

"It is a most puzzling case," he said.  "The
best thing to do is to fall in with every wish the
patient expresses.  Never mind if he changes his
opinion the next moment; humour him to the top
of his bent, and don't disturb him in any case.  The
same remark applies to Mrs. Rent.  Let the poor
lady have all the rest she can get.  I will look in
again later."

The time passed slowly.  It was growing late,
and there was no sign of Mrs. Rent.  Ethel sat in
the sick-room waiting the advent of the doctor,
who did not come, though it was now past eleven
o'clock.  Probably he had been detained
somewhere.  But, since Rent was slumbering in his
chair, it did not matter.  He moved uneasily in his
sleep once or twice, and Ethel caught the name of
Grey on his lips.  Unconscious as he was, his mind
was working away at the problem which puzzled
him so sorely.  Then Ethel closed her own eyes
and for a little while was oblivious to all that was
going on.  When she came to herself she heard a
clock striking the half-hour after eleven, so that
she knew she had been asleep some five-and-twenty
minutes.  She wondered if her patient was awake,
but was surprised to see that he was no longer
seated in the chair.  Possibly he had gone back
to bed.

But the bed was empty.  The door was closed
and locked on the inside.  Ethel rubbed her eyes
in astonishment.  She was not yet conscious of the
full extent of the catastrophe.  Then she roused
herself with an effort.  She began putting the pieces
together in her mind.  The door was locked on
the inside, and yet Arnold Rent had vanished.
Where had he gone to, and how had he contrived
to obliterate himself?  The window was open, and,
as Ethel looked out, she saw it was a short drop
to the garden.  Beyond question, Arnold Rent had
disappeared in that way.  It was the kind of
furtive exit a man with a diseased brain and perturbed
mind would make.  His clouded intellect had
pointed to secrecy.  He had deemed it prudent not
to show himself in the house.  But where had he
gone?  And why?

For the moment Ethel stood thinking the puzzle
out.  Then she unlocked the door and walked
quietly into Mrs. Rent's room.  The latter still
lay on her bed fast asleep.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE SEARCH`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE SEARCH

.. vspace:: 2

It was a cruel dilemma for the girl, but her
courage and intelligence returned and she began
to see how to act.  Nothing was to be gained by
rousing Mrs. Rent.  Possibly before she woke
Arnold would be found.  But where to look for
him, and which way to turn, Ethel did not know.
Perhaps the best thing would be to go at once to
Rent's workshop on the shore.  No doubt what
was troubling him was in some way connected with
his researches, and it was an obvious inference that
he had gone in that direction.  Ethel slipped into
a wrap and, without waiting to put on a hat,
walked into the darkness.

She knew which way to go, because the workshop
had already been pointed out to her.  She did
not mind the dark and lonely journey.  She flew
swiftly over the broken ground and gave a gasp
of relief when she saw a light in one of the offices.
Her search seemed to be finished almost before it
had begun.  Taking her courage in both hands,
she opened the door of the office and walked in.

But she did not, as she had expected, see Rent.
The office was not deserted, for Swift was present.
There were strange appliances on the table,
weird-looking apparatus and receptacles which conveyed
nothing to the girl, and over one of these Swift
was bending with a critical eye.  In spite of her
trouble Ethel saw that his face was deadly pale.
She saw how horribly his features were twitching,
and how the pupils of his eyes were dilated.  She
had never in her life before been face to face with
a man verging on *delirium tremens*.  But she
instinctively recoiled, feeling that something was
very wrong.  It flashed across her mind how
Arnold Rent had said that Swift was given to
prolonged bouts of drinking.  She wondered if the
repulsive aspect of his face had anything to do
with the dreadful weakness.  The girl was
frightened.  She knew there was something akin to
danger here.  But it was not the time to hang back,
not the time to show the terror which set her
trembling from head to foot.  She had to find Rent.
She had to forget her own risk.

"I beg your pardon," she said firmly, "but I
am looking for Mr. Rent.  Has he been here?"

A queer sort of laugh came from Swift's lips.
He pushed his curious-looking appliances aside and
came a pace or two nearer to the questioner.  She
stood her ground.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he said hoarsely,
"or is this a vision that I see before me?  Speak
again, bright spirit, and let me know that I am not
dreaming.  I swear if these delusions only came
in this form I would never willingly be sober again.
But you can never tell.  Sometimes it is a swarm
of bees, sometimes an army of pink rats, or an
array of black and grinning devils.  But in the
shape of loveliness like this——"

The speaker paused and his features twitched
horribly.  Ethel remembered having read of such
cases.  The man was on the brink of collapse,
though he had sense enough to know what was
going on.  His madness might take a dangerous
form.  At any rate, it would be perilous to show
fear.

"My name is Hargrave," Ethel said.  "I live
with Mrs. Rent.  Mr. Rent has disappeared and I
came to see whether he was here.  I am sorry to
intrude——"

"Don't mention it," Swift said.  "It is not often
that I have a pleasure so charming as this.  And
so you have come to look for my master.  Fortunate
Arnold Rent, who can command the services
of so fair a friend.  I suppose that you and
he——"

"Certainly not," Ethel said.  The colour flamed
painfully into her cheeks.  "Nothing of the kind.
I am merely a friend of Mr. Rent's.  I am helping
to nurse him and am concerned at his disappearance."

"I beg your pardon," Swift said, with some
show of humility.  "And I congratulate you.  Don't
have anything to do with Arnold Rent.  Keep him
at arm's length, for, between ourselves, he is a
precious scoundrel, as a good many people have
found out to their cost."

"Has he been here?" Ethel demanded.

"Oh, no, he hasn't.  And, what is more, I don't
think he is in the least likely to come.  I am sorry
to disappoint you.  It cuts me to the heart to see
that anxious expression on a fair face.  If you
want Arnold Rent, why don't you try John Charlock's
place?  I know it is late and the grounds
are lonely, but I am giving you good advice."

Swift accompanied this remark with a leer so
malicious that Ethel recoiled in disgust.  In spite
of the man's muddled brain and besotted intellect,
he had certain information of which Ethel was
ignorant.  It would not do to show that he filled
her with disgust.

"I am greatly obliged to you," she said.  "I will
go there at once.  There is no time to be lost."

"No, don't go," Swift pleaded.  "Give me your
company a little longer.  I am all right if I am not
alone.  But directly I am by myself those grinning
faces peep at me out of every corner—there, can't
you see them?  Don't you notice their ugly heads
sticking out of the row of bottles along that top
shelf?  Horrible!  Horrible!  Don't go."

The few last words rose to a wailing cry, which
filled Ethel with pity, frightened as she was.  She
could stand it no longer, but turned and made her
way to the door.  She flew along the passage into
the open air, glancing over her shoulder to see if
Swift were following.  It was good to be alone, to
feel the fresh breeze blowing on her face, and to
know that she had escaped that danger.  For Swift
had made no attempt to follow.  She could see
his lank shadow crossing and recrossing the blind.
She could hear him singing hideously to himself.

"Poor wretch," she murmured.  "Surely, he is
more to be pitied than blamed.  And now what
am I to do next?  I suppose I had better follow
his advice.  Fancy being involved in an adventure
like this!  I should have smiled at the mere
suggestion a month or two ago.  Still, my duty is
plain."

It was, indeed, a strange position for a young
and unprotected girl.  She found herself presently
walking up the avenue to John Charlock's house,
with no definite plan in her mind.  What she
expected to see and what she expected to gain it
would have been impossible to explain.  But Rent
might be wandering in the grounds.  It occurred
to Ethel in a fantastic way that his trouble might
be connected with the sundial.  Everything seemed
to centre round that mysterious monument, and
it was possible that Arnold Rent's state of mind
might be due to the tragic death of Mrs. Charlock.
The notion might be illogical and absurd,
but Ethel could not get it out of her mind.  She
passed round the garden twice without any sign
of the object of her search.  Then, half ashamed
of herself and her own simplicity, she turned to
leave.

As she passed the house she saw, to her surprise,
that a light was burning in one of the windows
upstairs.  Perhaps Rent was there.  Possibly in his
madness he had elected to call upon John Charlock.
Ethel knew that the latter was camping in the
empty house for the present.

Acting on the spur of the moment, she crossed
the drive and rang the bell.  Even now she was
half inclined to go back, but she forced herself to
remain until a light appeared in the door and
Charlock in person answered the summons.  He
held a candle, the light of which fell on Ethel's
pale, anxious face.  He staggered.

"Miss Hargrave!" he said.  "What does this mean?"

"What must you think of me?" Ethel asked
unsteadily.  "What excuse can I have for knocking
you up at this hour?  I can only plead that I am
in trouble."

"You need not say more than that," Charlock
murmured.  "Now, tell me how I can help you."

"It is Arnold Rent," Ethel stammered.  "He
has disappeared from the house.  I was looking
after him while his mother was asleep, and I dozed
in my chair.  When I came to myself he had
vanished.  I did not know what to do or how to act.
It seemed to me that my best course was to try
to find him before he was missed.  From something
he said in his delirium I fancy he was anxious
to see Mr. Grey.  Then it struck me that perhaps
he had gone off to his workshop.  I went there
and saw a man called Swift.  I don't know, but I
think he had been drinking, for his manner was
strange and wild.  He frightened me terribly.  And
I was glad to get away.  I should not have come
here, only he made a strange remark to the effect
that I could not do better than look for my patient
here.  There was such an expression of cunning
on Mr. Swift's face that I felt bound to come.  For
the last quarter of an hour I have been wandering
about the grounds.  Then I saw your light and
some irresistible impulse forced me to ring the bell.
I know it is much to ask, but I am sure you will
help me."

"Help you!" Charlock exclaimed.  "Of course
I will.  I will do anything in my power.  Wait a
moment till I go in the house and get an overcoat."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AN UNSEEN DANGER`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   AN UNSEEN DANGER

.. vspace:: 2

Somewhat later, Ethel and her companion
were walking rapidly along the road towards the
town.  During part of the time Charlock had been
quiet, almost taciturn.  But now he began to speak
more freely.

"I have been thinking the matter over," he
explained, "and I think there is a good deal in what
that poor creature, Swift, said.  It may come with
a bad grace from me, but I have a shrewd
suspicion that Arnold Rent is no better than he should
be.  I have heard rumours of certain statements
made by Swift when under the influence of drink,
and they have not impressed me favourably.  It is
possible that Swift is right and that Arnold Rent
set out to-night to try to find Mr. Grey.  Frequently
people, otherwise demented, display a wonderful
tenacity of purpose and clearness of mind when
they have a definite object in view.  I know a man
hopelessly insane who is one of the best military
tacticians in Europe.  Keep him to his hobby and he
might lead an army to victory.  But trust him in
any other capacity and you will make a fatal blunder.
Now, I propose, late as it is, to go off to
Dr. Tanza's yacht and see whether Arnold Rent has
been there."

Ethel expressed her gratitude and waited in the
shelter on the quay for Charlock's return.  He
came presently, accompanied by Grey, and the
information that the yacht had seen nothing of the
missing man.

"I am exceedingly sorry for you, Miss Hargrave,"
Grey murmured.  "It is plucky of you to
have come——"

"Won't you say foolish?" Ethel murmured.
"You don't know how ashamed I feel of myself.
It is very thoughtless of me to give you all this
trouble for nothing."

"I beg you won't mention it," Grey said eagerly.
"I admire the way you have behaved beyond measure.
I am sure you are fearless, and it is only
consideration for other people that brings you out
alone at this time of night.  As you have proved
your mettle so clearly, I am not afraid to speak
plainly.  You will have to be prepared for an
unpleasant shock before long, and if you have formed
a high estimate of Mr. Rent's character——"

"That illusion has been dispelled lately," Ethel
said quietly.  "Mr. Rent is nothing to me except
that his mother has been more than kind, and if
you have anything unpleasant to say, I implore you
not to hesitate on my account.  Let me know what
it is."

"Ah, that I cannot do," Grey went on.  "It is
a matter of suspicion for the moment.  And now
let us see whether we can find your patient.
Mr. Charlock has told me everything which you
confided to him, and I am of opinion that Swift is not
far wrong."

"Then we are going back to my house?" Charlock asked.

"That will be best," Grey replied.  "Possibly
we are on a wild goose chase, but we ought not to
neglect a single chance."

The trio turned in silence and made their way
to Charlock's residence.  Charlock invited Ethel
to come inside and wait while he and Grey searched
the grounds.

"I would rather come with you," Ethel said.
"I have not quite as much bravery as you give me
credit for.  I don't think I could stay alone in this
deserted house."

"Oh, nonsense," Charlock said, with a return of
his old peremptory manner.  "Really, you must
do as you are told.  We shall not be very far away.
And after what you have gone through to-night
this will be a mere trifle."

Ethel was about to demur, when she met Charlock's
steady glance.  There was something in the
look that checked the words on her lips and
summoned her fleeting courage.  From the first
Charlock had fascinated her in this way.  She seemed
to know that she would be compelled to do almost
anything he asked her.  And she knew, also, that
there was nothing he would require her to do that
would not bear the light of day.  She seemed to
be comforted and uplifted, and a smile came to
her lips.

"You are arbitrary," she said, "not to say rude.
But I will be obedient.  Only don't keep me
waiting longer than you can help.  I am ashamed to
think that I have given you so much trouble."

Charlock turned upon his heel without reply.
He seemed to take it for granted that Ethel should
do exactly as he asked her.  Possibly it gratified
his vanity to notice how implicitly she placed
herself in his hands.  Charlock produced a couple of
candlesticks from a cupboard and proceeded to
light them and place them on the mantelshelf.
There was a solitary chair in the room, upon which
he asked Ethel to be seated.

"There," he said.  "Try not to worry.  We
sha'n't be long."

Ethel smiled bravely in reply.  As a matter of
fact, her courage was oozing out rapidly again.
She was not in the least anxious to be left alone
in that echoing house.  Half-ashamed of herself,
she crept to the front door to see if the two men
had gone, and flung it open.  Anything was better
than that gloomy prison, where she could hear her
own heart beating, and the scratching of a mouse
behind the panel sounded loud and menacing.
There were queer noises, too, here and there, as
if the girl were surrounded with unseen people
who were wandering about the bare floors.  A
sudden draught of air caused a door upstairs to
slam with a noise which set the whole fabric
quivering.  It was almost more than the girl could
stand.  She felt that if she remained much longer
she must cry aloud.  She tried to reproach herself
with her own timidity.  She tried to imagine that
it was merely fancy which caused her to believe
that someone was creeping up the stairs with
stealthy steps.

But the feeling would not be fought down.  The
stealthy steps were far too real.  It was impossible
to sit there longer; she must satisfy herself that
her nerves were playing her false.  In an access of
anger she snatched a candle from the mantelpiece
and rushed into the hall.

It was no fancy.  Somebody was actually creeping
up the stairs.  She saw the dim outline of a
man.  She forgot herself and her prudence in the
terror of the moment.  A scream escaped her lips.
The man turned and regarded her with eyes that
shone green and threatening out of the gloom.
Then the steps were retraced and Ethel was
conscious that a heavy hand was laid upon her
shoulder.

"Stop that noise," the stranger said hoarsely.
"Do you want to betray me?  What brings you
here, Ethel?"

At the mention of her name the girl looked up.
To her intense surprise she saw Arnold Rent.  He
was fully dressed.  He carried something that
looked like a lever in his hand.  The strange,
uneasy light was still in his eyes, but there was a
resolute look upon his face which spoke of directness
and determination of purpose.

"What are you doing here?" she faltered.

"Never mind," Rent whispered.  "That is no
business of yours.  If you make a fuss, if you call
those men back, you will be sorry for it all the rest
of your life.  I am not doing any harm.  It isn't as
if I had come after Mrs. Charlock's jewels."

Ethel started at the suggestion.  What connection
could there be between Arnold Rent and the
missing jewels?

"You are not a thief?" she stammered.

"Not in that way," Rent said in the same hoarse
whisper.  "But there are other things besides
jewels.  There is that Frenchwoman and her papers.
I did not know at the time.  I did not guess that
she had been cunning enough.  But what am I
doing?  What am I saying?  If you dare betray
me I will take you by the throat——"

Rent broke off in a whisper.  An expression of
malignant fury convulsed his face.  Ethel could
stand it no longer.  With a sudden cry she burst
from Rent's detaining clasp and fled into the
garden, calling for help.  As she crossed the lawn
towards the sundial she could hear Rent's footsteps
behind her.  She was very near to the fountain
now, when Rent closed with her and, lifting her
high in the air, dragged her to the side of the
lawn.

"Not there, not there," he said in the same
hissing whisper.  "If you value your life, keep away
from here.  I don't know what the danger is,
though I could have told you a day or two ago.  If
my mind was only clear I could explain.  But, as
you value your future, don't come here any more."

The words might have meant a great deal, or
they might have meant nothing.  There was no
time to inquire or explain, for out of the gloom
emerged the figures of Grey and his companion.
No sooner did Rent see them than his manner
changed.  He withdrew his hand from Ethel's
arm and darted off to the house, muttering
something about papers and diaries.  Ethel would have
staggered and fallen had not Charlock caught her.

"Did you see him?" she asked.

"Oh, we saw him right enough," Charlock said
with unexpected tenderness.  "He has gone into
the house.  And now let me take you home.  This
is no place for you."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A DARK SUSPICION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   A DARK SUSPICION

.. vspace:: 2

Ethel Hargrave did not appear to hear what
Charlock was saying.  Her mind had gone back
to the moment when Arnold Rent had laid violent
hands upon her and spoken so harshly.  She thought
there was something more than madness here,
something in the nature of overpowering fear.
Rent had cast away his peculiar vagueness of
manner and appeared calm and rational.  If he had
only been an acquaintance snatching her from some
unexpected peril his words could not have rung
out more truly and sensibly.  Yet, on the face of
it, it seemed absurd that there could be any danger
in simply walking on the lawn, though lately two
tragedies had occurred there.  It was small
wonder, then, that Ethel trembled from head to foot
with a sense of some great impending discovery.
Charlock repeated his remark twice before the girl
appeared to heed him.

"I am frightened," she whispered.  "I don't
know what to make of it.  Did you see what happened?"

There was a peculiar thrill in her voice and her
eyes filled with tears.  Charlock looked slightly
puzzled, but if anything could be gleaned from the
expression of Grey's face, the mystery was no
sealed book to him.

"I saw," he said curtly.  "Everything will be
explained in due time.  Meanwhile, Mr. Charlock
is right in saying this is no place for you.  You
must go back to your lodgings."

There was almost a command in Grey's tone,
but Ethel did not offer to move.

"But it is impossible," she persisted.  "How
could I leave Arnold Rent?  What would his
mother say when she heard what I had done?"

"Nevertheless, you must do exactly what I tell
you," Grey went on.  "There is a mystery which
must be solved, even thought it breaks Mrs. Rent's
heart, and you suffer into the bargain.  And if
you will allow Mr. Charlock to take you quietly
home, I will pledge my word that Arnold Rent
shall come to no harm.  Within an hour I will
see that he is back."

Ethel would have ventured some protest, but
the stern, hard expression on the speaker's face
checked her.  She turned almost imploringly to
Charlock, as if seeking his protection.

"I don't understand," she murmured.  "The
whole thing is inexplicable.  Still, if you must have
your own way, I will bow to the inevitable.
Mr. Charlock, would it be too much trouble to ask you
to come as far as——"

"Not in the least," Charlock said eagerly; "it
would be a pleasure.  And I hope you won't think
Mr. Grey censorious.  He is acting for the best."

"I pledge my word to that," Grey said, with a
stern ring in his voice.  "Believe me, Miss
Hargrave, I am not here on pleasure bent.  But the
truth must be told, even only for the sake of
innocent people.  I will do my best not to abuse the
trust you have put in me.  I promise you that
before long Arnold Rent shall be safe back in bed
again.  Meanwhile, there is one thing I must ask
you to do.  As you go along the quay you might
stop and tell the boatman who is waiting to row
me back to the yacht that Dr. Tanza is wanted at
once.  Don't say more than that, for Tanza will
know what I mean.  I don't think I need say more."

Silently Charlock offered his arm to Ethel
Hargrave, and they vanished into the darkness.  No
word passed between them till after they had
interviewed the sleepy boatman and sent him off on
his errand.  Then Ethel turned to her companion
and faced him resolutely.

"I think you are a good man," she said, in a
voice that shook a little.  "At any rate, I know
you to be generous and truthful.  Now, Mr. Charlock,
kindly tell me what all this means.  What is
the object of so much mystery?  Why could not
Arnold Rent have accompanied us home instead of
staying behind in that gloomy old house?  It is
hardly fair to two defenceless women to make
them puppets in a game like this."

"I swear I cannot tell you," Charlock said
passionately.  "I really don't know.  But I am sure
Grey knows what he is doing and will never rest
till he gets to the bottom of the mystery."

"What is the mystery?" Ethel asked.

"Surely a superfluous question," Charlock said
quietly.  "Within a few days my wife and her
maid have both met with strange deaths.  It may
be coincidence.  On the other hand, it may be crime
of a terrible, if ingenious, character.  I should not
have suspected it myself, but Mr. Grey does."

"It seems impossible," Ethel murmured.

"Oh, it does.  I agree with you.  But one never
can tell.  The whole thing is maddening.  Is there
nothing mysterious, think you, in this strange
illness of Arnold Rent's?  Mind you, I am trying
to speak without prejudice.  I am trying to think
the best of that man.  But there are moments
when the most awful suspicions come into my
mind, and I have literally to expel them."

Ethel was silent for a while.  She could not
forget her own haunting suspicions.  They came back
to her now with vivid force—Arnold Rent's
violence, the unsteady terror in his voice as he
snatched her from some unseen danger.  His
conduct and his manner were not consistent with
innocence and integrity.

"What do you think?" she asked timidly.

"I don't know what to think," Charlock burst
out.  "As I said before, I have my suspicions.
But I am prejudiced.  I decline to believe that
Arnold Rent is the upright, honourable man
people believe him to be.  But it is hardly fair to
speak of a man in this way when he is in trouble.
I think the best thing we can do is to drop the
subject."

For some time the two walked side by side in
silence until they reached Mrs. Rent's lodgings.
To Ethel's surprise, the door was open and
Mrs. Rent was standing in the hall.  There was a look
of stern displeasure on her face.  She spoke to
Ethel with a harshness which she had never used
before.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.
"What has become of my son?  And why is Mr. Charlock here?"

"I am very, very sorry," Ethel faltered.  "I
went to sleep, and when I woke Arnold had gone.
Of course, it was exceedingly careless of me to
allow myself——"

"Careless?  Is that the only word you have for
it?  It seems strange there is no one whom I can
trust.  But where have you been?  Why do you
waste your time like this——"

"I assure you she had not been wasting her
time," Charlock said coldly.  "You can rest easy
in your mind, Mrs. Rent, for your son is found.
He will be here by-and-bye.  Meanwhile, it will
be well not to make any noise at this time of night.
There is no occasion to arouse the good people
here, unless, indeed, you have already done so."

There was something so curt and incisive in
Charlock's voice that Mrs. Rent's manner grew
quieter and more subdued.

"I am only just downstairs," she explained.  "I
went into my son's room just now and, to my
surprise, found it empty.  But if my boy is all right
there is nothing more to be said.  Perhaps I said
too much to you, Ethel, but I was speaking on the
spur of the moment——"

"Oh, please don't apologise," Ethel said.  "I
feel that I am to blame.  When I discovered what
had happened I went to Arnold's workshop, and
Mr. Swift told me where I might find him.  He is
coming later with Mr. Grey, and I don't think you
will find he is any the worse for his adventure."

A faint smile passed over Mrs. Rent's face.

"Then there is no more to be said," she
murmured.  "My dear child, how white and tired you
look!  I insist upon your going to bed at once.
Mr. Charlock will perhaps keep me company till
Arnold comes back."

Ethel was only too glad to be alone.  She shook
hands somewhat timidly with John Charlock and
made her way upstairs.  Then Mrs. Rent turned
to Charlock and suggested that it would be better
if they talked the matter over in her sitting-room.
Once inside, the lady's manner changed.  She grew
agitated and distressed; her face was white and
haggard.

"Now tell me what this means," she said.  "I
implore you to be candid with me.  I am not the
first mother who has worshipped a golden idol only
to find that it has feet of clay.  This is the
punishment for my pride in my son.  It was my fancy to
regard him as something better and more upright
than other men, and I begin to see different, now
that he has deceived me.  People come to see him
who fill me with dread.  I know that he is deeply
in debt and that he has been deliberately deluding
me.  I suppose he is afraid to tell me, lest I should
stop his allowance and perhaps leave the bulk of
my money to some worthier object."

"There is nothing novel in the situation," Charlock
said grimly.  "You are by no means the first
parent who has been deceived in the same way.
I have known scores of such instances."

"That does not render the discovery less bitter,"
Mrs. Rent said sadly.  "But I am sure that
is not all.  There is something worse behind.  And
if you will tell me what it is——"

"I cannot," Charlock said, "because I do not
know.  But you will need all your courage and
strength before long."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE EMPTY ROOM`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE EMPTY ROOM

.. vspace:: 2

Malcolm Grey sat himself down to wait grimly
and patiently for Tanza.  From his position on
the lawn he commanded a view of the front of the
house.  He had the satisfaction of knowing that
Rent was safe and that he could not leave without
being seen.  In one of the rooms at the top of the
house the light flickered from time to time, so that
Grey had a fair idea of where Rent was and what
he was doing.  The better part of half an hour
elapsed before Tanza appeared on the scene.  Grey
hailed him in a whisper, and he crept noiselessly
across the grass.  For once he appeared to be
curious.

"What is on foot now?" he demanded.  "Why
did you send for me in so mysterious a fashion?
Why is there a light at the top of the house?  Is
the problem solved?"

"To all practical purposes it is," Grey replied.
"I know what took place, and why.  But precisely
how the mischief was brought about I cannot say.
Possibly before daylight the thing may be
explained.  But that depends upon luck.  At any rate,
I am going to take you into my confidence and tell
you what I have discovered."

"I am glad to hear that," Tanza murmured.

Tanza inclined his head to listen, and for the
next quarter of an hour followed Grey with the
most careful attention.  He was more interested
than perhaps he had ever been before in his life.
The strangely tangled web which Grey was unfolding
was the most complicated of all the affairs
in which he had ever been engaged.

"Wonderful," he murmured.  "Really, a work
of art.  Perhaps it is rather cold-blooded of me to
regard these puzzles in the way of a recreation.
But there is a peculiar horror about this affair
which has rarely been equalled.  So that's the way
the thing was done, eh?  Well, I suppose I must
leave the matter in your hands.  What do you
propose to do next?  But, by the way, you have not
yet told me who is in the bedroom overhead."

"You will be surprised when I tell you," Grey
murmured.  "The intruder is no other than Arnold
Rent."

An exclamation of genuine surprise broke from
Tanza's lips.

"Is that really a fact?" he demanded.  "But
what brings him here?  What has he come after?"

"Ah, that I can only conjecture.  I don't think
my theory is far wrong.  Although Arnold Rent is
the son of a rich woman, he has by no means the
command of unlimited money.  Mrs. Rent is
rather simple in her ideas and inclined to be
somewhat of a Puritan.  She is quite capable of leaving
her money elsewhere if she thinks her son will
waste it.  Therefore, it has been a necessity on
Rent's part that his mother should be deceived as
to his mode of life.  To put it plainly, he is more
or less afraid of her.  And when a man lives in a
smart set, and has no control over his expenditure,
he is bound sooner or later to find himself in
difficulties.  That is the matter with Rent.  He did
not know which way to turn for money.  He did
not dare to go to his mother and ask her to set him
on his feet again.  Therefore he hits upon another
plan.  He makes violent love to Bark's sister
Hortense with a view to securing her mistress's
diamonds.  At first I don't believe that Rent cared
for Mrs. Charlock at all.  What he meant to do
was to get hold of her jewels, but when he came
to know the woman intimately she fascinated him
to such an extent that he lost his head.  He was
prepared to sacrifice everything for her sake.
Witness that mad idea of his taking Mrs. Charlock to
stay with his mother.  I give the fellow credit for
honesty in that respect.  I believe his affection
for Mrs. Charlock was absolutely pure and
good—perhaps the only disinterested impulse he ever
had in his life.  Meanwhile, he had talked Hortense
over and between them they laid hands upon
Mrs. Charlock's jewels.  You will ask what
became of the jewels.  They were hidden in a place
of safety, so that they might be available when
they were wanted."

"That sounds logical," Tanza said.  "Is it part
of the problem to find the jewels, or do you know
where they are?"

"I know where they are," was the unexpected
reply.  "They are within a stone's throw of us."

The little Italian whistled softly.

"Oh," he said, "I shall have to hand my mantle
over to you, I see.  But hadn't we better secure
the plunder while we have the chance?  It would
be folly to miss the opportunity."

"Oh, the gems are safe enough," Grey said,
with a grim chuckle.  "You can almost touch them
with your hands.  And yet they are as safe as the
Crown Jewels in the Tower of London.  Indeed,
they are safer, seeing that an attempt on the
National Regalia would only end in imprisonment,
while a determined attack upon Mrs. Charlock's
gems would end in sudden death.  I won't gratify
your curiosity yet.  I have told you enough for the
present, and the truth, too.  The first hand that
rests upon that jewel case will be the hand of a
corpse in the twinkling of an eye.  In a day or two,
perhaps, it may be safe to rifle the hiding-place.
But not yet, not yet."

Grey spoke with a thrill in his voice that had
something of horror in it.  Tanza had seen too
many mysteries in his time to express anything in
the way of incredulity.  On the contrary, he nodded
his head solemnly.

"Does anybody else know?" he asked.

"Anybody besides Arnold Rent, you mean?"
Grey replied.  "Well, yes, one other person knows,
and that is Ephraim Bark.  His information came
to him from his sister, who wrote and told him all
about the affair when she discovered that she had
been made a tool of by Rent and that he did not
care two straws for her.  We shall know presently
how Rent managed to silence that jealous woman's
tongue and leave the field clear for himself."

"You mean to say," Tanza began, "that Arnold
Rent——"

"My dear fellow, I mean to say nothing.  I shall
have a repulsive enough task later when I am
compelled to speak plainly.  Meanwhile, I have told
you pretty well all there is to know.  We had
better go up and see what Arnold Rent is doing.  You
will not be surprised to hear that he is in
Hortense's bedroom, probably looking for papers.  Oh,
by the way, there is one thing I forgot to mention.
It is a photograph I found in the French maid's
room.  It gave the clue to the greater part of my
discovery.  Perhaps I had better show it you."

"I should like to see it very much," Tanza murmured.

Grey produced the torn photograph from his
pocket and, with the aid of a match, exhibited it to
his companion.  He would have liked to know
who was the other figure in the photograph.  But
that did not much matter, and it was a point which
was not likely to be elucidated.  Then the two
friends crept quietly into the house.  It was not
easy to grope their way upstairs in the dark, but
they managed it without noise, and presently stood
outside the room, watching Rent at work.  He
seemed to be wrapped up in his task to the exclusion
of everything else.  He was pacing round and
round the room, tapping on the panels and measuring
distances with an iron lever in his hand.  He
was muttering to himself, too, but it was by no
means easy to catch what he said.  A quarter of an
hour passed in the seemingly futile task, and then
the searcher appeared to come to some definite
conclusion.  With a muttered exclamation he drove
the point of his lever into one of the panels, and
with a crackling, splintering sound the timber gave
way.  So far as the watchers could see, there was
a space behind the panel more or less filled with
letters.  These Rent stowed away in his pockets.
Beyond question, the object of his search was
satisfied, for the expression of his face changed and a
gleam of gratification sparkled in his eyes.  He
turned to the door so abruptly that Tanza and his
companion had barely time to fall back into
the doorway of an empty room before Rent began
to descend the stairs.  They watched him carrying
the candle till he reached the basement of the
house.

"What are you going to do now?" Tanza asked.

"Follow him," Grey said curtly.  "In point of
fact, I promised to take him home.  Practically,
though behaving like a sane man, the cloud is over
his brain still, and I doubt very much if he knows
what he is doing.  Of course, there is a good deal
of method in his madness.  Still, we have to deal
with a man who is not altogether accountable for
his actions."

"And where do I come in?" Tanza asked.

"Oh, you'll go back to the yacht and wait further
developments.  It won't be very long before
I am there again.  And when I do come I may
bring one if not two visitors with me.  It might be
necessary to do a little amateur kidnapping, but I
am not sure about that yet.  And now you had
better leave me."

"All right," Tanza said cheerfully.  "I am content
to leave matters to you.  Good luck to you!"

Grey walked after the other figure.  He laid his
hand upon Rent's arm and accosted him.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN THE BAR`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXIX


.. class:: center medium bold

   IN THE BAR

.. vspace:: 2

Morning was beginning to struggle with night
when Grey turned his footsteps from Mrs. Rent's
lodgings towards the quay.  He was more than
satisfied with his work, despite the fact that the
most unpleasant and most repulsive part of it was
yet to come.  He was tired and weary by this time,
but there was something to be accomplished before
he returned to the yacht.  One or two facts had
to be verified.  He turned aside for a bit and
walked along the foreshore to Rent's workshop.
But it was in absolute darkness, and no doubt Swift
had gone to his lodgings.  It was Swift whom
Grey wanted to see, and, rather than go to the
yacht before his task was altogether finished, Grey
loitered about the streets till daybreak.  He took
a short cut through a series of dingy streets and
past the fish-market, where one or two public-houses
flaunted their garish lights across the pavement.
Grey wondered at this infringing of the
licensing act, until it dawned upon him that these
were free houses specially retained for the benefit
of the fish-dealers and hawkers and certain crews
of yachts which landed in the early morning.  It
was a survival of old times.  For the most part
they seemed to be doing a certain amount of business.

There was something inviting about the lights
and the open doors.  It suddenly occurred to Grey
that it was six or seven hours since he had partaken
of food.  He turned into one of the houses, where
he saw piles of thick but appetising sandwiches
laid out in plates upon the long table.  He called
for three or four of these and a small glass of
whisky-and-soda, which he proceeded to dispose of
in the snug seclusion of one of the little oak cabins
which still obtain in some old-fashioned taverns.
The cabins were by no means well-lighted, so that
one could sit practically unseen in the darkness and
yet see everything that was going on in the bar.
Grey had barely finished his repast and lighted a
cigarette before the swing door was thrown open
and Ephraim Bark swaggered in.  There was nothing
surprising in the appearance of the little man;
in fact, this was just the kind of place that such
a thirsty soul would patronise, seeing that it was
possible to obtain strong drink at any time of the
day or night.  All the same, it was a coincidence,
and Grey determined to make the best of it.

But Bark had not come solely with the intention
of consuming drink.  He asked a question of the
sleepy-looking man behind the bar, then looked at
his watch impatiently.  Grey smiled grimly to see
that Bark was in possession of a watch again.
Evidently he was in funds once more.  For nearly half
an hour Bark stood exchanging pungent chaff with
the barman, until the door opened and Swift came
in.  No doubt this was the man for whom Bark
was waiting.  Bark scowled at the newcomer and
intimated that a few moments later and he and the
public-house bar would have been complete strangers.
Swift did not appear to heed.  He swayed
unsteadily to and fro.  His face was ghastly white
and twitching.  There was a queer, fitful gleam in
his eyes.

"Something to drink," he said hoarsely.  "A
large glass of brandy with nothing in it.  I'll pay
the next time I come in, upon my honour I will."

The barman laughed contemptuously.  Evidently
Swift was an old customer and his promise
carried but little weight in the eyes of the management.
Bark looked curiously at the dreadful wreck
opposite him with his head cocked on one side.

"Shall I risk it or not?" he asked.  "You are on
the verge of a bad breakdown, if ever man was,
and it is a toss-up what the stuff will do for you.
It will pull your wits together and make a man of
you; on the other hand, it may send you climbing
up the gaspipes under the impression that you are
a monkey.  I know all about it.  I have been there
myself."

This coarse badinage passed over Swift's head.
He pressed his hand to his burning throat and once
more asked piteously for drink.  Bark relented.

"All right," he said.  "Let him have it.  We
have all got to take risks sometimes.  There, do
you feel better now?"

Like a man dying of thirst in a desert, Swift
reached out an eager, trembling hand for the potent
yellow fluid and poured it down his throat at
one fell swoop.  Then gradually but surely a little
colour crept back into his cheeks.  His hands ceased
to twitch and the horrible spasmodic jerkings of
his lips left his mouth firm and straight.

"Ah, that's better," he said, with the air of a
man escaping from physical pain.  "Now I am
ready to talk.  What is it you want?  Haven't
you done mischief enough already?  You have
managed to knock Arnold Rent out of time, and
that ought to be sufficient.  What can I do for you?"

Grey started as these words fell upon his ears.
He knew now how the latter's state of mind had
been brought about.  He saw Bark and his
companion cross the bar and take their places in one
of the cabins higher up the room.  Bark called for
more refreshment, but he was careful to specify
the exact quantity which Swift was to consume,
with the promise of more when their business was
concluded.  There was a certain amount of risk
attached to it, but Grey felt he must establish
himself in the next cabin so that he might hear what
was going on.  While the barman's back was
turned, Grey crept noiselessly across the floor and
disappeared in the cabin next to that occupied by
Bark and his companion.  The little man apparently
was bent on business only, for the first words
he uttered took him straight to the point.

"Oh, you know what I want," he said.  "I want
you to tell me how that affair was managed.  It
doesn't matter so long as I can get about without
any danger.  Now, you needn't look at me like
that, pretending to be innocent, because you know
where the jewels are hidden."

"What jewels?" Swift asked.  "What do you mean?"

"Mean!" Bark echoed.  "Why, what I say."

"There seems to be some misunderstanding,"
Swift murmured.  "I give you my word, I don't
know anything about any jewels.  This is the first
time that I have heard them mentioned.  Oh, I
am all right now.  My head is as clear as yours.
But, so far as any gems are concerned, you are
talking clean over my head."

Bark hesitated for a moment, then laughed with
the air of a man who is rather pleased with himself.

"So much the better," he said.  "Sometimes a
little knowledge is a dangerous thing.  I believe
what you say, and, seeing that you don't know, I
am not going to enlighten you.  And now we come
to another matter.  You are a scientist and so is
Arnold Rent.  It wouldn't be any exaggeration to
say that you are two of the cleverest of the new
school of investigators in England.  If you kept
off the drink and Arnold Rent had not been an
extravagant fool you might have startled Europe
before now.  You could have made Edison look
like an ignorant schoolboy.  But I didn't bring
you here for the purposes of flattery.  I mean to
ask you questions and see that you answer them.
Question number one—did you ever hear of
intermittent electricity, and what does it mean?"

A sharp exclamation broke from Swift.

"You don't know what you are talking about,"
he cried.

"Ah, well, that's just why I am asking questions,
my friend," Bark sneered.  "But, as it happens,
I have dabbled in science and am not quite
such a fool as I look.  I know you can send messages
by wireless telegraphy, and before very long
wireless telephones will be a back number.  This
being so, why shouldn't we have wireless electricity?
Suppose you put a battery of five hundred
volts over yonder where the barman is——  Oh,
by the way, would five hundred volts cause a fatal
shock to anybody who came in contact with the
current?"

A choking sort of sound proceeded from Swift.
Evidently he had some difficulty in getting out his
words.  Grey, listening behind the partition,
understood him to say that the shock of five hundred
volts would be fatal in certain conditions.

"Well, I know that," Bark said impatiently.
"What conditions would the force be fatal under?"

"Some people might suffer with impunity,"
Swift said hoarsely.  "On the other hand, it would
simply shrivel up others, and, in any case, no one
could withstand it if they stood——"

Swift paused.  It seemed almost impossible for
him to speak further.  Bark laughed in a sneering
manner.

"Well, go on," he said encouragingly.  "Don't
be afraid.  I suppose what you mean to infer is
that the dose would be absolutely fatal if any one
was wet or stood on wet ground?"

"That's it," Swift replied.  "Quite correct."

"Very good," Bark replied.  "We are getting
on.  Now listen to me and answer me carefully.
On your oath, have you discovered the secret of
wireless electricity or not?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`"INFIRM OF PURPOSE"`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XL


.. class:: center medium bold

   "INFIRM OF PURPOSE"

.. vspace:: 2

The affair was getting interesting.  The
conversation was proceeding, too, on lines more or
less as Grey had expected.  He had thought the
whole matter out, weighing up the pros and cons
of the situation, but the more he debated the thing
in his mind the more sure was he that he was on
the right track.  But for a miscalculation on the
part of certain people the mystery of the sundial
might have sunk into eternal oblivion.  By the irony
of fate the very man who could piece together the
tangled sections of the puzzle was at hand to do
so.  For the most part, people regarded the
tragedy which had involved the lives of mistress and
maid as little more than coincidence.  But there
were others who, from the first, had insisted that
there was mystery calling for solution.  Grey was
now in possession of information calculated to
startle the public, and plenty of newspapers would
have been only too pleased to pay a fancy price for
what he had to sell.  There was one flaw, and only
one, in his line of argument, but that for the
present was absolutely fatal—he was still in the dark
as to how the thing had been brought about.

As to the main issue, he was clear enough in his
mind.  He knew that to all intents and purposes
his information was not of the kind which would
have been likely to satisfy a judge and jury.  But
it seemed that he was about to pick up the missing
link, and he listened all the more eagerly to what
was going on in the next compartment.  Bark put
his strange question again.  He still appeared to
be anxious to know if there was such a thing as
intermittent electricity.  And still Swift preserved
the same strange silence.  But Bark was not to be
put off by the sullen reticence of his companion.

"Take your time, my buck," he said.  "Don't
hurry.  Don't commit yourself to anything likely
to be used in evidence against you afterwards."

"Why do you want to know?" Swift demanded
fiercely.

Bark laughed in a wholly good-natured manner.
He appeared to be exceedingly sure of his ground.

"Well, let us say that I am a humble seeker
after knowledge," he said.  "Because I am a wanderer
on the face of the earth it doesn't follow that
I lack scientific yearnings.  If I had been caught
young enough I should have been an eminent scientist
myself before now.  I have worked out many
clever little things which would astonish you if
you knew.  But ever since Marconi invented wireless
telegraphy and the other man hit upon telephones
without lines I have been dreaming of wireless
electricity.  Mind you, it is bound to come
sooner or later, and it is all the more likely to
arrive because it is so impossible."

"Then why worry about it?" Swift murmured.

"My dear fellow, you have answered your own
question.  Because the thing is impossible, it is so
easy.  I don't mind admitting that I have tried a
few experiments myself, but hitherto without
success.  Still, it won't be so very long before the
whole world is lighted with a fluid which will
supply burners without wires.  Sounds fascinating,
doesn't it?  At any rate, it fascinated me to the
exclusion of everything else.  I tried to puzzle it
out in the same way that Marconi puzzled out his
invention.  In my mind's eye, I could see a big fire
station, say where my glass is, and a big factory
where yours stands.  By the use of powerful
induction coils it seemed to me that I could force the
power into the factory lamps without the aid of
wires.  Isn't that the way they propose to work
telephones?"

"I don't know anything about it," Swift said
sullenly.

"Oh, yes, you do," Bark said, with sudden
impatience.  "You know all about it.  And, what's
more, a successful attempt has been made within
a mile or so of this very spot.  More than once,
when I was trying my experiments, it occurred to
me to come to England to discuss the matter with
Arnold Rent.  I didn't do so for reasons which I
will not go into now.  But when business compelled
me to come to this country and see Rent, I wasn't
surprised to find that he was working on precisely
the same thing.  But you know that just as well
as I do.  What is the good of pretending you don't?"

"It pleases you to say so," Swift murmured.

"Yes, and it will please me to prove it before
long, if you take that line.  Mind you, I should not
have known it if it hadn't been for a mere
accident.  Perhaps you will deny that there is any
connection between what we are talking about and
the mysterious death of my sister, to say nothing
of Mrs. Charlock?"

A sudden exclamation broke from Swift.  He
seemed to be startled and alarmed.  From his
hiding-place Grey could almost imagine the
satisfied grin on Bark's face.

"Take your time," the latter said playfully.  "I
won't hurry you, for we sha'n't part till I get to the
bottom of this business.  I asked you a plain
question and I mean to have a plain answer.  Have
you or has Arnold Rent made any startling discovery
in the direction of intermittent electricity?
Is the thing within the range of practical politics?"

It was a long time before Swift replied.  Grey
could hear him playing with his glass.  He could
hear the uneasy shuffle of the unfortunate man's
body.  When the electrician did speak his voice
was both timid and hesitating.

"You have no business to ask me this," he said.
"If we have made the discovery you speak of, it
lies entirely between Arnold Rent and myself.  A
discovery like that means a huge fortune to the
author.  The richest man in the world would be a
pauper alongside the man who could reduce such a
discovery to practical uses."

"What a chap it is to talk!" Bark said impatiently.
"Why don't you come to the point?  You
know perfectly well that you dare not refuse the
information I am after."

"We won't go into that," said Swift, with some
attempt at dignity.  "You will, perhaps, be
disappointed to hear that I know nothing about
intermittent electricity.  If there has been a discovery
in that direction, it is Rent's and not mine.  He is
a far cleverer man than I am.  I am a child
compared with him."

"Not if you kept off the drink," Bark said impatiently.

"Well, I didn't keep off the drink.  What's
more, I never shall.  And eventually it will be the
death of me," Swift said, with a snarl.  "For a
long time past I have known that my employer was
on the verge of a fresh and startling plunge into
the sea of discovery.  To some extent Rent confided
in me, but exactly what he was after he kept
to himself.  But by piecing one or two little bits of
information together I arrived at the conclusion
that wireless electricity was the goal.  I could tell
that from certain new pieces of machinery which
were set up in the office.  Of course, I said nothing.
I knew it was useless to ask questions.  And, besides,
I felt that sooner or later I should be taken
into my employer's confidence.  I gathered that
things were progressing in a satisfactory manner,
when, all at once, the whole scheme of experiments
was abandoned and the machinery was destroyed.
And now you know pretty well as much as I can
tell you."

Bark chuckled unpleasantly.

"I don't think so," he replied.  "Still, I am
going to take your word for it as far as it goes.  I
should like to know the exact date that the
machinery was destroyed."

"How could I tell you that?" Swift demanded.
"It happened some time ago."

"I have no doubt," Bark went on, in the same
sardonic way.  "That I am quite prepared to
believe.  But let me refresh your memory.  Isn't it a
fact that the machinery was destroyed and the
experiments came to an abrupt conclusion on the
day following my sister's death?  Didn't Arnold
Rent come down to the office that same day and
break up all his machinery, with the excuse that he
had made a mistake in his calculations and would
have to begin all over again?  I don't say that
those were the precise words, though I am
prepared to swear that that was the purport of them."

"Rent told you himself, then," Swift exclaimed.

"No, he didn't," Bark chuckled.  "But you have
just done so.  Come, don't pretend you are
ignorant of what I am driving at.  Tell me all I want
to know, and it will be the best day's work you
ever did in your life.  If you will make a clean
breast of the whole thing I will put a thousand
pounds in your pocket.  A little later I'll pay you
double that sum.  Think what that will mean to
you!  You could set up for yourself.  You could
go off to America and make a fortune.  All you
have to do is to keep straight and you'll be a
millionaire in five years.  That is the prospect, on the
one hand.  But there is another point of view
which I want to present to your notice.  Which
would you rather have—the career I have indicated,
or find yourself laid by the heels, charged
with being accessory before and after the fact to a
deliberate and cold-blooded murder?  I don't want
to speak more plainly."

A strange, inarticulate cry rose from the
compartment; there was a sudden rush on the part of
Swift, and a moment later he blundered headlong
through the door into the darkness.

"That's all right," Bark said, *sotto voce*.  "I
think I've touched him on the raw.  The next time
we meet he will tell me everything.  He will be
like wax in my hands in future."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`DAMNING PROOFS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XLI


.. class:: center medium bold

   DAMNING PROOFS

.. vspace:: 2

Morning had come at length, and, so far as
Ethel Hargrave could judge, Arnold Rent appeared
to be none the worse for his adventure.  He
had been brought back the night before by Grey,
who did not wait to afford any information, but
merely said that he had found the sick man
wandering at large.  Mrs. Rent was satisfied with this
explanation, being only too glad to have her son
back again.  It would be a lesson to Ethel in
future.  As to the rest, the unfortunate lady decided
that she would look after her son, at any rate,
between the hour of his return and daybreak.  All
through the night Arnold Rent slept with the
fatigue of a man who is physically exhausted.  When
he awoke he did not appear to have the smallest
idea of the commotion he had caused on the
previous evening.  Ethel crept into the room, anxious
to see what she could do to wipe out her failure
of the night before.  Mrs. Rent smiled at her indulgently.

"I think I can leave him to you," she whispered.
"I don't suppose you'll be so careless again."

"Indeed I won't," Ethel said earnestly.  "You
can trust me, I am sure.  Go downstairs and get
some breakfast and then lie down.  Does he seem
to be any better?"

Mrs. Rent shook her head sadly.

"Not in the least," she murmured.  "He is in
the same sullen mood.  He seems still anxious over
some trouble worrying him.  My dear child, we
made a great mistake in coming here at all.  At
any rate, we ought to have left at once and taken
Arnold with us.  He would have been far better
at our quiet house in Devonshire.  All I can hope
and pray for now is that his memory will be quickly
restored.  And yet there are moments when it
seems to me that we are better off as we are.  I
begin to dread the future.  I am in hourly fear of
some shocking exposure.  I do not know what it
is, but I am sure that we are all going to suffer
before many days pass."

Ethel said nothing.  She was not without the
same dread herself.  And, moreover, she had
information of which Mrs. Rent knew nothing.  It
was impossible to hide from herself that the
shadow of disgrace hung heavily over the house of
Rent.  With a vivid recollection of last night's
scenes she could not delude herself with the feeling
that all was going right.  What had Rent been
doing in that silent and secretive way under the
roof of the man upon whom he had inflicted such a
deadly injury?  Possibly he had not intended to
do John Charlock the slightest harm.  He may
have been actuated by the highest and most honourable
intentions.  But the facts pointed in another
direction.  Moreover, why had he gone off in his
madness to the house of the man who should be
his worst enemy?  It might be argued that the
whole thing had happened in a moment of frenzy,
but there was no getting away from the fact that
there was a good deal of method behind it.  And it
was impossible, also, to pretend that Arnold Rent's
present mode and manner did not lack a shadow of
guilt or a suggestion of fear.  The man was
palpably frightened about something.  He acted very
like a criminal who expects at any moment to feel
the grip of the law upon his shoulder.  Ethel tried
to put these gloomy thoughts out of her mind.  She
spoke cheerfully to her patient, who was already
dressed and seated in an armchair, looking into
the fire.

"Do you feel better this morning?"

"There is nothing whatever the matter with
me," Rent said moodily.  "I feel as well and fit
for work as you do.  Since I have been up I have
thought out a whole train of new experiments.  I
remember all that happened to a certain point, and
then for a few days everything is blank.  There is
something I ought to do, something that I have
left undone which I dare not neglect any longer.
If I could only think of it!  Oh, if I could only
think of it, what a relief it would be!"

The words came from Rent in a tone of positive
anguish.  He paced up and down the room with
his hands locked behind his back.  Ethel could see
how drawn and contracted his brows were.  Beads
of perspiration stood on his forehead, his lips
quivered, his whole body shook.

"You must try to put it out of your mind," the
girl said.  "You cannot hope to get better as long
as you distress yourself in this fashion.  And,
besides, I don't suppose it is of any importance.  If
it is business, somebody is bound to remind you
sooner or later."

Rent laughed in a hollow fashion.

"Oh, it isn't business," he explained.  "It is
worse than that.  It is something that I am
desperately afraid of, though I can't tell why.  Do
you know what I feel like?"

The speaker paused abruptly in his walk and
came to a standstill in front of Ethel.  He grasped
her hands in his and pressed them with a certain
passion which filled her with pain.

"I feel like a man who has committed murder,"
he said.  "I am like one who has made away with
a fellow-creature and hidden the body hurriedly
till I could find time to dispose of it.  It is like
some hideous nightmare, some chapter from a
weird novel.  Imagine a man who has killed a
fellow-creature.  Imagine that nobody knows who
this fellow-creature is.  Try to think of a person
who, once got rid of, no one would be any the wiser
for the loss.  You may say the woman came to my
house late at night, if you like, after everybody
had gone to bed....  And then she dies and is
laid in a quiet spot, which is not so quiet but that
people go there sometimes.  The murderer dare
not proceed further at present, but in the morning
he promises himself that he will sink the body in
a deep pool and then he will have no more anxiety
on the matter.  And when he wakes up on the
morrow he has forgotten what he has done with the
body.  Don't laugh at me."

"I am not," Ethel said, trembling from head to
foot with a fear she could not repress.  "I swear
I am not laughing at you.  But why let your mind
dwell upon such morbid subjects?  You are the
last man in the world who is likely to be mixed up
in a terrible thing like that.  Try to compose yourself."

But Rent was not to be turned so lightly aside.

"I don't know," he said.  "There are thousands
of cases on record of sudden lapses of memory.
Haven't you read of people whose minds suddenly
become blank as they are walking along the street?
Why, I am a case in point.  What is the meaning
of this extraordinary lapse?  And why do I feel
this hideous impulse to go out and hide something?
Why am I haunted by the terror that I have
brought myself within reach of the law?  Oh, the
whole thing is ghastly, almost unbearable."

Rent broke off suddenly and flung himself headlong
into his chair.  There was a change to sullenness
in his manner.  He waved Ethel aside with
the curt intimation that he wanted to be alone.
Involuntarily he had placed his hand in the
breast-pocket of his coat and drawn thence what appeared
to be a packet of letters tied up with string.  The
packet seemed to start some train of thought, for
a bright light shone in his eyes now, and he seemed
on the point of grasping something which had
eluded him.

"Can I do anything for you?" Ethel asked.

"Leave me alone," Rent said hoarsely.  "Where
did I get these things?  How did they come into
my possession?  I thought they had been destroyed
long ago.  Now, why don't you do as I tell you?
Why are you standing there gaping?  I beg your
pardon if I seem to be rude.  But I am hardly
accountable for what I am saying.  Now please go."

There was nothing for it but to obey, and Ethel
went off to her own room, the door of which she
left open.  Nothing unusual could happen so long
as she kept watch and ward and listened to what
was taking place in the opposite room.  She had
plenty to occupy her thoughts.  She felt incapable
of sitting down to read or write.  She could not
forget what Rent had been saying.  She could not
dismiss his burning words.  She began to wonder
if he were mad, after all, or if, perhaps,
there was some dreadful chapter in his life which
was still left unfinished and which might
sooner or later bring him into some serious trouble.
And he had not spoken like a madman, either, but
rather like one who was consumed with remorse,
terror and anxiety.  For the moment it seemed as
if he had torn aside the veil and allowed Ethel a
glimpse into the past.  For a long time the girl
sat deep in her own troubled thoughts and anxious
speculations.

An hour or two passed, then she felt the need of
society, the necessity for human companionship.
Probably Mrs. Rent was down by this time.  She
looked into Arnold's room as she passed.  She saw
that he was lying back in his chair, fast asleep.  He
had untied the bundle of letters, which seemed to
have slipped off his knee and had fallen in a heap
on the floor.  Mechanically, Ethel stooped to pick
them up, her action dictated simply by love of
tidiness.  Then a word or two caught her eye, and
before she knew what she was doing she was
reading the letters....  When she crept down the
stairs, presently, her face was pale, her eyes were
dazed as if the light were too strong for them.
She did not go into Mrs. Rent's sitting-room.  On
the contrary, she put on her hat and jacket
mechanically and turned out of the house towards John
Charlock's residence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FIRE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XLII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FIRE

.. vspace:: 2

Late as it was, Malcolm Grey found Tanza
still awake when he reached the yacht.  The little
doctor was seated in his cabin smoking a strong
cigar and reading a scientific treatise, which he put
aside directly Grey came in.  There was a gleam
of pleased expectation in the Italian's eyes as if he
were looking forward to something in the way of
information.

"Well," he said, "you are very late.  It is daylight,
and yet all this time I have been sitting up
for you.  Something told me that it would be
worth the trouble, so I refrained from going to
bed.  Now, tell me what you have been doing and
what adventures have you had."

"Oh, they were exciting enough," Grey laughed.
"And now that I have taken you into my confidence
I might as well finish my confession.  I have been
passing an hour or so in the company of that
engaging rascal Bark and the unfortunate Swift."

"The three of you together?" Tanza asked.

"Not exactly together.  I have been playing the
part of eavesdropper.  It isn't a pleasant recreation,
but 'needs must when the devil drives.'  Nor
was my occupation without meet reward, because
the discourse was a most interesting one.  Try to
guess what they were talking about!"

The Italian's eyes twinkled brightly.

"You must give me a lead or two first," he said.
"You must tell me whether I am hot or cold, as
the children used to do in the game we played
when I was a boy.  In the first place, did they meet
by appointment, and did the meeting take place in
a public-house?  On consideration, I am sure it
took place in a public-house."

"Right," Grey smiled.  "An old-fashioned
public-house, with the bar divided into compartments,
where one can listen comfortably.  Bark was waiting
for his victim, who came more or less unwillingly;
in fact, I don't think he would have come at
all, except that he was desperately hard up and in
urgent need of liquid refreshment.  He appeared
to be on the verge of an attack of *delirium tremens*,
but was in possession of his faculties.  And now I
think I have told you enough.  You may be able
to guess what they were talking about."

Once more Tanza's eyes twinkled brilliantly.

"Well, perhaps they were discussing Arnold
Rent," he ventured.  "I don't suppose his name
was mentioned, but no doubt he was the chief topic
of conversation."

"You are getting warm," Grey laughed.  "Go on."

"You encourage me to proceed," the Italian
said.  "Of course, Bark wanted information.  Like
the child in the story, he wanted to see the works
of the watch.  He was very desirous to know
exactly how certain things were brought about.  I
suppose he wanted the very latest information on
the subject of electricity."

"Wonderful man!" Grey murmured.  "You
have hit it exactly.  That is precisely what he did
want.  Not that he got much information out of
Swift.  On the whole, I should say that Bark found
him very disappointing.  It appears that some time
ago Arnold Rent began a series of experiments in
electricity——"

"Intermittent electricity," Tanza interrupted.

"Once more, wonderful man!" Grey laughed.
"That is what Bark was driving at.  He wants to
know all about those experiments, and no doubt
it was exceedingly exasperating to discover that
Rent had abandoned his researches and broken up
his machinery.  By a singular coincidence—at
least, you and I will call it a singular coincidence—that
machinery was broken up on the very day that
the French maid's body was found in the fountain
by the sundial.  Let me tell you that it was Bark
who elicited this information; in fact, he fished for
it.  From our point of view, this is a most important
discovery, as you know.  Still, it is practically
the only real point that Bark made, and it turned
his head to such an extent that he made the
mistake of frightening his man.  A moment or two
later Swift bolted like a hare, and Bark remarked,
*sotto voce*, that next time they met his man would
be as wax in his hands.  But if we play our cards
correctly, the next time Swift has an interview
with anybody it will be with us two and not with
Bark.  I know that Swift always works from eight
till ten o'clock at night, and it struck me that the
best thing we could do would be to call to-morrow
night and have it out with him."

"A good idea," Tanza said.  "But suppose the
same idea occurs to Bark.  He knows as well as
we do what Swift's habits are, and there is nothing
to prevent him from turning up at the interview.
Wouldn't that be rather awkward?"

"Oh, it might," Grey admitted.  "But I have a
plan for dealing with Mr. Bark.  Leave him to
me.  We can afford to take it easy to-morrow, and
after dinner we will go as far as Rent's offices and
get to the bottom of this business.  We can see
Rent's place from our anchorage as soon as the
office is lighted up.  We can go then and interview
him.  If you don't mind, I should like to turn in
between the sheets for an hour or two, for I am
dead-tired."

The two friends dined comfortably, then lingered
for half an hour over a cigar, until the twilight
began to fall and the houses and shops along
the sea-front were picked out picturesquely with
tiny points of flame.  It was possible to discern the
outline of Rent's workshop from the deck of the
yacht, and presently Grey's quick eyes made out
the square of flame which burnt so brilliantly in
the office window.  Swift was at work, and there
was no occasion to waste further time.  Tanza
rose to his feet and tossed the end of his cigar into
the water.  He seemed alert and vigorous.

"Now I am ready if you are," he said.  "I suppose
there are no preparations to make.  Shall we
order the men to wait for us, or shall we leave it
and take a shore boat back?"

"I think the men had better wait for us," Grey
said.  "And, if you don't mind, we'll pull round
the bay and land opposite the workshop.  Your
boatmen may have a burden to bring back with
them, so I shall be glad if you will choose two who
are devoted to your interests and are not too fond
of asking superfluous questions.  I don't think
there will be any risk in the matter, but I will take
a small bottle of chloroform."

Tanza asked no questions.  He gave Grey credit
for knowing what he was talking about.  He picked
out two of the most discreet of his crew, who, he
declared, were ready to commit every crime in the
Decalogue, and ask no questions, if only he
ordered them to do so.  The boat set off presently,
and was moored at length on a spit of sand opposite
the low block of buildings which formed Rent's
workshop.  The two friends stole over the sands
and made their way into the buildings.  It seemed
to them that there was more than one person
inside, for they could hear the sound of voices,
which, however, presently resolved themselves into
the voice of Swift, who was singing wild snatches
of incoherent verse.  Grey looked at his companion
significantly.  Then Tanza suddenly paused and
complained of the closeness of the atmosphere.  A
moment later a puff of acrid smoke filled the corridor,
and there came the snapping sound which speaks
unmistakably of fire.

"The madman!" Grey explained.  "He has set
the place ablaze.  Come, there is no time to lose."

They burst into the main workshop, which was
now full of smoke and flame.  There was a heap
of highly inflammable materials on the floor, round
which Swift was dancing wildly, singing jubilantly
as he leapt.  The light of insanity blazed in his
eyes.  Evidently he was no longer responsible for
his actions.  Seizing a heavy ruler, Tanza
proceeded to beat down the flames, which Grey finally
extinguished with a bucket of water which he
discovered under a tap in a corner of the room.  Then
the windows were flung open, and it was possible to
breathe freely again.  Swift glanced vacantly at
the intruders.  He did not seem to have the least
idea whom he was addressing.  He continued to
journey round the smouldering ashes, singing and
shouting in the same meaningless way.

"Burn the whole place down," he screamed.
"Destroy it and wipe it out altogether, then you
will be safe.  But not till then, not till then.  Burn
it down, I say!"

"What is to be done with him?" Grey whispered.

"Bromide and strychnine," Tanza said curtly.
"Get him on board the yacht, and I'll guarantee
to put him right in twenty-four hours.  But if I
were you——"

Tanza paused and the door opened, and Bark
came staggering in.  He appeared disconcerted at
the sight of strangers.  He would have turned and
vanished again, but Grey was on him like a flash.
There was a slight struggle between the two men,
and then, before Bark could realise what had
happened, a saturated handkerchief was pressed to his
nostrils and he sank placidly to the floor in a state
of blissful unconsciousness.  As if nothing had
happened, Swift still revolved round the charred
ashes, singing his weird, incoherent song.  Tanza
glanced at his companion.

"It is all right," Grey said.  "Help me to carry
Bark to the boat and we'll send him on board.
Then they can come back for this poor fellow.
When you bring him to his senses I shall be able to
tell you how we can put our hands upon Mrs. Charlock's
jewels.  That will be something gained."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A ONE-SIDED CONTEST`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XLIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   A ONE-SIDED CONTEST

.. vspace:: 2

Tanza's eyes gleamed.  The little man was
enjoying himself immensely.  He was beginning to
grasp the situation.  Already he knew more of
what had transpired than Grey gave him credit
for.  Nevertheless, there was warm admiration in
his glance as he looked towards his younger companion.

"You appear to be in charge of the expedition,"
he said.  "I should like to know what you propose
to do next.  Taking one consideration with another,
this is, perhaps, the most interesting case I
have ever been connected with.  I never had a
clever set of antagonists.  But isn't there something
more important than spending half the night in
regaining possession of Mrs. Charlock's jewels?
Surely, that is a minor point in comparison with
bringing the criminals to justice."

"We shall bring the criminals to justice before
long," Grey replied.  "One event follows the
other.  In all probability, if there had been no
jewels there would have been no crime.  At least,
that is my view of it."

"And what about the French maid?" Tanza asked.

"You really are a wonderful man," Grey
exclaimed.  "I believe you know as much about the
thing as I do."

"I have been putting two and two together,"
Tanza said modestly.  "Besides, you have given
me such an excellent clue to work upon.  But it is
a sad business, Grey, and I am almost sorry I ever
touched it.  If those innocent women were not
mixed up in the affair I should not mind so much.
Just think what a terrible shock it will be to
Mrs. Rent when she learns the truth.  And either you
or I must tell her."

A shadow crossed Grey's face.

"I have not forgotten it," he said.  "Meanwhile,
we are wasting time.  But we must wait till the
boat comes and then take the unfortunate Swift
along with us.  He will be safe in your hands.  If
there is one man living who can put him right, you
are the man.  You see, it will be necessary to
confront Swift and Bark before we get to the root of
things.  I shouldn't wonder if Bark showed fight."

"Action for damages and that kind of thing, I
suppose," Tanza chuckled.  "Forcible abduction
of an honest British citizen.  Heavy damages,
presumably.  Oh, I have no doubt we shall have
trouble of that kind, but if you leave Bark to me
I think I can find a way to reduce him to reason.
Give me a few hints when we get back, for when
I talk to Bark I wish to let him know that I am
well posted in what has taken place.  Practically,
I could write a history of the whole transaction,
though I am in the dark as to the way in which this
business has been engineered."

"Electrically engineered, I suppose?" Grey asked.

"That's it," Tanza said eagerly.  "That is the
point on which I am somewhat dubious.  If you
enlighten me I can tackle Bark efficiently.  It had
best come through me."

"It shall," Grey said curtly.  "Here is the boat
and we have Swift to deal with."

In the inner office Swift was still walking round
the charred remains of the fire, muttering to
himself and quite oblivious that he was no longer alone.
He stared vacantly at his companions.  It seemed
impossible to beat anything like sense into his head.
He was palpably on the verge of a breakdown.
What he needed was a powerful drug and sleep,
which, evidently, he had been without for some
time.  Tanza shook his head gravely as he watched
the unhappy man.

"A bad case," he muttered.  "Look at the pupils
of his eyes.  If that man doesn't sleep before long
he will be a raving maniac.  But it is not too late
to save him if he is properly looked after.  I don't
envy his feelings when he comes to himself.  What
a pity it was you didn't warn me about this, so that
I could have brought my drugs with me."

"I am sorry," Grey murmured.  "But what are
we going to do?  There is little to be gained by
hanging about like this."

There was nothing for it but strong measures.
And, despite his struggles and protestations, Swift
was carried to the boat, shouting and singing as he
went.  Fortunately, it was a quiet spot, and there
was not much chance of attracting the attention of
the passers-by.  But Grey drew a deep breath of
relief when the boat touched the yacht side and
Swift was hauled unceremoniously aboard.  A few
minutes later Tanza got to work with his drugs
and hypodermic syringe, and gradually Swift's
cries and protestations died away.  The dilation
of his pupils narrowed and lessened.  The wild
look on his face gave place to a more placid
expression, then by degrees his breathing grew more
regular, his head fell forward on his breast, and
he slept.  Tanza watched him with satisfaction.

"That's all right," he said.  "Now let us get
the poor fellow to bed.  He is not likely to wake
for eight or ten hours, and when he does so I don't
envy his feelings.  I daresay I can keep him in
hand with a judicious application of drugs.  But
the pity of it, my dear fellow, the pity of it!
Fancy talent like that being frittered away in this
foolish fashion.  Upon my word, I had a great
mind to devote the best part of six months to
Swift's mental regeneration.  I think it would be
worth the trouble, and he could repay me by initiating
me into those scientific mysteries so essential
to the pursuit of my hobby."

"I wish you would," Grey murmured.  "I am
sure that Swift would do you credit.  It isn't as if
the poor chap had a natural weakness for drink;
but he has no friends and he has drifted into this
terrible habit.  It is a good thing you have a crew
you can rely upon.  Otherwise we should have been
hard put to it to carry this daring scheme into
execution.  Now let us get this fellow to bed and send
for Bark."

Swift was put to bed at once and Bark fetched.
A grinning sailor came up in response to Tanza's
summons with the information that Bark was in a
state of furious indignation and demanded to be
released without delay.

"He seems to be annoyed, then?" Tanza asked
pleasantly.

"Carrying on something awful, sir," the grinning
sailor responded.  "But, seeing as the orders
were yours, we just let him talk and took no notice.
Do you want him here, sir?  Certainly, sir."

The sailor vanished, and a moment later a pair
of unseen hands pushed Bark violently into the
cabin.  He came in staggering and rolling, making,
however, some attempt at dignity, which was lost
upon his captors.  Tanza closed the door and
turned the key in the lock.  Then he wheeled round
and faced the infuriated Bark, who stammered and
stuttered with rage.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"Why this outrage?  Why couldn't you have sent
for me as a gentleman would have done?  Am I
a free British subject, or am I not?"

Tanza smiled.

"I will answer your questions one at a time," he
said coolly.  "You ask me why this outrage.  Now,
I put it to you as a far-seeing man with more than
the ordinary share of brains—would you have
preferred us to bring you on board the yacht, or would
you rather have had the thing done through the
medium of a policeman?"

"You are talking rubbish," Bark blustered.

"My good Bark, I am not in the habit of talking
rubbish, as you very well know.  It suits
Mr. Grey and myself to work this matter out in our
own way, without fuss or bother.  Besides, we
wanted to remove you beyond reach of temptation.
So long as you were free to go your own way there
was always the danger of Mrs. Charlock's jewels
falling into your hands.  And we objected to that.
You will stay here just as long as we like, and, if I
am anything of a prophet, you will be thanking us
before long for the interest we have taken in your
welfare."

"I am a free British subject," Bark cried.

"No, I beg your pardon, you are nothing of the
sort.  You are a prisoner on board this yacht, and
here you are likely to remain for the present.
Besides, how long would you be free if you once got
ashore?  I have only to mention one or two
matters which we know of to the police and your
boasted freedom would come to a speedy end.  You
may as well take it quietly.  You will gain nothing
by bluster, and you can't frighten my crew.  If I
were to put you in irons and take you a voyage
round the world, not one of my men would
interfere.  But you need not be alarmed.  I have not
the least desire for your company on a voyage of
circumnavigation, and that, singularly enough, is
why you are here to-night.  I know the remark
sounds illogical, but you will see how sensible it is
before long."

"Go on," Bark said theatrically.  "Keep it up.
I see that you are enjoying yourself."

"I am," Tanza said crisply.  "Nothing gives
me such pleasure as the elucidation of a crime.  It
is a positive joy to me to bring a scoundrel to book.
And yet I am really the best friend you have,
because I am saving you later from being charged
with the murder of Mrs. John Charlock!"





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.. _`BROUGHT TO BOOK`:

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   CHAPTER XLIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   BROUGHT TO BOOK

.. vspace:: 2

Bark quailed visibly before the eyes of his
companion.  He ceased to stand upright.  His back
was bowed and bent, his head was buried in his
shoulders.  His jaunty air vanished.  The cynical
smile faded from his lips.  The pallor of his face
and a shadow of fear in his eyes told their story.

"I swear I don't know what you mean," he said
hoarsely.  "For God's sake, don't talk like that,
doctor.  Oh, I am a bad lot, and I own it.  Call me
a scamp if you like, and I'll not deny it.  You
know all about me, doctor.  But I am not as bad
as all that.  It had never occurred to me—no, not
for all the money in the world—to do violence to
a fellow-creature.  I am innocent of bloodshed, if
this is the last word that I am ever allowed to
speak."

"Ah, now you are coming to your senses,"
Tanza said.  "It is one thing to feel sure of a
man's innocence, but it is another thing to prove it.
Now, let us regard this matter from the point of
view of the Crown Prosecutor who is opening the
case against you.  You have a sister who was
Mrs. John Charlock's maid.  This sister was carrying on
an intrigue with a celebrated chemist whom we will
call—but why make a parable of it?  Let us call
him by his proper name of Arnold Rent.  This
Rent was simply making a tool of your sister,
because he wished to get her mistress's jewels.  He is
a far-seeing young man and, to use a common
expression, has a pretty good notion of his own
interest.  Like many a clever young man before him,
he has gone a bit too far.  He is up to his eyes in
debt and difficulty and dare not tell his mother,
who is a bit of a fanatic in her way and quite
capable of leaving her money elsewhere if she
thinks her son is likely to make a bad use of it.
Therefore he conceives the idea of getting hold of
Mrs. Charlock's jewels.  We won't go into the
love affair, because that does not concern either of
us, though it has a bearing on the story.  Your
sister Hortense acts as this man's tool and robs her
mistress of her diamonds.  For the present the
stones are hidden in a secure place, which is known
only to the thief and to Arnold Rent.  It is just at
this time that the thief discovers that she is merely
a pawn in the game; it is her mistress who is the
object of Rent's affections.  The girl is beside
herself with jealousy, though Rent manages to soothe
her to a certain extent.  For her own protection,
however, she writes a letter to her brother, telling
him how he can find the jewels in case anything
happens to her.  She is not too explicit as to the
hiding-place, and this brother has to exercise his
ingenuity as to the way in which the stones may
be brought to light.  At this point a tragedy
occurs, and the girl is found dead in the fountain by
the sundial in her employer's garden.  Appearances
point to suicide or accident.  Nobody guesses
that the poor woman is the victim of foul play,
and I don't suppose they ever would if, perchance,
I had not come here in my yacht for a little change
and the thing happened to come to my ears.  Rightly
or wrongly, I concluded there was something
wrong and sent for my friend Mr. Grey.  To make
a long story short, we discovered that I was
absolutely right, and in a few hours we shall be able to
prove that your sister was deliberately murdered.
Whether Mrs. Charlock met with the same fate
or not, we are not able at present to say.  And now,
Bark, are you going to deny your conviction, or
stick to the fable that your sister's death was an
accident?  Didn't you come here with the intention
of seeking out the hiding-place of those jewels?
Take time to reply.  You will gain nothing by
lying.  We happen to know where the jewels are,
and we can put our hands upon them at any
moment.  We are not in the least afraid of being
anticipated by you, because, even if we gave you a
plan of the hiding-place, you couldn't touch them.
If you attempted to do so, a third victim would be
added to those who have already lost their lives
in connexion with those ill-fated gems.  You can
please yourself whether you speak or not; if you
like, I will unlock the door and send you ashore at
once."

But Bark did not appear anxious to accept this
offer.  He sat writhing uneasily in his chair, his
face turned eagerly to Tanza, as if waiting for the
latter to continue.  But the Italian said no more.
He had given Bark his lesson and waited patiently
for its effect.

"You are too many for me," Bark said presently.
"You know too much.  I might just as well
tell the truth.  My sister did write to me and tell
me all about Arnold Rent, and I came here hot-foot
to help her in the matter of those jewels.  It
was a shock to me to hear of her death, but I didn't
suspect anything at the time.  She was always a
hot-headed, impulsive girl, and I naturally thought
she had committed suicide.  But when I came to
inquire into the matter I formed another conclusion
altogether.  I asked myself a question or two,
but I couldn't answer them.  It occurred to me
that perhaps Arnold Rent could.  I had known
him for some years.  He is all right as men go, but
put him in a tight place and he would stick at
nothing.  I thought the matter out, and at last I began
to see my way.  Hortense had been murdered.
There was no doubt about that.  But how had it
been done?  There were no marks of violence.
There was nothing to show that she had met with
a violent end, except that she was lying in the
fountain.  I couldn't get rid of the notion that Rent
was in some way connected with this business, and
I was confirmed in my opinion by his keeping out
of my way.  It is a pity he isn't able to tell us the
truth.  He knows all about it."

"You should have thought about that before
you assaulted him," Grey put in quietly.  "Don't
forget that you are responsible for Rent's present
mental condition."

A queer sort of laugh broke from Bark's lips.

"Oh, so you know about that, too?" he
exclaimed.  "It does not appear to be much good
trying to keep anything from you gentlemen.
Mind you, I didn't mean to do him any harm, but
he refused to pay me money he owed me, and I lost
my temper.  If I had waited a bit longer I could
have told him a thing or two which would have
compelled him to listen to me.  I could have forced
him to give me all the money I needed.  But there
it is, and the thing can't be helped.  And I don't
think I could tell you any more if you kept me
talking till daybreak.  I'll help you all I can.  I'll
do anything you want me to do.  I think I have
sense enough to know when I am in a tight corner."

Tanza rose and unlocked the door.

"That is all at present.  I should like to see the
letter your sister wrote you—I mean the letter
about the hidden jewels, which gave you the clue
to the hiding-place.  We can put you up for the
night on the yacht, if you like; indeed, you will be
well advised to stay here.  I don't think, after
what has happened, you are likely to play us false.
You have had too severe a lesson."

Bark asserted, with many oaths, that he had no
intention of doing anything of the kind.  He
evinced a not unnatural anxiety to be alone.  He
was thoroughly cowed and as wax in the hands of
his captors.  Grey gave a sigh of relief as Bark
vanished from the cabin.

"His room is preferable to his company," he
said.  "What a pestiferous little rascal it is!  I
don't think he is likely to give us any trouble in the
future.  And how well you handled him.  Your
cross-examination was masterly."

Tanza shrugged his shoulders modestly.

"Could I have failed," he asked, "with all the
cards in my hand?  Why, the fellow hadn't the
ghost of a chance.  But he has been useful to us,
and the only thing that remains to be done is to
get this matter over as soon as possible.  I am
correct in assuming, I suppose, that Mrs. Charlock
met the same fate as her maid?"

"You mean that she was murdered?" Grey asked.

"Well, I didn't want to put it so brutally."

"I think you are wrong," Grey went on.  "Mind,
I am only theorising.  I believe that Hortense was
murdered in cold blood.  But as regards
Mrs. Charlock, I treat that more or less as an accident.
The man who laid the trap forgot to take the bait
out of it, and thus unwittingly brought about the
second catastrophe.  But that we shall be able to
clear up later.  It is a ghastly business altogether,
and, for my part, I am sorry I was ever brought
into it.  Not that I have the least sympathy with
the guilty parties.  But I am grieved for the
innocent people who are bound to suffer.  It will be
hard upon Mrs. Rent."

Tanza nodded gravely.  He was about to reply,
when he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps
on deck overhead and the entrance of a sailor with
the information that Mr. John Charlock had just
come on board and desired to see Mr. Grey on
important business.  At the same moment Charlock
thrust a haggard face into the cabin and the
seaman vanished.

"What is it?" Tanza demanded.

"A terrible thing has happened," Charlock said
hoarsely.  "Arnold Rent has thrown himself out
of his bedroom window.  He is not dead, but I am
told he cannot last many hours.  And, strange to
say, he has been asking for you, Mr. Grey."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE HIDING-PLACE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XLV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE HIDING-PLACE

.. vspace:: 2

"How did you come to know?" Grey demanded.

"Miss Hargrave told me.  I suppose she couldn't
think of anybody else, and she could not bear to
break the news herself to Mrs. Rent.  It was just
before daylight."

"Daylight!" Tanza echoed.  "Daylight, when?"

"Why, this morning," Charlock went on.
"Don't you know that it is morning?  I suppose
you have been sitting here with the blinds drawn
over the portholes, oblivious of the flight of time.
At any rate, it is nearly five o'clock.  But please
allow me to go on with my story.  As far as I
could gather from Miss Hargrave, she went into
Rent's room yesterday afternoon and found him
fast asleep.  He had apparently been reading a
bundle of letters, for they had fallen from his knee
and lay in a mass on the carpet.  Quite mechanically
the poor girl picked the letters up, and a word
in one of them caught her eye and she began to
read.  She was so shocked and upset by what she
saw that she came to me at once and told me about
it.  But you shall read for yourself, for the letters
are in my possession."

"I don't think you need worry about that," Grey
said.  "Unless I am greatly mistaken, I know pretty
well what those letters contain.  They had been
written by Rent to the French maid, Hortense; in
fact, they are the very letters which Rent obtained
from your house on the night that Miss Hargrave
came inquiring for Rent.  But, of course, I have
forgotten that you know nothing about that,
because you left me to see Miss Hargrave home.
But don't let me interrupt you.  I only want you
to know that we are not quite so ignorant as you
think us.  I suppose I am right as to the gist of
those letters?"

"Absolutely," Charlock went on.  "You can
imagine Miss Hargrave's state of mind.  I was
touched to see how she confided in me and promised
to do all I could to help her.  There were
passages in those letters which throw a lurid light
upon many things that have happened lately, and
that was why I implored Miss Hargrave to do
nothing rash.  You see, I wanted to save
Mrs. Rent and herself from as much trouble and scandal
as possible.  I implored the girl to go back home
and say nothing whatever about her discovery.
She promised that she would do so, and when she
had regained control of herself I allowed her to
go.  But I might have known that one so ingenuous
and innocent would find it impossible to carry about
so dreadful a secret.  For some time she managed
to master herself, but an hour or so ago Rent had
a lucid interval and guessed something was wrong.
Perhaps his seared conscience pricked him.
Perhaps he surmised that the trouble had something
to do with himself, for he insisted upon the girl
telling him everything.  She did so, with the
result that you already know.  So far as I could
gather, when Miss Hargrave came to me just now
in a state of mind bordering on distraction, Rent
affected to take the matter quite calmly.  He rose
from his seat and talked on indifferent topics for
several minutes.  Then he lighted a cigarette and
stood by the open window of his bedroom admiring
the beauty of the morning.  A minute or two
later he flung himself over the balcony on to the
stones below, and was picked up by a labourer in
a dying condition.  They carried him into his room
and sent for the doctor.  I am told the poor fellow
suffers only occasionally, but they say that he
cannot recover from the shock and that death is not
far off.  He has fits of insensibility, followed by
periods of lucidity, during which time his mind is
clear.  Strange to say, the blank in his memory has
been filled up, and, from what he told Miss
Hargrave, he knows everything that has taken place
during the past fortnight.  As yet, his mother has
not been told; indeed, she was asleep when I came
from the house."

There was a long pause when Charlock had finished.
Tanza and Grey regarded one another significantly.

"It is a shocking thing," the latter said presently.
"But it has all happened for the best.  Of course,
I will see Rent if he wants me.  I shall be here all
day and you have only to send a messenger over."

"That is very good of you," Charlock murmured.
"If you don't mind, I will go back at once.
There are many ways in which I can be useful.
Directly Rent gains consciousness again I will not
fail to send."

Charlock went on his way back to the darkened
household.  It was not too late to snatch an hour
or two in bed, and, despite the startling events of
the evening before, Grey slept soundly directly he
reached his cabin.  When he woke the sun was
shining brightly and Tanza was standing by his
side.  Grey sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

"Anything fresh?" he asked.  "I suppose you
have had no messages yet from Charlock?"

"Not a word," Tanza said.  "I have allowed
Bark to go away under a promise that he will
remain at hand and come here whenever he is
wanted.  I have not the least fear that he will play
us false after what has happened.  Meanwhile, for
the last hour or so I have been bestowing my
attention upon Swift."

"I hope he is better," Grey murmured.

"Well, he is clear and sensible, if that is what
you mean.  He is in a terribly shaken state and
hasn't the smallest idea what took place last night.
I have been reminding him about one or two things
and you will find him ready to answer questions.  I
have given him a soothing draught, and I don't
think he is likely to trouble us for some time, at
any rate.  After breakfast you can interview him."

Grey found Swift a white and pitiable object,
propped up by pillows, doing his best to coax down
a little food.  There was a half-pleading, half-defiant
look in his eyes as Grey seated himself on
the bed.

"You needn't be afraid of me," Grey said.  "I
only want you to give me a little information.  My
dear fellow, if you only knew it, Tanza and myself
are the best friends you have.  Tanza has
announced his intention of devoting himself to your
case, and if you only play the man, he will set you
on your feet again.  I cannot understand how one
of your ability should sink so low.  Surely, if we
hold out a helping hand——"

"That is all I want," Swift interposed eagerly.
"I am a double-dyed fool, Grey, and no one knows
it better than myself.  When I started to go down
hill my friends began to turn their backs upon me,
and I went on drinking out of sheer bravado.  For
the last two years I have been alone in the world;
but, low as I have fallen, I would make a big effort
to pull myself together if I could find a congenial
friend.  If Tanza would take me in his employ it
would be a godsend to me.  I could make a struggle
under a man like that.  But, there, you did not
come here to talk about myself.  What have you
discovered?  And what can I do for you?"

"Practically, we have discovered everything,"
Grey said gravely.  "We have made certain of
what we have hitherto regarded only as suspicion.
You are weak and ill, and I don't want to bother
you unnecessarily.  Tell me in a word, has Arnold
Rent discovered intermittent electricity or not?"

Swift nodded his head vigorously.

"That will do," Grey went on.  "You need not
say any more.  There will be plenty of time to go
in for explanations when you are well enough.  All
I want to know now is the exact position of the
underground dynamo which was established some
time ago within a few hundred yards of Rent's
offices.  I don't suppose he told you about it, but I
am sure you know where the thing is to be found."

By way of reply, Swift reached for his coat,
which was lying across the back of his bunk, and
took from the breast-pocket a sheet of tracing-paper,
which he handed over to Grey.  The latter
glanced at it and smiled.  When he turned to Swift
again the patient was lying with closed eyes as if
on the verge of sleep.  Grey stole from the cabin
to the deck where Tanza was seated.

"Come along," he said.  "I have it at my fingers'
ends.  I'll just get a pair of india-rubber
gloves and shoes and a mat and we can set out at
once."

They came at length to a spot some little way
from the workshop, where Grey proceeded to make
a close examination of the turf.  He lifted a sheet
of sod presently and disclosed a small grating
underneath.  Kneeling on the india-rubber mat and
carefully shielding his hands with gloves of the
same material, he proceeded to pull out a switch or
two and cut through a cable which led into the tiny
manhole.  Then, without a further word to Tanza,
he strode right on until he came to the lawn of
Charlock's house, pausing at length in front of the
fountain which surrounded the sundial.  With the
gloves still upon his hands, and the long rubber
boots upon his feet, he waded through the water
until he stood by the side of the sundial.  He raised
the cap and threw it aside.  Then from the cavity
below he produced a small box.

"There!" he said, with an air of subdued
triumph.  "Will you please examine the contents?
I will forfeit my reputation if Mrs. Charlock's
jewels are not inside."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PRICE OF A CRIME`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XLVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE PRICE OF A CRIME

.. vspace:: 2

Tanza unfastened the box and removed a sheet
of cotton wool which lay on the top.  The sun
gleamed on a heap of stones of various sizes,
diamonds for the most part, which streamed and
twinkled as if they had been running water.  Then he
laid out the rings and necklaces and the various
odds and ends, which went to make up a collection
of stones worth a considerable amount.  The
Italian knew something about jewels, and in his
estimation at least ten thousand pounds' worth of
jewels lay on their bed of cotton wool.

"Mrs. Charlock appeared to have a pretty taste
in this respect," Tanza remarked.  "These things
might have belonged to the wife of a millionaire.
So this is the end of our search.  Well, those stones
have done mischief, goodness knows.  I suppose
you can tell me how they managed to get there?"

"All in good time," Grey replied.  "We had
better return to the yacht and talk the matter over.
Besides, Rent may send for me at any moment,
and I should not like to be out of the way when
his message comes.  It has been an exciting
venture on the whole, and, to a certain extent, I have
enjoyed it.  But I would give half of what I
possess not to have to face Mrs. Rent, as I shall be
compelled to do presently."

Tanza nodded sympathetically.  He understood
what Grey was alluding to.  The latter replaced
the capstone on the sundial and proceeded to strip
off his rubber boots and gloves.  Tanza touched
these articles lightly with his finger-tips.

"Did you really need these?" he asked.  "Was
there actual danger?  I saw you were taking no
risks."

"It was a necessary precaution," Grey explained.
"Of course, you know that in handling high-volted
coils and cables there is always danger.  Anything
beyond five hundred volts needs great caution.  You
are well aware, also, that a voltage which is almost
harmless when one is dry or standing on dry
ground becomes dangerous in the presence of moisture.
The perfect safeguard is in using india-rubber
gloves and boots.  With these one can handle
cables carrying practically any power."

Tanza nodded his approval.

"I know all that," he said.  "But what first put
the idea of electricity into your head?  As you
know, from the very first I suspected foul play.
I felt certain the Frenchwoman met her death by
some new and ingenious method of manslaughter.
In thinking the matter over, electricity suggested
itself to my mind, but I could not for the life of
me see how it was worked.  That is why I called
you in.  You seem to have known from the start
what to do and what to look for.  Isn't that a fact?"

"Well, I had luck on my side," Grey admitted.
"You remember bringing me to have a look round
the place and giving me a minute account of the
way in which Hortense met her death.  You will
recollect telling me that her dress was more or less
singed, which seemed remarkable, seeing that she
had apparently met her death by water.  There
were no marks of violence on the body, either,
which was another thing that aroused one's
suspicions.  I was still asking myself a few questions
in this direction when I had the good luck to pick
up a thumb torn from an india-rubber glove.  Now,
you know india-rubber gloves are worn almost
entirely by electrical engineers; indeed, I know no
other use for them.  I am aware that burglars have
adopted the same precaution to prevent any
identification of finger-marks.  But, then, your average
burglar does not give as much as two guineas a pair
for india-rubber gloves, which is somewhere about
the price of those from which the thumb was torn.
As soon as that evidence came into my hands I
knew that somebody connected with electricity had
been near the sundial.  But the mere presence of
a fountain disposed of the suggestion that anything
like the usual electrical business had been
contemplated by the owner of the property.  I dropped
a hint to Charlock, and he knew nothing about it.
Now, why had this mysterious individual been
here?  And what was he doing in the neighbourhood
of the fountain?  A little farther up the lawn
I discovered a small piece of cable properly
insulated, and then I became more or less certain of
my facts.  Somebody had laid a wire from the
sundial to a power station in the neighbourhood.
It puzzled me why this had been done till I began
to put things together, and I suddenly recollected
what you told me about Hortense's clothing being
scorched.  It seemed fair to assume that the
sundial and the fountain were charged for some reason
with a dangerous load of electricity, and that
directly the woman came into contact with the water
she was killed instantly.  Doubtless she fell
forward into the fountain, which would account for
the scar upon her forehead.  You see, the current
might have been powerful enough to cause instant
death without unduly injuring the body.  Before I
left these premises that day I knew beyond the
shadow of a doubt how the French maid had met
her death.  You follow me?"

"Absolutely," Tanza said.  "It is quite logical."

"Of course it is," Grey went on.  "There is no
other way of accounting for it.  Then I began to
ask myself what the woman was doing near the
fountain.  Until I could get to the bottom of that
I was more or less groping in the dark.  But, then,
as you know now, I had an opportunity of examining
Hortense's bedroom, where, in the fireplace, I
found a torn photograph of two men, one of whom
was Rent.  Who the other man is probably we
shall never know, and, in any case, it doesn't
matter.  At any rate, we have the fact that Hortense
was in the possession of Rent's photograph, which
she had torn across the middle, no doubt in a
moment of petulance and passion.  I may be wrong,
but that is the interpretation I put upon it.  It was
more or less natural to conclude that tender
passages had passed between Hortense and himself.
I could not guess why for the moment, but it
became clear later.  But this is not all the evidence
I discovered.  In the grate were fragments of a
letter which pointed to the fact that some secret
was on foot connected with the sundial.  It was
not till after I heard that Mrs. Charlock had lost
her jewels that I began to wonder if the gems had
been hidden in the sundial.  I had to speculate
upon this for a day or two, until I caught Bark
loafing about the lawn, and then I felt sure my
supposition was correct.  When I saw that Bark
had severely burnt his fingers in the waters of the
fountain I became certain of my ground.  It was
lucky for him that the night was fine and the grass
dry, or he would have shared the fate of his sister.
By this time my suspicions were growing pretty
strong.  I could not come to any other conclusion
but that Rent was at the bottom of the whole
business.  Where else could the power station which
supplied the electricity be except in Rent's own
workshop?  And who besides himself was interested
in getting Hortense out of the way?  Beyond
a doubt she had found out how she had been fooled
and had threatened revenge.  Therefore he
determined to get rid of her by this diabolically
ingenious means, which it would be impossible to trace.
He had only to let the girl know where the jewels
were hidden, and she was certain to try to steal
them.  To a man who has discovered the secret of
intermittent electricity the thing was easy.  You
know in how small a compass an electrical plant
goes and how easy it is to manipulate.  Suppose a
hole is cut in the ground by the fountain and a wire
inserted into the water.  Then, a quarter of a mile
away, another apparatus is hidden underground,
the current turned on from the works, and without
intermediate wires a contact is made between one
pole and another.  Of course, I know it sounds
very extraordinary, but if you can telegraph and
telephone without wires, why shouldn't you transmit
an ordinary electrical current?  At any rate,
Rent succeeded in doing so, as Swift more or less
intimated to me; in fact, he found out what was
going on and gave me a plan of the direction in
which the apparatus ran.  I shouldn't be surprised
if Swift knows as much as we do, and no doubt his
guilty knowledge has driven him to drink.  I have
proved how this thing was done and how the
French girl was sent to her death."

"You think she was murdered?" Tanza asked.

"Most emphatically I do.  Otherwise, why
should Rent go to the trouble of all these elaborate
preparations?  He was afraid that Hortense would
betray him to her mistress.  He was so infatuated
with Mrs. Charlock that he was prepared to run
any risk to retain her good opinion.  I feel
convinced that Hortense was sent deliberately to her
death, and if you and I had not happened to be in
the neighbourhood the thing would have been
forgotten and nobody been any the wiser.  Why, apart
from such proofs as I have given you just now,
there are other people who could support my
assertions.  Don't you suppose that that blackguard Bark
knows all about it?  And he was prepared to keep
his mouth shut and leave his sister's death unpunished
if only he could get possession of the jewels.
It is a ghastly business altogether.  And now you
understand why I am not anxious to face Mrs. Rent.
And you will see that the matter cannot be
allowed to rest here.  What a sensation there will
be when it all comes out!"





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.. _`ABSOLUTION`:

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   CHAPTER XLVII


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   ABSOLUTION

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Tanza shook his head slowly and sorrowfully.
"Terrible!" he murmured.  "I wish we
could find some way of keeping Mrs. Rent
and Miss Hargrave out of this matter.
But after what has taken place the thing
is impossible.  Mrs. Rent will have to give
evidence, and so will Miss Hargrave.  One is
naturally loth to interfere with the course of justice.
But if ever there was a case where a policy of
silence would be pardonable, this assuredly is that
case.  Only in one contingency the world need know
nothing of this miserable affair."

"And what may that be?" Grey asked.

"Why, the death of Arnold Rent, of course.  If
he would considerately die, we should be perfectly
justified in keeping our own counsel.  Why should
the thing be dragged to light?  Why should the
whole painful story be made public when the
culprit is beyond the reach of the law?  I think you
will agree with me."

"Oh, I do," Grey confessed.  "But please don't
imagine that Arnold is worse than he appears to
be.  You don't suppose that he is responsible for
the death of Mrs. Charlock as well?  That would
be too dreadful."

"Is there any other conclusion?" Tanza asked.

"Well, yes, in common justice to Rent, there is.
I believe that Mrs. Charlock's death was a sheer
accident.  Let me retrace the ground, and I will
show you what I mean.  We will admit, if you
like, that Rent is a man without heart and without
principle.  We will make one exception, and that
was his pure and disinterested affection for
Mrs. Charlock.  He was prepared to sacrifice his future
for her sake.  Oh, yes, I know that he stole her
diamonds.  But no doubt that was in the early
stage of his infatuation.  Afterwards he must be
credited with good intentions.  You see, he had
removed the French maid, and the ground appeared
to be clear.  So deeply in love is he that he
takes Mrs. Charlock to stay with his mother.  Mind
you, in taking that step he knew what he was
risking.  He knew how strict and rigid his mother
was, and how little versed she was in the ways of
the world.  These upright and honourable people
are apt to be narrow-minded.  And religion and
charity are not always the same thing.  I say that
when Rent took Mrs. Charlock into Devonshire
he was running the risk of losing every penny of
his expectations.  Of course, there was the hope of
conciliating his mother, but that was what one
might call a sporting chance.  As you know, the
scheme was a failure, and Mrs. Charlock went
away, posing as a martyr, prepared to accept any
sacrifice rather than injure the prospects of the
man who had befriended her.  Anyway, there was
an end of her so far as the home in Devonshire
was concerned.  Now, if my theory is correct, there
was a subsequent interview between Mrs. Charlock
and Rent, in which the situation was reviewed
from a worldly point of view.  You see, they were
bound to face the situation sooner or later; in
sporting parlance, the thing wasn't good enough for
Mrs. Charlock, and she probably let Rent know it
in her sweet, unsophisticated way.  No doubt he
had time to think the matter over and began to
grasp what he was sacrificing.  Whether they parted
in friendly fashion or not doesn't matter.  They
*did* part, and Mrs. Charlock came back to her
husband.  Before she started, Rent doubtless did
the fair thing and told her where her jewels were
hidden.  But there was one thing he forgot—he
neglected to turn off those switches, and left the
fountain in the same dangerous condition as when
Hortense met with her dreadful death.  Either
that or Swift had been experimenting with the
apparatus.  But the fact remains that the charge had
not been drawn from the mine, and when Mrs. Charlock
went to regain possession of her jewels
she went to certain death.  That is my rendering
of the matter, though I may be wrong."

"I should think it exceedingly probable you are
right," Tanza said.  "You have given me a
sensible and logical account of what has happened,
and I fail to see any flaw in your argument.  We
had better return to the yacht now, and later I will
hand these stones to Charlock.  There ought to
be enough here to free him from all his difficulties
and enable him to come back to his own house.
Unless I am mistaken, he will be glad to resume
possession once more."

"Why should he be?" Grey asked.

"Because he is in love with Ethel Hargrave,"
Tanza said.  "One can see that with half an eye.
And what is more, the girl is in love with him.  But
these things are in the air at present.  So far as I
am concerned, I should be disposed to keep our
discovery a profound secret.  That rascal Bark
will not dare to say anything, and I flatter myself
I can find a way to keep Swift's mouth closed.
Unfortunately, Miss Hargrave has made some
discoveries, but we may be able to convince her that
she has made a mistake.  If Arnold Rent dies,
which seems more than probable, we may save the
scandal altogether.  Charlock we can trust."

They were back at the yacht again presently,
still discussing the tragedy in which they were both
profoundly interested.  There was no sign of Bark,
and Swift seemed to be decidedly better.  After
luncheon Tanza had a long talk with him, and left
him in appreciably higher spirits.  Just as the
Italian arrived on deck again an urgent message came
for Grey, saying that Mr. Rent desired to see him
immediately.

Grey found Rent sitting in bed, propped up with
pillows.  It needed no practised eye to see that the
end was near.  Mrs. Rent and Ethel were with the
sufferer, and at a sign from him they left him and
Grey together.  Rent was very weak and low, yet
there was a resolute look in his eyes, and he lost
no time in coming directly to the point.

"You know why I sent for you?" he demanded.

"I can give a fair guess," Grey murmured.

"Ah, I am glad of that, because it will save me
a deal of talking, and time is precious.  Tell me in
a few words what you have discovered.  It would
be a kindness to speak frankly and openly to me."

"Perhaps it would," Grey said.  "Then I may
say I have discovered everything.  Nothing is
hidden from me."

"This is what I expected," the dying man
murmured.  "I have felt that ever since you have been
in the neighbourhood.  Oh, I know what Tanza
was after.  I have not been altogether blind.  But
I swear to you that so far as Mrs. Charlock was
concerned I am absolutely and entirely innocent.
It was a cruel misfortune—but go on, please.  Let
me hear your story first."

"There is not much to tell," Grey said, picking
up the thread.  "To begin with, I know all about
your entanglement with the French maid.  An
accident put me on the track, but it is a waste of
time to go into that.  I know what happened
between your workshop and the fountain.  I know
how you laid the trap which led Hortense to her
death.  But perhaps I had better tell it to you just
as I told it to Tanza a little while ago."

Grey proceeded over the familiar ground, the
dying man following with rapt attention.  At the
end of the recital he nodded more or less approvingly.

"So far," he said, "you have not made a mistake.
You have the thing as clear and plain as if
you had been in my place.  But you are wrong as
far as Mrs. Charlock was concerned.  I had
disconnected the electrical apparatus which
communicated with the fountain; indeed, I was going to
destroy everything but for an accident which
prevented me.  I call it an accident for want of a
better term.  But now I see the hand of Fate in it.
I was playing with the apparatus one night when
Hortense's brother, Bark, came into my office.  He
asked me for money, which I was not able to give
him, and one word leading to another, the whole
thing culminated in a serious quarrel.  I was
knocked down and sustained an injury to my head
which, as you know, affected my brain.  In most
ways I was sane enough, but memory of the events
of the past few days had been wholly blotted out.
I was haunted by the feeling that I had left
something undone, but I could not for the life of me
recall what it was.  You can imagine a murderer
who has gone off and left a clue behind.  That was
the sensation that maddened me and spoilt all my
rest till Ethel Hargrave found me poring over
certain letters.  It was only when she began to speak
that remembrance came back to me swiftly and
unexpectedly.  Ethel knew too much.  I knew that I
could not hope to silence her tongue.  Besides, she
had already confessed all she had discovered to
John Charlock.  Then it was that a feeling of
abject despair came over me, and in the madness of
the moment I threw myself out of the window.
When sense and reason returned once more
everything was wonderfully clear again.  I recalled the
whole train of circumstances.  And the more I
pondered it the more hopeless my position seemed.
I tell you, I was glad to know that I must die, that
I was going to leave all this shame and misery
behind me.  And it is simply because I am dying that
I sent for you to-day.  I want you, if you can, to
prevent a scandal.  I want these dreadful things
kept from my mother."





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.. _`SEALED IN THE GRAVE`:

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   CHAPTER XLVIII


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   SEALED IN THE GRAVE

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"It can be done," Grey murmured.

The pupils of Rent's eyes dilated strangely.

"Man, it must be concealed," he said hoarsely.
"Try to conceive the cruelty of making all these
matters public when the one human being who
ought to suffer is beyond the reach of justice!  What
you know and what Tanza knows I can regard as
safe.  I could die comfortably in the knowledge
that you would never speak, and I am certain that
John Charlock would remain silent for the sake of
my mother and that innocent girl who has come
to think so ill of me.  Surely you need not
undeceive her!  Surely you can think of some plausible
fiction!  If ever there was a case where a lie is
justified, this is the occasion.  Now promise."

"I will do all I can," Grey said freely and
heartily.  "And I know that I can speak for Tanza, too;
indeed, I may go further and say that he advocated
the very course you are suggesting.  He assumed
that if the worst happened—I beg your pardon,
I should not have put it as bluntly as that."

"But that is just the way I want you to put it,"
Rent insisted.  "You don't know what a load you
have taken off my mind.  And now I will ask you
to leave me.  I should like to have my mother with
me for the little time that remains——"

The speaker broke off suddenly.  Something
seemed to choke his utterance.  He dropped back
on his pillow, breathing faintly.  His eyes closed.
Very gently Grey crept from the room downstairs
to where the others were waiting.  The expression
of his face was quite enough for Mrs. Rent, who
hurried away, followed by Ethel.  A little while
later the girl came downstairs, her manner soft and
subdued.  Grey raised his eyebrows interrogatively.

"Yes," Ethel whispered.  "He went off peacefully.
The nurse and doctor were in the room at
the time.  I don't know whether you will mind my
bringing up the subject just now, but Mr. Charlock
has mentioned the matter to you.  There were
certain letters which my relative had in his
possession——"

"I hope they are destroyed," Grey said.  "I
know what you are alluding to.  But it would be
as well if those letters were burnt, because it is
probable they may lead you to a wrong conclusion.
I know you have had a rough time lately, but that
mustn't make you suspect crime.  I think Mr. Charlock
is of the same opinion as myself and deprecates
your arriving at a hasty inference.  Try to
recollect that, however black a case may look
against a person, the whole complexion of the thing
may lie changed when his defence is disclosed."

A look of relief crossed the girl's face.

"I suppose that is so," she suggested timidly.

"Indeed it is," Grey said emphatically.  "But,
whatever you do, don't allude to anything in
Mrs. Rent's presence.  She has enough sorrow and
misery to contend with as it is.  Now, if you will
excuse me, I had better go.  This is no place for a
stranger."

Grey was glad to find himself outside the house,
glad to know that his unpleasant errand had ended
without more disastrous consequences.  He went
at once in search of John Charlock, whom he found
disconsolately wandering about his garden.  He
looked somewhat guilty as Grey came up.

"I don't know what you must think of me," he
said, "but I find it difficult to tear myself away
from this place.  You see, all my hopes and ambitions
were centered here.  It was here that I looked
forward to a happy life.  I have just begun to see
the fruition of my ambitions, to see my reputation
established.  I am a free man now and the grave
contains my one mistake.  I don't say that I feel
any regret at what has taken place, beyond the
horror that such tragedies bring.  But I don't want
to talk about myself.  What can I do for you?"

"You can come aboard the yacht and talk matters
over with Tanza," Grey suggested.  "We have
several things to discuss with you and one or two
confessions to make.  I may be a false prophet,
but I am sure that the best part of your life's
happiness is still to come.  But let us eschew
platitudes.  Come with me and let us have the matter
out."

Charlock expressed himself willing, and a little
later the two men were on their way to the yacht.
For the best part of an hour or more Charlock
listened to all that Tanza and his companion had
to say.  Finally he took the case of jewels which
the Italian handed to him and slipped it in his
pocket.

"I am infinitely obliged to you gentlemen," he
said.  "As to these jewels, they rightly belong to
me.  They have been paid for, too, and their sale
will enable me to take possession of my old house
again.  I daresay I shall be reasonably happy.  No
doubt I can find some worthy woman who will act
as housekeeper and look after my servants.  But
I am afraid that my dream of a perfect home must
remain a dream, for it is never likely to be realised.
I am forced to the conclusion that I am not the sort
of man to make a woman——"

"Pardon me," Grey interrupted.  "That is just
where I think you are wrong.  You have as much
generous feeling and emotion as most decent men,
but you are afraid to show your real nature.  At
the risk of being considered impertinent I was
going to suggest that the lady calculated to make
your home happy is not very far off.  I was thinking
of Miss Ethel Hargrave."

A deep frown knitted Charlock's brows.  Then,
in spite of himself, something like a smile came
over his face.

"Do you really think so?" he asked almost
eagerly.  "But I am talking like a fool.  She is a
girl in a million, mind you.  A man like me, rough
and reserved——"

"Why belittle yourself?" Tanza said.  "You
are famous.  You are on the road to wealth.
Hundreds of women would be proud to call you their
husband.  But I won't flatter you.  I am a pretty
good judge of human nature, and if ever I saw a
girl in love with a man, that girl is Ethel
Hargrave and the man is John Charlock.  You are a
lucky fellow, my dear sir, if you have sense enough
to see it.  But, after this exhibition of gratuitous
impertinence on my part, I am afraid to say more.
Let us change the subject, and perhaps Grey will
ask the steward to bring us cigarettes and coffee."

John Charlock said nothing.  There was no
outbreak of anger or impatience on his part; on the
contrary, he smiled with the air of a man who is
well pleased with himself.  There was something
like a gleam of happiness in his eyes.

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The white wings of the yacht were folded.  She
came to an anchor again after a year's absence on
a voyage round the world.  As the boat put off
from the side for the shore, Swift, bronzed and
happy-looking, shook his head with a smile as he
declined to accompany Tanza and Grey.

"I should be in the way," he said.  "Besides,
they don't want me.  I read in the papers this
morning that John Charlock and his wife had only
just come back from their honeymoon, in which
case they are not likely to require either of you."

"Oh, yes, they will," Tanza exclaimed.  "I flatter
myself that they will be agreeably surprised to
see us."

The boat reached the shore, and after a few
minutes' walk Tanza and his companion stopped in
front of the house.  The windows frowned at them
no longer.  The casements were flung open.  Silk
and muslin curtains fluttered on the breeze.  The
paths were trim and neat.  The lawns were ablaze
with a wild riot of colour.  On all sides were signs
of prosperity, peace and happiness.  Grey pointed
to the long lawn gleaming in the sunshine like a
broad ribbon of green velvet.

"There is only one change I see," he murmured.
"The old sundial has gone.  But that is no matter
for surprise."

Before Tanza could reply there came the sound
of voices from behind a belt of shrubs.  It was
almost impossible to recognise the tones of John
Charlock, so full and hearty and generous with the
flow of life were they.  They could hear also the
quiet ripple of laughter on the part of his
companion, and a moment later husband and wife came
in sight.  There was no doubt as to their welcome.
They came forward with delighted surprise and
hands extended.  Not much was said for a little
while, until they divided into pairs, and Charlock
walked down the drive, with Grey, somewhat silent
and speculative, by his side.

"What a paradise you have made here!" the
latter exclaimed.

"I haven't done it," Charlock said joyously.  "It
is my wife.  Everything she touches she adorns,
and I owe you and Tanza a deep debt of gratitude
for what you said to me that day on board the
yacht.  It seemed impossible that she——"

"The impossible has become the real," Grey said.

Charlock paused a moment and threw back his head.

"Indeed it has," he said in a voice just above a
whisper.  "I have found what I was looking for
at last.  I have been paid for all my suffering.  But
I can't talk about such matters.  They are a bit
too sacred.  Now let us go inside.  I want to show
you my ideal of an English home and an English
life."

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THE END

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