THE AVENGER

BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

Author of

"The Master Mummer, " "A Maker of History, " "The Malefactor, " "The LostLeader, " "The Great Secret, " Etc. 

1908

CONTENTS

 I. A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR

 II. THE HORROR OF THE HANSOM

 III. DISCUSSING THE CRIME

 IV. UNDER A CLOUD

 V. ON THE TELEPHONE

 VI. ONE THOUSAND POUNDS' REWARD

 VII. THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER

 VIII. THE BARONESS INTERVENES

 IX. A BOX AT THE ALHAMBRA

 X. OUTCAST

 XI. FALSE SENTIMENT

 XII. TIDINGS FROM THE CAPE

 XIII. SEARCHING THE CHAMBERS

 XIV. THE DEAD MAN'S BROTHER

 XV. THE LAWYER'S SUGGESTION

 XVI. A DINNER IN THE STRAND

 XVII. A CONFESSION OF LOVE

 XVIII. AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE

 XIX. DESPERATE WOOING

 XX. STABBED THROUGH THE HEART

 XXI. THE FLIGHT OF LOUISE

 XXII. THE CHÂTEAU OF ÉTARPE

 XXIII. A PASSIONATE PILGRIM

 XXIV. AN INVITATION TO DINNER

 XXV. THE MAN IN THE YELLOW BOOTS

 XXVI. MADAME DE MELBAIN

 XXVII. THE SPY

 XXVIII. THE SCENE IN THE AVENUE

 XXIX. A SUBSTANTIAL GHOST

 XXX. THE QUEEN OF MEXONIA

 XXXI. RETURNED FROM THE TOMB

 XXXII. AT THE HÔTEL SPLENDIDE

 XXXIII. A HAND IN THE GAME

 XXXIV. AN ILL-ASSORTED COUPLE

 XXXV. HIS WIFE

 XXXVI. THE MURDERED MAN'S EFFECTS

 XXXVII. THE WIDOW'S ULTIMATUM

 XXXVIII. INEFFECTUAL WOOING

 XXXIX. THE COLONEL'S MISSION

 XL. BLACKMAIL

 XLI. THE COLONEL SPEAKS

 XLII. LOVE REMAINS

ILLUSTRATIONS

"THERE PLASHED ACROSS HER FACE A QUIVER, AS THOUGH OF PAIN"

"AT THE SIGHT OF THE TWO MEN, THE BARONESS STOPPED SHORT"

"HE WAS THERE ON HIS KNEES, WITH HIS ARMS AROUND THE TERRIFIED WOMAN"

"'TO THE NEAREST POLICE STATION! THAT'S WHERE I'M OFF. '"

CHAPTER I

A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR

The man and the woman stood facing one another, although in the uncertainfirelight which alone illuminated the room neither could see much savethe outline of the other's form. The woman stood at the further end ofthe apartment by the side of the desk--his desk. The slim tremblingfingers of one hand rested lightly upon it, the other was hanging by herside, nervously crumpling up the glove which she had only taken off a fewminutes before. The man stood with his back to the door through which hehad just entered. He was in evening dress; he carried an overcoat overhis arm, and his hat was slightly on the back of his head. A cigarettewas still burning between his lips, the key by means of which he hadentered was swinging from his little finger. So far no words had passedbetween them. Both were apparently stupefied for the moment by theother's unexpected presence. 

It was the man who recovered his self-possession first. He threw hisovercoat into a chair, and touched the brass knobs behind the door. Instantly the room was flooded with the soft radiance of the electriclights. They could see one another now distinctly. The woman leaned alittle forward, and there was amazement as well as fear flashing in hersoft, dark eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded to herself unnatural. To him it came as a surprise, for the world of men and women was hisstudy, and he recognized at once its quality. 

"Who are you?" she exclaimed. "What do you want?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"It seems to me, " he answered, "that I might more fittingly assume therole of questioner. However, I have no objection to introduce myself. Myname is Herbert Wrayson. May I ask, " he continued with quiet sarcasm, "towhat I am indebted for this unexpected visit?"

She was silent for a moment, and as he watched her his surprise grew. Equivocal though her position was, he knew very well that this was noordinary thief whom he had surprised in his rooms, engaged to allappearance in rifling his desk. The fact that she was a beautiful womanwas one which he scarcely took into account. There were other things moresurprising which he could not ignore. Her evening dress of black net wasfaultlessly made, and he knew enough of such things to be well aware thatit came from the hands of no ordinary dressmaker. A string of pearls, heronly ornament, hung from her neck, and her black hat with its droopingfeathers was the fellow of one which he had admired a few evenings ago atthe Ritz in Paris. It flashed upon him that this was a woman ofdistinction, one who belonged naturally, if not in effect, to the worldof which even he could not claim to be a habitant. What was she doing inhis rooms?--of what interest to her were he and his few possessions?

"Herbert Wrayson, " she repeated, leaning a little towards him. "If yourname is Herbert Wrayson, what are you doing in these rooms?"

"They happen to be mine, " he answered calmly. 

"Yours!"

She picked up a small latch-key from the desk. 

"This is number 11, isn't it?" she asked quickly. 

"No! Number 11 is the flat immediately overhead, " he told her. 

She appeared unconvinced. 

"But I opened the door with this key, " she declared. 

"Mr. Barnes and I have similar locks, " he said. "The fact remains thatthis is number 9, and number 11 is one story overhead. "

She drew a long breath, presumably of relief, and moved a step forward. 

"I am very sorry!" she declared. "I have made a mistake. You must pleaseaccept my apologies. "

He stood motionless in front of the door. He was pale, clean-shaven, andslim, and in his correct evening clothes he seemed a somewhat ordinarytype of the well-bred young Englishman. But his eyes were grey, and hismouth straight and firm. 

She came to a standstill. Her eyes seemed to be questioning him. Shescarcely understood his attitude. 

"Kindly allow me to pass!" she said coldly. 

"Presently!" he answered. 

Her veil was still raised, and the flash of her eyes would surely havemade a weaker man quail. But Wrayson never flinched. 

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded. "I have explained my presencein your room. It was an accident which I regret. Let me pass at once. "

"You have explained your presence here, " he answered, "after a fashion!But you have not explained what your object may be in making use of thatkey to enter Mr. Barnes' flat. Are you proposing to subject hisbelongings to the same inspection as mine?" he asked, pointing to hisdisordered desk. 

"My business with Mr. Barnes is no concern of yours!" she exclaimedhaughtily. 

"Under ordinary circumstances, no!" he admitted. "But these are notordinary circumstances. Forgive me if I speak plainly. I found youengaged in searching my desk. The presumption is that you wish to do thesame thing to Mr. Barnes'. "

"And if I do, sir!" she demanded, "what concern is it of yours? How doyou know that I have not permission to visit his rooms--that he did nothimself give me this key?"

She held it out before him. He glanced at it and back into her face. 

"The supposition, " he said, "does not commend itself to me. "

"Why not?"

He looked at the clock. 

"You see, " he declared, "that it is within a few minutes of midnight. Tobe frank with you, you do not seem to me the sort of person likely tovisit a bachelor such as Mr. Barnes, in a bachelor flat, at this hour, without some serious object. "

She kept silence for several moments. Her bosom was rising and fallingquickly, and a brilliant spot of colour was burning in her cheeks. Herhead was thrown a little back, she was regarding him with an intentnesswhich he found almost disconcerting. He had an uncomfortable sense thathe was in the presence of a human being who, if it had lain in herpower, would have killed him where he stood. Further, he was realizingthat the woman whom at first glance he had pronounced beautiful, wasabsolutely the first of her sex whom he had ever seen who satisfiedcompletely the demands of a somewhat critical and highly cultivatedtaste. The silence between them seemed extended over a time crowded andrich with sensations. He found time to marvel at the delicate whitenessof her bosom, gleaming like polished ivory under the network of her blackgown, to appreciate with a quick throb of delight the slim roundness ofher perfect figure, the wonderful poise of her head, the soft richness ofher braided hair. Every detail of feature and of toilet seemed to satisfyto the last degree each critical faculty of which he was possessed. Hefelt a little shiver of apprehension when he recalled the cold brutalityof the words which had just left his lips! Yet how could he deal with herdifferently?

"Is this man--Morris Barnes--your friend?" she asked, breaking a silencewhich had done more than anything else to unnerve him. 

"No!" he answered. "I scarcely know the man. I have never seen him exceptin the lift, or on the stairs. "

"Then you have no excuse for keeping me here, " she declared. "I may behis friend, or I may be his enemy. At least I possess the key of hisflat, presumably with his permission. My presence here I have explained. I can assure you that it is entirely accidental! You have no right todetain me for a moment. "

The clock on the mantelpiece struck midnight. A sudden passion surged inhis veins, a passion which, although at the time he could not haveclassified it, was assuredly a passion of jealousy! He remembered the manBarnes, whom he hated. 

"You shall not go to his rooms--at this hour!" he exclaimed. "You don'tknow the man! If you were seen--"

She laughed mockingly. 

"Let me pass!" she insisted. 

He hesitated. She saw very clearly that she was conquering. A momentbefore she had respected this man. After all, though, he was likethe others. 

"I will go with you and wait outside, " he said doggedly. "Barnes, at thishour--is not always sober!"

Her lips curled. 

"Be wise, " she said, "and let me go. I do not need your protection or--"

She broke off suddenly. The interruption was certainly startlingenough. From a table only a few feet off came the shrill tinkle of atelephone bell. Wrayson mechanically stepped backwards and took thereceiver into his hand. 

"Who is it?" he asked. 

The voice which answered him was faint but clear. It seemed to Wrayson tocome from a long way off. 

"Is that Mr. Wrayson's flat in Cavendish Mansions?" it asked. 

"Yes!" Wrayson answered. "Who are you?"

"I am a friend of Mr. Morris Barnes, " the voice answered. "May Iapologize for calling you up, but the matter is urgent. Can you tell meif Mr. Barnes is in?"

"I am not sure, but I believe he is never in before one or two o'clock, "Wrayson answered. 

"Will you write down a message and leave it in his letter-box?" thevoice asked anxiously. "It is very important or I would not trouble you. "

"Very well, " Wrayson answered. "What is it?"

"Tell him instantly he returns to leave his flat and go to the HotelFrancis. A friend is waiting there for him, the friend whom he has beenexpecting!"

"A lady?" Wrayson remarked a little sarcastically. 

"No!" the voice answered. "A friend. Will you do this? Will you promiseto do it?"

"Very well, " Wrayson said. "Who are you, and where are you ringing upfrom?"

"Remember you have promised!" was the only reply. 

"All right! Tell me your name, " Wrayson demanded. 

No answer. Wrayson turned the handle of the instrument viciously. 

"Exchange, " he asked, "who was that talking to me just now?"

"Don't know, " was the prompt answer. "We can't remember all the calls weget. Ring off, please!"

Wrayson laid down the receiver and turned round with a sudden sense ofapprehension. There was a feeling of emptiness in the room. He had notheard a sound, but he knew very well what had happened. The door wasslightly open and the room was empty. She had taken advantage of hismomentary absorption to slip away. 

He stepped outside and stood by the lift, listening. The landing wasdeserted, and there was no sound of any one moving anywhere. The liftitself was on the ground floor. It had not ascended recently or he musthave heard it. He returned to his room and softly closed the door. Againthe sense of emptiness oppressed him. A faint perfume around the placewhere she had stood came to him like a whiff of some delicious memory. Heset his teeth, lit a cigarette, and sitting down at his desk wrote a fewlines to his neighbour, embodying the message which had been given him. With the note in his hand he ascended to the next floor. 

There was apparently no light in flat number 11, but he rang the bell andlistened. There was no answer, no sound of any one moving within. Fornearly ten minutes he waited--listening. He was strongly tempted to openthe door with his own key and see for himself if she was there. Then heremembered that Barnes was a man whom he barely knew, and cordiallydisliked, and that if he should return unexpectedly, the situation wouldbe a little difficult to explain. Reluctantly he descended to his ownflat, and mixing himself a whisky and soda, lit a pipe and sat down, determined to wait until he heard Barnes return. In less than a quarterof an hour he was asleep!

CHAPTER II

THE HORROR OF THE HANSOM

Wrayson sat up with a sudden and violent start. His pipe had fallen on tothe floor, leaving a long trail of grey ash upon his waistcoat andtrousers. The electric lights were still burning, but of the fire nothingremained but a pile of ashes. As soon as he could be said to be consciousof anything, he was conscious of two things. One was that he wasshivering with cold, the other that he was afraid. 

Wrayson was by no means a coward. He had come once or twice in his lifeinto close touch with dangerous happenings, and conducted himself withaverage pluck. He never attempted to conceal from himself, however, thatthese few minutes were minutes of breathless, unreasoning fear. His heartwas thumping against his side, and the muscles at the back of his neckwere almost numb as he slowly looked round the room. His eyes paused atthe door. It was slightly open, to his nervous fancy it seemed to beshaking. His teeth chattered, he felt his forehead, and it was wet. 

He rose to his feet and listened. There was no sound anywhere, from aboveor below. He tried to remember what it was that had awakened him sosuddenly. He could remember nothing except that awful start. Somethingmust have disturbed him! He listened again. Still no sound. He drew alittle breath, and, with his eyes glued upon the half-closed door, recollected that he himself had left it open that he might hear Barnes goupstairs. With a little laugh, still not altogether natural, he moved tothe spirit decanter and drank off half a wineglassful of neat whisky!

"Nerves, " he said softly to himself. "This won't do! What an idiot I wasto go to sleep there!"

He glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to three. Then he movedtowards the door, and stood for several moments with the handle in hishand. Gradually his confidence was returning. He listened attentively. There was not a sound to be heard in the entire building. He turned backinto the room with a little sigh of relief. 

"Time I turned in, " he muttered. "Wonder if that's rain. "

He lifted the blind and looked out. A few stars were shining still in amisty sky, but a bank of clouds was rolling up and rain was beginning tofall. The pavements were already wet, and the lamp-posts obscured. He wasabout to turn away when a familiar, but unexpected, sound from the streetimmediately below attracted his notice. The window was open at the top, and he had distinctly heard the jingling of a hansom bell. 

He threw open the bottom sash and leaned out. A hansom cab was waiting atthe entrance to the flats. Wrayson glanced once more instinctivelytowards the clock. Who on earth of his neighbours could be keeping a cabwaiting outside at that hour in the morning? With the exception of Barnesand himself, they were most of them early people. Once more he looked outof the window. The cabman was leaning forward in his seat with his headresting upon his folded arms. He was either tired out or asleep. Theattitude of the horse was one of extreme and wearied dejection. Wraysonwas on the point of closing the window when he became aware for the firsttime that the cab had an occupant. He could see the figure of a manleaning back in one corner, he could even distinguish a white-gloved handresting upon the apron. The figure was not unlike the figure of Barnes, and Barnes, as he happened to remember, always wore white gloves in theevening. Barnes it probably was, waiting--for what? Wrayson closed thewindow a little impatiently, and turned back into the room. 

"Barnes and his friends can go to the devil, " he muttered. "I amoff to bed. "

He took a couple of steps across the room, and then stopped short. Thefear was upon him again. He felt his heart almost stop beating, a coldshiver shook his whole frame. He was standing facing his half-open door, and outside on the stone steps he heard the soft, even footfall ofslippered feet, and the gentle rustling of a woman's gown. 

He was not conscious of any movement, but when she reached the landing hewas standing there on the threshold, with the soft halo of light frombehind shining on to his white, fiercely questioning face. She cametowards him without speech, and her veil was lowered so that he couldonly imperfectly see her face, but she walked as one newly recovered fromillness, with trembling footsteps, and with one hand always upon thebanisters. When she reached the corner she stopped, and seemed about tocollapse. She spoke to him, and her voice had lost all its quality. Itsounded harsh and unreal. 

"Why are you--spying on me?" she asked. 

"I am not spying, " he answered. "I have been asleep--and woke upsuddenly. "

"Give me--some brandy!" she begged. 

She stood upon the threshold and drank from the wineglass which hehad filled. When she gave it back to him, he noticed that her fingerswere steady. 

"Will you come downstairs and let me out?" she asked. "I have lookeddown and it is all dark on the ground floor. I am not sure that Iknow my way. "

He hesitated, but only for a moment. Side by side they walked down fourflights of steps in unbroken silence. He asked no question, she attemptedno explanation. Only when he opened the door and she saw the waitinghansom she very nearly collapsed. For a moment she clung to him. 

"He is there--in the cab, " she moaned. "Where can I hide?"

"Whoever it is, " Wrayson answered, with his eyes fixed upon the hansom, "he is either drunk or asleep. "

"Or dead!" she whispered in his ear. "Go and see!"

Then, before Wrayson could recover from the shock of her words, she wasgone, flitting down the unlit side of the street with swift silentfootsteps. His eyes followed her mechanically. Then, when she had turnedthe corner, he crossed the pavement towards the cab. Even now he couldsee little of the figure in the corner, for his silk hat was drawn downover his eyes. 

"Is that you, Barnes?" he asked. 

There came not the slightest response. Then for the first time thehideous meaning of those farewell words of hers broke in upon his brain. Had she meant it? Had she known or guessed? He leaned forward andtouched the white-gloved hand. He raised it and let go. It fell like adead, inert thing. He stepped back and confronted the cabman, who wasrubbing his eyes. 

"There's something wrong with your fare, cabby, " he said. 

The cabby raised the trap door, looked down, and descended heavily on tothe pavement. 

"Well, I'm blowed!" he said. "Here, wake up, guv'nor!"

There was no response. The cabby threw open the apron of the cab andgently shook the recumbent figure. 

"I can't wait 'ere all night for my fare!" he exclaimed. "Wake up, Godluv us!" he broke off. 

He stepped hastily back on to the pavement, and began tugging at one ofhis lamps. 

"Push his hat back, sir, " he said. "Let's 'ave a look at 'im. "

Wrayson stood upon the step of the cab and lifted the silk hat from thehead of the recumbent figure. Then he sprang back quickly with a littleexclamation of horror. The lamp was shining full now upon the man's face, livid and white, upon his staring but sightless eyes, upon somethingaround his neck, a fragment of silken cord, drawn so tightly that theflesh seemed to hang over and almost conceal it. 

"Throttled, by God!" the cabman exclaimed. "I'm off to the policestation. "

He clambered up to his seat, and without another word struck his horsewith the whip. The cab drove off and disappeared. Wrayson turned slowlyround, and, closing the door of the flats, mounted with leaden feet tothe fourth story. 

He entered his own rooms, and walked without hesitation to the window, which was still open. The fresh air was almost a necessity, for he felthimself being slowly stifled. His knees were shaking, a cold icy horrorwas numbing his heart and senses. A feeling of nightmare was upon him, asthough he had risen unexpectedly from a bed of delirium. There in frontof him, a little to the left, was the broad empty street amongst whoseshadows she had disappeared. On one side was the Park, and there wasobscurity indefinable, mysterious; on the other a long row of tallmansions, a rain-soaked pavement, and a curving line of gas lamps. Beyond, the river, marked with a glittering arc of yellow dots; furtheraway the glow of the sleeping city. Shelter enough there for anyone--even for her. A soft, damp breeze was blowing in his face; fromamongst the dripping trees of the Park the birds were beginning to maketheir morning music. Already the blackness of night was passing away, theclouds were lightening, the stars were growing fainter. Wrayson leaned alittle forward. His eyes were fixed upon the exact spot where she hadcrossed the road and disappeared. All the horror of the coming day andthe days to come loomed out from the background of his thoughts. 

CHAPTER III

DISCUSSING THE CRIME

The murder of Morris Barnes, considered merely as an event, came as aGodsend to the halfpenny press, which has an unwritten but immutablecontract with the public to provide it with so much sensation during theweek, in season or out of season. Nothing else was talked about anywhere. Under the influence of the general example, Wrayson found himself withina few days discussing its details with perfect coolness, and with aninterest which never flagged. He seemed continually to forget his ownpersonal and actual connection with the affair. 

It was discussed, amongst other places, at the Sheridan Club, of whichWrayson was a member, and where he spent most of his spare time. At oneparticular luncheon party the day after the inquest, nothing else wasspoken of. For the first time, in Wrayson's hearing, a new and somewhatominous light was thrown upon the affair. 

There were four men at the luncheon party, which was really not aluncheon party at all, but a promiscuous coming together of four of themen who usually sat at what was called the Colonel's table. First of allthere was the Colonel himself, --Colonel Edgar Fitzmaurice, C. B. , D. S. O. , --easily the most popular member of the club, a distinguishedretired officer, white-haired, kindly and genial, a man of whom no onehad ever heard another say an unkind word, whose hand was always in hisnone too well-filled pockets, and whose sympathies were always ready tobe enlisted in any forlorn cause, deserving or otherwise. At his righthand sat Wrayson; on his left Sydney Mason, a rising young sculptor, andalso a popular member of this somewhat Bohemian circle. Opposite wasStephen Heneage, a man of a different and more secretive type. He calledhimself a barrister, but he never practised; a journalist at times, buthe seldom put his name to anything he wrote. His interests, if he hadany, he kept to himself. In a club where a man's standing was reckoned bywhat he was and what he produced, he owed such consideration as hereceived to a certain air of reserved strength, the more noteworthyamongst a little coterie of men, who amongst themselves were accustomedto speak their minds freely, and at all times. If he was never brilliant, he had never been heard to say a foolish thing or make a pointlessremark. He moved on his way through life, and held his place there moreby reason of certain negative qualities which, amongst a community ofoptimists, were universally ascribed to him, than through any morepersonal or likable gifts. He had a dark, strong face, but a slim, weaklybody. He was never unduly silent, but he was a better listener thantalker. If he had no close friends, he certainly had no enemies. Whetherhe was rich or poor no man knew, but next to the Colonel himself, no onewas more ready to subscribe to any of those charities which theSheridanites were continually inaugurating on behalf of their lessfortunate members. The man who succeeds in keeping the "ego" out of sightas a rule neither irritates nor greatly attracts. Stephen Heneage wasone of those who stood in this position. 

They were talking about the murder, or rather the Colonel was talking andthey were listening. 

"There is one point, " he remarked, filling his glass and beaminggood-humouredly upon his companions, "which seems to have been entirelyoverlooked. I am referring to the sex of the supposed assassin!"

Wrayson looked up inquiringly. It was a point which interested him. 

"Nearly all of you have assumed, " the Colonel continued, "that it musthave taken a strong man to draw the cord tight enough to have killed thatpoor fellow without any noticeable struggle. As a matter of fact, a childwith that particular knot could have done it. It requires no strength, only delicacy of touch, rapidity and nerve. "

"A woman, then--" Wrayson began. 

"Bless you, yes! a woman could have done it easily, " the Coloneldeclared, "only unfortunately there don't seem to have been any womenabout. Why, I've seen it done in Korea with a turn of the wrist. It'sall knack. "

Wrayson shuddered slightly. The Colonel's words had troubled him morethan he would have cared to let any one know. 

"Woman or man or child, " Mason remarked, "the person who did it seems tohave vanished in some remarkable manner from the face of the earth. "

"He certainly seems, " the Colonel admitted, "to have covered up histraces with admirable skill. I have read every word of the evidence atthe inquest, and I can understand that the police are completelyconfused. "

Heneage and Mason exchanged glances of quiet amusement whilst theColonel helped himself to cheese. 

"Dear old boy, " the latter murmured, "he's off on his hobby. Let him goon! He enjoys it more than anything in the world. "

Heneage nodded assent, and the Colonel returned to the subject withavidity a few moments later. 

"This man Morris Barnes, " he affirmed, "seems to have been a somewhatdespicable, at any rate, a by no means desirable individual. He was ofJewish origin, and he had not long returned from South Africa, whereHeaven knows what his occupation was. The money of which he wasundoubtedly possessed he seems to have spent, or at any rate some partof it, in aping the life of a dissipated man about town. He was knownto the fair promenaders of the Empire and Alhambra, he was an _habitué_of the places where these--er--ladies partake of supper after theexertions of the evening. Of home life or respectable friends he seemsto have had none. "

"This, " Mason declared, leaning back and lighting a cigarette, "is betterthan the newspapers. Go on, Colonel! Your biography may not besympathetic, but it is lifelike!"

The Colonel's eyes were full of a distinct and vivid light. He scarcelyheard the interruption. He was on fire with his subject. 

"You see, " he continued, "that the man's days were spent amongst a classwhere the passions run loose, where restraint is an unknown virtue, whereself and sensuality are the upraised gods. One can easily imagine thatfrom amongst such a slough might spring at any time the weed of tragedy. In other words, this man Morris Barnes moved amongst a class of peopleto whom murder, if it could be safely accomplished, would be little morethan an incident. "

The Colonel lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. He was enjoyinghimself immensely. 

"The curious part of the affair is, though, " he continued deliberately, "that this murder, as I suppose we must call it, bears none of thehall-marks of rude passion. On the contrary, it suggests in more waysthan one the touch of the finished artist. The man's whole evening hasbeen traced without the slightest difficulty. He dined at the Café Royalalone, promenaded afterwards at the Alhambra, and drove on aboutsupper-time to the Continental. He left there at 12. 30 with a couple ofladies whom he appeared to know fairly well, called at their flat for adrink, and sent one out to his cabby--rather unusual forethought for sucha bounder. When he reappeared and directed the man to drive him toCavendish Mansions, Battersea, the driver tried to excuse himself. Bothhe and his horse were dead tired, he said. Barnes, however, insisted uponkeeping him, and off they went. At Cavendish Mansions, Barnes alightedand offered the man a sovereign. Naturally enough the fellow could notchange it, and Barnes went in to get some silver from his rooms, promising to return in a minute or two. The cabby descended and walked tothe corner of the street to see if he could beg a match for his pipe fromany passer-by. He may have been away for perhaps five minutes, certainlyno more, during which time he stood with his back to the Mansions. Seeingno one about, he returned to his cab, ascended to his seat, naturallywithout looking inside, and fell fast asleep. The next thing he remembersis being awakened by Wrayson here! So much for the cabby. "

"What a fine criminal judge was lost to the country, Colonel, when youchose the army for a career, " Mason remarked, turning round to order somecoffee. "Such coherence--such an eye for detail. Pass the matches, Wrayson. Thanks, old chap!"

The Colonel smiled placidly. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "that I should never have had the heart tosentence anybody to anything, but I must admit that things of this sortdo interest me. I love to weigh them up and theorize. The moremelodramatic they are the better. "

Heneage helped himself to a cigarette from Mason's case, and leaned backin his chair. 

"I never have the patience, " he remarked, "to read about these things inthe newspapers, but the Colonel's _résumé_ is always thrilling. Do go on. There won't be any pool till four o'clock. "

The Colonel smiled good-naturedly. 

"It's good of you fellows to listen to my prosing, " he remarked. "No usedenying that it is a sort of hobby of mine. You all know it. Well, we'llsay we've finished with the cabby, then. Enter upon the scene, of allpeople in the world, our friend Wrayson!"

"Hear, hear!" murmured Mason. 

Wrayson changed his position slightly. With his head resting upon hishand, he seemed to be engaged in tracing patterns upon the tablecloth. 

"Wrayson knows nothing of Barnes beyond the fact that they are neighboursin the same flats. Being the assistant editor of a journal of world-widefame, however, he has naturally a telephone in his flat. By means of thatinstrument he receives a message in the middle of the night from anunknown person in an unknown place, which he is begged to convey toBarnes. The message is in itself mysterious. Taken in conjunction withwhat happened to Barnes, it is deeply interesting. Barnes, it seems, isto go immediately on his arrival, at whatever hour, to the Hotel Francis. Presumably he would know from whom the message came, and the sender doesnot seem to have doubted that if it was conveyed to Barnes he would obeythe summons. Wrayson agrees to and does deliver it. That is to say, hewrites it down and leaves it in the letter-box of Barnes door, Barnes nothaving yet returned. Now we begin to get mysterious. That communicationfrom our friend here has not been discovered. It was not in theletter-box; it was not upon the person of the dead man. We cannot tellwhether or not he ever received it. I believe that I am right so far?"

"Absolutely, " Wrayson admitted. 

"Our friend Wrayson, then, " the Colonel continued, beaming upon hisneighbour, "instead of going to bed like a sensible man, takes up a bookand falls asleep in his easy-chair. He wakes up about three or fouro'clock, and his attention is then attracted by the jingling of a hansombell below. He looks out of window and sees a cab, both the driver andthe occupant of which appear to be asleep. The circumstance striking himas somewhat unusual, he descends to the street and finds--well, rathermore than he expected. He finds the cabman asleep, and his farescientifically and effectually throttled by a piece of silken cord. "

Wrayson turned to the waiter and ordered a liqueur brandy. 

"Have one, you fellows?" he asked. "Good! Four, waiter. "

He tossed his own off directly it arrived. His lips were pale, and thehand which raised the glass to his lips shook. Heneage alone, who waswatching him through a little cloud of tobacco smoke, noticed this. 

"Have you finished with me, Colonel?" Wrayson asked. 

"Practically, " the Colonel answered, smiling, "unless you can answer oneof the three queries suggested by my _résumé_. First, who killed MorrisBarnes? Secondly, when was it done? Thirdly, where was it done? I haveleft out a possible fourth, why was it done? because, in this case, Ithink that the motive and the man are practically identical. I mean thatif you discover one, you discover the other. "

Heneage leaned across the table towards the Colonel. 

"You are a magician, Colonel, " he declared quietly. "I glanced throughthis case in the paper, and it did not even interest me. Since I havelistened to you I have fallen under the spell of the mysterious. Have youany theories?"

The Colonel's face fell a little. 

"Well, I am afraid not, " he admitted regretfully. "To be perfectlyinteresting the affair certainly ought to present something more definitein the shape of a clue. You see, providing we accept the evidence ofWrayson and the cabman, and I suppose, " he added, laying his handaffectionately upon Wrayson's shoulder, "we must, the actual murderer isa person absolutely unseen or unheard of by any one. If you are allreally interested we will discuss it again in a week's time after theadjourned inquest. "

"I, for one, shall look forward to it, " Heneage remarked, glancing acrosstowards Wrayson. "What about a pool?"

"I'm on, " Wrayson declared, rising a little abruptly. 

"And I, " Mason assented. 

"And I can't, " the Colonel said regretfully. "I must go down to Balhamand see poor Carlo Mallini I hear he's very queer. "

The Colonel loved pool, and he hated a sick-room. The click of thebilliard balls reached him as he descended the stairs, but he only sighedand set out manfully for Charing Cross. On the way he entered afruiterer's shop and inquired the price of grapes. They were more than heexpected, and he counted out the contents of his trousers pockets beforepurchasing. 

"A little short of change, " he remarked cheerfully. "Yes! all right, I'lltake them. "

He marched out, swinging a paper bag between his fingers, travelled thirdclass to Balham, and sat for a couple of hours with the invalid whom hehad come to see, a lonely Italian musician, to whom his coming meant morethan all the medicine his doctor could prescribe. He talked to himglowingly of the success of his recent concert (more than a score of thetickets sold had been paid for secretly by the Colonel himself and hisfriends), prophesied great things for the future, and laughed away allthe poor fellow's fears as to his condition. There were tears in his eyesas he walked to the station, for he had visited too many sick-beds tohave much faith in his own cheerful words, and all the way back to Londonhe was engaged in thinking out the best means of getting the musiciansent back to his own country, Arrived at Charing Cross, he lookedlongingly towards the club, and ruefully at the contents of his pocket. Then with a sigh he turned into a little restaurant and dined foreighteen-pence. 

CHAPTER IV

UNDER A CLOUD

Exactly one week later, six men were smoking their after-dinner cigars atthe same round table in the dining-room at the Sheridan Club. As a rule, it was the hour when, with all the reserve of the day thrown aside, badinage and jest reigned supreme, and the humourist came to his own. To-night chairs were drawn a little closer together, voices were subdued, and the conversation was of a more serious order. Not even the pleasantwarmth of the room, the fragrance of tobacco, and the comfortable senseof having dined, could altogether dispel a feeling of uneasiness whichall more or less shared. It chanced that all six were friends of HerbertWrayson's. 

The Colonel, as usual, was in the chair, but even on his kindly featuresthe cloud hovered. 

"Of course, " he said, "none of us who know Wrayson well would believe fora moment that he could be connected in any way with this beastly affair. The unfortunate part of it is, that others, who do not know him, mighteasily be led to think otherwise!"

"It is altogether his own fault, too, " Mason remarked. "He gave hisevidence shockingly. "

"And his movements that night, or rather that morning, were certainly alittle peculiar, " another man remarked. "His connection with the affairseemed to consist of a series of coincidences. The law does not lookfavourably upon coincidences!"

"But, after all, " the Colonel remarked, "he scarcely knew the fellow!Just nodded to him on the stairs, and that sort of thing. Why, thereisn't a shadow of a motive!"

"We can't be sure of that, Colonel, " Heneage remarked quietly. "I wonderhow much we really know of the inner lives of even our closest friends? Ifancy that we should be surprised if we realized our ignorance!"

The Colonel stroked his grey moustache thoughtfully. 

"That may be true, " he said, "of a good many of us. Wrayson, however, never struck me as being a particularly secretive sort of chap. "

"Unfortunately, that counts for very little, " Heneage declared. "Thethings which surprise us most in life come often from the most unlikelypeople. We none of us mean to be deceitful, but a perfectly honest lifeis a luxury which few of us dare indulge in. "

The Colonel regarded him gravely. 

"I hope, " he said, "that you don't mean that you consider Wraysoncapable--"

"I wasn't thinking of Wrayson at all, " Heneage interrupted. "I wasgeneralizing. But I must say this. I think that, given sufficientprovocation or motive, there isn't one of us who wouldn't be capable ofcommitting murder. A man's outer life is lived according to the laws ofcircumstances and society: his inner one no one knows anything about, except himself--and God!"

"Heneage, " Mason sighed, "is always cynical after 'kümmel. '"

Heneage shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette. 

"No!" he said, "I am not cynical. I simply have a weakness for the truth. You will find it rather a hard material to collect if you set out inearnest. But to return to Wrayson. Let me ask you a question. We are allfriends of his, more or less intimate friends. You would all of you scoutthe idea of his having any share in the murder of Morris Barnes. What didyou make of his evidence at the inquest this afternoon? What do you thinkof his whole deportment and condition?"

"I can answer that in one word, " the Colonel declared. "I think that itis unfortunate. The poor fellow has been terribly upset, and his nerveshave not been able to stand the strain. That is all there is about it!"

"Wrayson has been working up to the limit for years, " Mason remarked, "and he's not a particularly strong chap. I should say that he was aboutdue for a nervous breakdown. "

A waiter approached the table and addressed the Colonel--he was wanted onthe telephone. During his absence, Heneage leaned back in his chair andrelapsed into his usual imperturbability. He was known amongst hisfriends generally as the silent man. It was very seldom that hecontributed so much to their discussions as upon this occasion. Perhapsfor that reason his words, when he spoke, always carried weight. Masonchanged his place and sat beside him. The others had wandered off into adiscussion upon a new magazine. 

"Between ourselves, Heneage, " Mason said quietly, "have you anything atthe back of your head about Wrayson?"

Heneage did not immediately reply. He was gazing at the little cloud ofblue tobacco smoke which he had just expelled from his lips. 

"There is no reason, " he declared, "why my opinion should be worth anymore than any one else's. I think as highly of Wrayson as any of you. "

"Granted, " Mason answered. "But you have a theory or an idea of somesort concerning him. What is it?"

"If you really want to know, " Heneage said, "I believe that Wrayson haskept something back. It is a very dangerous thing to do, and I believethat he realizes it. I believe that he has some secret knowledge of theaffair which he has not disclosed--knowledge which he has kept out of hisevidence altogether. "

"A--guilty--knowledge?" Mason whispered. 

"Not necessarily!" Heneage answered. "He may be shielding some one. "

"If you are right, " Mason said anxiously, "it is a serious affair. "

"Very serious indeed, " Heneage assented. "I believe that he isrealizing it. "

The Colonel came back looking a little disturbed. 

"Sorry, boys, but I must be off, " he announced. "Wrayson has justtelephoned to ask me to go down and see him. I'm afraid he's queer! I'vesent for a hansom. "

"Poor chap!" Mason murmured. "Let us know if any of us can do anything. "

The Colonel nodded and took his departure. The others drifted up into thebilliard-room. Heneage alone remained seated at the end of the table. Hewas playing idly with his wineglass, but his eyes were fixed steadfastly, if a little absently, upon the Colonel's empty place. 

CHAPTER V

ON THE TELEPHONE

It was a little hard even for the Colonel to keep up his affectation ofcheerfulness when he found himself alone with the man whom he had come tovisit. His experience of life had been large and varied, but he had neveryet seen so remarkable a change in any human being in twenty-four hours. There were deep black lines under his eyes, his cheeks were colourless, every now and then his features twitched nervously, as though he weresuffering from an attack of St. Vitus' dance. His hand, which had lainweakly in the Colonel's, was as cold as ice, although there was a roaringfire in the room. He had admitted the Colonel himself, and almost draggedhim inside the door. 

"Did you meet any one outside--upon the stairs?" he asked feverishly. 

"No one upon the stairs, " the Colonel answered. "There was a man lightinghis pipe in the doorway. "

Wrayson shivered as he turned away. 

"Watching me!" he declared. "There are two of them! They are watching meall the time. "

The Colonel took off his coat. The room seemed to him like a furnace. Then he stretched out his hands and laid them upon Wrayson's shoulders. 

"What if they are?" he declared cheerfully. "They won't eat you. Besides, it is very likely the dead man's rooms they are watching. "

"They followed me home from the inquest, " Wrayson muttered. 

The Colonel laughed. 

"And if I'd been living here, " he remarked, "they'd have followed mehome just the same. Now, Herbert, my young friend, " he continued, "sit down and tell me all about it like a man. You're in a bit oftrouble, of course, underneath all this. Let's hear it, and we'llfind the best way out. "

The Colonel's figure was dominant; his presence alone seemed to dispelthat unreal army of ghosts and fancies which a few moments before hadseemed to Wrayson to be making his room like the padded cell of a lunaticasylum. His tone, too, had just enough sympathy to make its cheerfulnessreassuring. Wrayson began to feel glimmerings of common sense. 

"Yes!" he said, "I've something to tell you. That's why I telephoned. "

The Colonel rose again to his feet, and began fumbling in the pocket ofhis overcoat. 

"God bless my soul, I almost forgot!" he exclaimed, "and the fellowswould make me bring it. We guessed how you were feeling--much better tohave come up and dined with us. Here we are! Get some glasses, there's agood chap. "

A gold-foiled bottle appeared, and a packet of hastily cut sandwiches. Wrayson found himself mechanically eating and drinking before he knewwhere he was. Then in an instant the sandwiches had become delicious, andthe wine was rushing through his veins like a new elixir of life. He washimself again, the banging of anvils in his head had ceased; he wasshaken perhaps, but a sane man. His eyes filled with tears, and hegripped the Colonel by the hand. 

"Colonel, you're--you're--God knows what you are, " he murmured. "All theordinary things sound commonplace. I believe I was going mad. "

The Colonel leaned back and laughed as though the idea tickled him. 

"Not you!" he declared. "Bless you, I know what nerves are! Out in India, thirty-five years ago, I've had to relieve men on frontier posts whohadn't seen a soul to speak to for six months! Weird places some of them, too--gives me the creeps to think of them sometimes! Now light up thatcigar, " he added, throwing one across, "and let's hear the trouble. "

Wrayson lit his cigar with fingers which scarcely shook. He threw thematch away and smoked for a moment in silence. 

"It's about this Morris Barnes affair, " he said abruptly. "I've keptsomething back, and I'm a clumsy hand at telling a story that doesn'tcontain all the truth. The consequence is, of course, that I'm suspectedof having had a hand in it myself. "

The Colonel's manner had for a moment imperceptibly changed. Lines hadcome out in his face which were not usually visible, his upper lip hadstiffened. One could fancy that he might have led his men into battlelooking something like this. 

"What is it that you know?" he asked. 

"There was another person in the flats that night, who was interested inMorris Barnes, who visited his rooms, who was with me when I first sawhim dead. "

The Colonel shaded his face with his hand. The heat from the firewas intense. 

"Why have you kept back this knowledge?" he asked. 

"Because--it was a woman, and I am a fool!" Wrayson answered. 

There was a silence. Then the Colonel pushed back his chair and dabbedhis forehead with his handkerchief. The room was certainly hot, and thehandkerchief was wet. 

"Tell me about it, " he said quietly. "I expected something of the sort!"

"On that morning, " Wrayson began, "I returned home about twelve o'clock, let myself in with my own latch-key, and found a woman standing before myopen desk going through my papers. "

"A friend?" the Colonel asked. 

"A complete stranger!" Wrayson answered. "Her surprise at seeing me wasat least equal to my own. I gathered that she had believed herself to bein the flat of Morris Barnes, which is the corresponding one above. "

"What did you do?" the Colonel asked. 

"What I should have done I am not sure, " Wrayson answered, "but while Iwas talking to her the telephone bell rang, and I received that messagewhich I spoke about at the inquest. It was a mysterious sort ofbusiness--I can hear that voice now. I was interested, and while I stoodthere she slipped away. "

"Is that all?" the Colonel asked. 

"No!" Wrayson answered with a groan. "I wish to God it was!"

The Colonel moved his position a little. The cigar had burnt out betweenhis fingers, but he made no effort to light it. 

"Go on, " he said. "Tell me the rest. Tell me what happened afterwards. "

"I wrote down the message for Barnes and left it in his letter-box. There seemed then to be no light in his flat. Afterwards I lit a pipe, left my door open, and sat down, with the intention of waiting tillBarnes came home and explaining what had happened. I fell asleep in mychair and woke with a start. It was nearly three o'clock. I was going toturn in when I heard the jingling of a hansom bell down below. I lookedout of the window and saw the cab standing in the street. Almost at thesame time I heard footsteps outside. I went to the door of my flat andcame face to face with the girl descending from the floor above. "

"At three o'clock in the morning?" the Colonel interrupted. 

Wrayson nodded. 

"She was white and shaking all over, " he continued rapidly. "She askedme for brandy and I gave it to her; she asked me to see her out of theplace, and I did so. When I opened the door to let her out and we sawthe man leaning back in the cab, she moaned softly to herself. I saidsomething about his being asleep or drunk--'or dead!' she whispered inmy ear, and then she rushed away from me. She turned into the AlbertRoad and disappeared almost at once. I could not have followed her if Iwould. I had just begun to realize that something was wrong with the manin the cab!"

"This is all?" the Colonel asked. 

"It is all!" Wrayson answered. 

"You do not know her name, or why she was here? You have not seenher since?"

Wrayson shook his head. 

"I know absolutely nothing, " he said, "beyond what I have told you. "

The Colonel struck a match and relit his cigar. 

"I should like to understand, " he said quietly, "why you avoided allmention of her in your evidence. "

Wrayson laughed oddly. 

"I should like to understand that myself, " he declared. "I can onlyrepeat what I said before. She was a woman, and I was a fool. "

"In plain English, " the Colonel said, "you did it to shield her?"

"Yes!" Wrayson answered. 

The Colonel nodded thoughtfully. 

"Well, " he said, "you were in a difficult position, and you made adeliberate choice. I tell you frankly that I expected to hear worsethings. Do you believe that she committed the murder?"

"No!" Wrayson answered. "I do not!"

"You believe that she may be associated with--the person who did?"

"I cannot tell, " Wrayson declared. 

"In any case, " the Colonel continued, "you seem to have been the onlyperson who saw her. Whether you were wise or not to omit all mention ofher in your evidence--well, we won't discuss that. The best of us havegone on the wrong side of the hedge for a woman before now--and damnedglad to do it. What I can't quite understand, old chap, is why you haveworked yourself up into such a shocking state. You don't stand any chanceof being hanged, that I can see!"

Wrayson laughed a little shamefacedly. 

"To tell you the truth, " he said, "I am beginning to feel ashamed ofmyself. I think it was the sense of being spied upon, and beingalone--in this room--which got a bit on my nerves. I feel a different mansince you came down. "

The Colonel nodded cheerfully. 

"That's all right, " he declared. "The next thing to--"

The Colonel broke off in the midst of his sentence. A few feet away fromhim the telephone bell was ringing. Wrayson rose to his feet and took thereceiver into his hand. 

"Hullo!" he said. 

The voice which answered him was faint but clear. Wrayson almost droppedthe instrument. He recognized it at once. 

"Is that Mr. Herbert Wrayson?" it asked. 

"Yes!" Wrayson answered. "Who are you?"

"I am the person who spoke to you a few nights ago, " was the answer. "Never mind my name for the present. I wish to arrange a meeting--forsome time to-morrow. I have a matter--of business--to discuss with you. "

"Anywhere--at any time, " Wrayson answered, almost fiercely. "You cannotbe as anxious to see me as I am to know who you are. "

The voice changed a little in its intonation. A note of mockery hadstolen into it. 

"You flatter me, " it said. "I trust that our meeting will be mutuallyagreeable. You must excuse my coming to Battersea, as I understand thatyour flat is subjected to a most inconvenient surveillance. May I call atthe office of your paper, at say eleven o'clock tomorrow?"

"Yes!" Wrayson answered. "You know where it is?"

"Certainly! I shall be there. A Mr. Bentham will ask for you. Good night!"

Wrayson's unknown friend had rung off. He replaced the receiver andturned to the Colonel. 

"Do you know who that was?" he asked eagerly. 

"I can guess, " the Colonel answered. 

"To-morrow, at eleven o'clock, " Wrayson declared, "I shall know whokilled Morris Barnes. "

CHAPTER VI

ONE THOUSAND POUNDS' REWARD

But when the morrow came, and his visitor was shown into Wrayson'sprivate office, he was not quite so sure about it. Mr. Bentham had not inthe least the appearance of a murderer. Clean-shaven, a little slow inspeech, quietly dressed, he resembled more than anything a countrysolicitor in moderate practice. 

He bowed in correct professional manner, and laid a brown paper parcelupon the table. 

"I believe, " he said, "that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Wrayson?"

Wrayson nodded a little curtly. 

"And you, I suppose, " he remarked, "are the owner of the mysteriousvoice which summoned Morris Barnes to the Francis Hotel on the night ofhis murder?"

"It was I who spoke to you, " Mr. Bentham admitted. 

"Very well, " Wrayson said, "I am glad to see you. It was obvious, fromyour message, that you knew of some danger which was threatening MorrisBarnes that night. It is therefore only fair to presume that you are alsoaware of its source. "

"You go a little fast, sir, " Mr. Bentham objected. 

"My presumption is a fair one, " Wrayson declared. "You are perhaps awareof my unfortunate connection with this affair. If so, you will understandthat I am particularly anxious to have it cleared up. "

"It is not at all certain that I can help you, " his visitor saidprecisely. "It depends entirely upon yourself. Will you permit me to putmy case before you?"

"By all means, " Wrayson answered. "Go ahead. "

Mr. Bentham took the chair towards which Wrayson had somewhat impatientlypointed, and unbuttoned his coat. It was obvious that he was not a personto be hurried. 

"In the first place, Mr. Wrayson, " he said, "I must ask you distinctly tounderstand that I am not addressing you on my own account. I am a lawyer, and I am acting on behalf of a client. "

"Who is he?" Wrayson asked. "What is his name?"

The ghost of a smile flickered across the lawyer's thin lips. 

"I am not at liberty to divulge his identity, " he answered. "I am, however, fully empowered to act for him. "

Wrayson shrugged his shoulders. 

"He may find it necessary to disclose it, and before very long, " heremarked. "Well, go on. "

Mr. Bentham discreetly ignored the covert threat in Wrayson's words. 

"My mission to you, Mr. Wrayson" he declared, "is a somewhat delicateone. It is not, in fact, connected with the actual--tragedy to which youhave alluded. My commission is to regain possession of a paper which wasstolen either from the person of Morris Barnes or from amongst hiseffects, on that night. "

Wrayson looked up eagerly. 

"The motive at last!" he exclaimed. "What was the nature of thispaper, sir?"

Mr. Bentham's eyebrows were slowly raised. 

"That, " he said, "we need not enter into for the moment. The matter ofbusiness between you and myself, or rather my client, is this. I amauthorized to offer a thousand pounds reward for its recovery. "

Wrayson was impressed, although the other's manner left him alittle puzzled. 

"Why not offer the reward for the discovery of the murderer?" he asked. "It would come, I presume, to the same thing. "

"By no means, " the lawyer answered dryly. "I am afraid that I have notexpressed myself well. My client cares nothing for Morris Barnes, dead oralive. His interest begins and ends with the recovery of that paper. "

"But isn't it almost certain, " Wrayson persisted, "that the thief and themurderer are the same person? Your client ought to have come forward atthe inquest. The thing which has chiefly troubled the police in dealingwith this matter is the apparent lack of motive. "

"My client is not actuated in any way by philanthropic motives, " Mr. Bentham said coldly. "To tell you the truth, he does not care whether themurderer of Morris Barnes is brought to justice or not. He is onlyanxious to recover possession of the document of which I have spoken. "

"If he has a legal claim to it, " Wrayson said, "he had better offer hisreward openly. He would probably help himself then, and also those whoare anxious to have this mystery solved. "

"Are you amongst those, Mr. Wrayson?" his visitor asked quietly. 

Wrayson started slightly, but he retained his self-composure. 

"I am very much amongst them, " he answered. "My connection with theaffair was an extremely unpleasant one, and it will remain so until themurderer of Morris Barnes is brought to book. "

"Or murderess, " Mr. Bentham murmured softly. 

Wrayson reeled in his chair as though he had been struck a violentand unexpected blow. He understood now the guarded menace of hisvisitor's manner. He felt the man's eyes taking merciless note of hiswhitening cheeks. 

"My client, " the lawyer continued, "desires to ask no questions. All thathe wants is the document to which he is entitled, and which was stolen onthe night when Mr. Morris Barnes met with his unfortunate accident. "

Wrayson had pulled himself together with an effort. 

"I presume, " he said, "from your frequent reiteration, that I may takethis as being to some extent a personal offer. If so, let me assure you, sir, that so far as I am concerned I know nothing whatever of any papersor other belongings which were in the possession of my late neighbour. Ihave never seen or heard of any. I do not even know why you should havecome to me at all. "

"I came to you, " Mr. Bentham said, "because I was very well aware that, for some reason or other, your evidence at the inquest was not quite ascomprehensive as it might have been. "

"Then, for Heaven's sake, tell me all that you know!" Wrayson exclaimed. "Take my word for it, I know nothing of this document or paper. I haveneither seen it nor heard of it. I know nothing whatever of the man orhis affairs. I can't help you. I would if I could. On the other hand, youcan throw some light upon the motive for the crime. Who is your client?Let me go and see him for myself. "

Mr. Bentham rose to his feet, and began slowly to draw on his gloves. 

"Mr. Wrayson, " he said quietly, "I am disappointed with the result of myvisit to you. I admit it frankly. You are either an extremely ingenuousperson, or a good deal too clever for me. In either case, if you will nottreat with me, I need not waste your time. "

Wrayson moved to the door and stood with his back to it. 

"I am not at all sure, " he said, "that I am justified in letting you golike this. You are in possession of information which would be invaluableto the police in their search for the murderer of Morris Barnes. "

Mr. Bentham smiled coldly. 

"And are not you, " he remarked, "in the same fortunate position--with theunfortunate exception, perhaps, of having already given your testimony?Of the two, if disclosures had to be made, I think that I should prefermy own position. "

Wrayson remained where he was. 

"I am inclined, " he said, "to risk it. At least you would be compelled todisclose your client's name. "

Mr. Bentham visibly flinched. He recovered himself almost immediately, but the shadow of fear had rested for a moment, at any rate, upon hisimpassive features. 

"I am entirely at your service, " he said coldly. "My client has at leastnot broken the laws of his country. "

Wrayson stood away from the door. 

"You can go, " he said shortly, "if you will leave me your address. "

Mr. Bentham bowed. 

"I regret that I have no card with me, " he said, "but I have an office, a single room only, in number 8, Paper Buildings, Adelphi. If you shouldhappen to come across--that document--"

Wrayson held open the door. 

"If I should come to see you, " he said, "it will be on other business. "

 * * * * *

Wrayson lunched at the club that morning, and received a warm greetingfrom his friends. The subject of the murder was, as though by commonconsent, avoided. Towards the end of the meal the Colonel received atelegram, which he read and laid down upon the table in front of him. 

"By Jove!" he said softly, "I'd forgotten all about it. Boys, you've gotto help me out. "

"We're on, " Mason declared. "What is it? a fight?"

"It's a garden party my girls are giving to-morrow afternoon, " theColonel answered. "I promised to take some of you down. Come, who's goingto help me out? Wrayson? Good! Heneage? Excellent! Mason? Good fellows, all of you! Two-twenty from Waterloo, flannels and straw hats. "

The little group broke up, and the Colonel was hurried off into theCommittee Room. Wrayson and Heneage exchanged dubious glances. 

"A garden party in May!" the latter remarked. 

"Taking time by the forelock a little, isn't it?"

Wrayson sighed resignedly. 

"It's the Colonel!" he declared. "We should have to go if it wereDecember!"

CHAPTER VII

THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER

After all, the garden party was not so bad. The weather was perfect, andthe grounds of Shirley House were large enough to find amusement for allthe guests. Wrayson, who had made great friends with the Colonel'syounger daughter, enjoyed himself immensely. After a particularlystrenuous set of tennis, she led him through the wide-open French windowsinto a small morning-room. 

"We can rest for a few minutes in here, " she remarked. "You can considerit a special mark of favour, for this is my own den. "

"You are spoiling me, " Wrayson declared, laughing. "May I see thosephotographs?"

"If you like, " she answered, "only you mustn't be too critical, for I'monly a beginner, you know. Here's a bookful of them you can look through, while I go and start the next set. "

She placed a volume in his hand and swung out of the room, tall, fresh, and graceful. Wrayson watched her admiringly. In her perfect naturalnessand unaffected good-humour, she reminded him a good deal of her father, but curiously enough there was some other likeness which appealed to himeven more powerfully, and yet which he was unable to identify. It puzzledhim so that for a moment or two after her departure he sat watching thedoor through which she had disappeared, with a slight frown upon hisforehead. She was undoubtedly charming, and yet something in connectionwith her seemed to impress him with an impending sense of trouble. Everything about her person and manners was frank and girlish, and yetshe was certainly recalling to his mind things that he had beenstruggling all the afternoon to forget. Already he began to feel theclouds of nervousness and depression stealing down upon him. He struckthe table with his clenched fist. He would have none of it. Outside wasthe delicious sunshine, through the open window stole in the perfume ofthe roses which covered the wall, and mignonette from the trim borders, and stocks from the bed fringing the lawn. The murmur of pleasantconversation was incessant and musical. For a time Wrayson had escaped. He swore to himself that he would go back no more into bondage; that hewould dwell no more upon the horrors through which he had lived. He wouldtake hold of the pleasant things of life with both hands, and grip themtightly. A man should be master of his thoughts, not the slave ofunwilling memories. He would choose for himself whither they should leadhim; he would fight with all his nerve and will against the unholyfascination of those few thrilling hours. He looked impatiently towardsthe door, and longed for the return of his late companion that he mightcontinue his half-laughing flirtation. Then he remembered the album stillupon his knee, and opened it quickly. He had dabbled a little inphotography; he would find something here to keep his thoughts from theforbidden place. And he did indeed find something--something which sethis heart thumping, and drew all the colour, which the sun and vigorousexercise had brought, from his cheeks; something at which he stared withwide-open eyes, which he held before him with trembling, nervelessfingers. The picture of a woman! The picture of her!

It had lain loose in the book, with its back towards him. Only chancemade him turn it over. As he looked he understood. There was thelikeness, such likeness as there may be between a beautiful woman, alittle sad, a little scornful, with the faint lines of mockery about hercurving lips, the world-weary light in her distant eyes, and the fresh, ingenuous girl with whom he had been bandying pleasantries during thelast few hours. He had felt it unknowingly. He realized it now, and thethought of what it might mean made him catch at his breath like adrowning man. Then she came in. 

He heard her gay laughter outside, a backward word flung to one of thetennis players, as she stepped in through the window, her cheeks stillflushed, and her eyes aglow. 

"We really ought to watch this set, " she declared. "That is, if you arenot too much absorbed in my handiwork. What have you got there?"

He held it out to her with a valiant attempt at unconcern. 

"Do you mind telling me who this is?" he asked. 

She glanced at it carelessly enough, but at once her whole expressionchanged. The smile left her lips, her eyes filled with trouble. 

"Where did you find it?" she asked, in a low tone. 

"In the album, " he answered. "It was loose between the pages. "

She took it gently from his fingers, and crossing the room locked itin her desk. 

"I had no idea that it was here, " she said. "It is a picture of myeldest sister, or rather my step-sister. "

The change in her manner was so apparent that, under ordinarycircumstances, Wrayson would not have dreamed of pursuing the subject. But the conventions of life seemed to him small things just then. 

"Your step-sister!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea--shall I meet her thisafternoon?"

"No!" she answered, gravely. "What do you say--shall we go out now?"

She took up her racket, but he lingered. 

"Please don't think me hopelessly inquisitive, Miss Fitzmaurice, " hesaid, "but I have really a reason for being very interested in theoriginal of that picture. I should like to meet your step-sister. "

"You will never do so here, I am afraid, " she answered. "My father andshe disagreed years ago. He does not allow us to see or hear from her. Wemay not even mention her name. "

"Your father, " Wrayson remarked thoughtfully, "is not a stern parent byany means. "

"I should think not, " she answered, smiling. "Dear old dad! I have neverheard him say an unkind word to any one in my life. "

"And yet--" Wrayson began, hesitatingly. 

"Do you mind if we don't talk any more about it?" she interrupted simply. "I think you can understand that it is not a very pleasant subject. Doyou feel like another set, or would you rather do something else?"

"Tennis, by all means, if you are rested, " he answered. "We will find ourold opponents and challenge them again. "

Wrayson made a supreme effort, and his spirits for the rest of theafternoon were almost boisterous. Yet all the time the nightmare wasthere behind. It crept out whenever he caught sight of his host movingabout amongst his guests, beaming and kindly. His daughter! The Colonel'sdaughter! What was he to do? The problem haunted him continually. All thetime he had to be pushing it back. 

The guests began to depart at last. By seven o'clock the last carriagewas rolling down the avenue. The Colonel, with a huge smile of relief, and a large cigar, came and took Wrayson's arm. 

"Good man!" he exclaimed. "You've worked like a Trojan. We'll have onewhisky and soda, eh? and then I'll show you your room. Say when!"

"I've enjoyed myself immensely, " Wrayson declared. "Miss Edith has beenvery kind to me. "

"I'm glad you've made friends with her, " the Colonel said. "She's aharum-scarum lot, I'm afraid, and a sad chatterbox, but she's the rightsort of a person for a man with nerves like you! You're looking a bitwhite still, I see!"

Wrayson would have spoken then, but his tongue seemed to cling to theroof of his mouth. He had been asked to bring his clothes and dine, andin the minutes' solitude while he changed, he made a resolute effort toface this new problem. There was not the slightest doubt in his mind thatthe girl whom he had surprised in his rooms, ransacking his desk, andwhom subsequently he had assisted to escape from the Mansions, wasidentical with the original of this portrait. She was the Colonel'sdaughter. With a flash of horror, he remembered that it had been theColonel himself who had pointed out the possibility of a woman's handshaving drawn that silken cord together! Half dressed he sat down in achair and buried his face in his hands. 

The dinner gong disturbed him. He sprang up, tied his tie with tremblingfingers, and hastily completed his toilet. Once more, with a greateffort, and an almost reckless resort to his host's champagne, hetriumphed over the demons of memory which racked his brain. At dinner hisgayety was almost feverish. Edith Fitzmaurice, who was his neighbour, found him a delightful companion. Only the Colonel glanced towards himnow and then anxiously. He recognized the signs of high-pressure, and thelight in Wrayson's eyes puzzled him. 

There were no other men dining, and in course of time the two were leftalone. The Colonel passed the cigars and touched the port wine decanter, which, however, he only offered in a half-hearted way. 

"If you don't care about any more wine, " he said, "we might have a smokein the garden. "

Wrayson rose at once. 

"I should like it, " he said abruptly. "I don't know how it is, but I seemhalf-stifled to-day. "

They passed out into the soft, cool night. A nightingale was singingsomewhere in the elm trees which bordered the garden. The air was sweetwith the perfume of early summer flowers. Wrayson drew a long, deepbreath of content. 

"Let us sit down, Colonel, " he said; "I have something to tell you. "

The Colonel led the way to a rustic seat. A few stars were out, but nomoon. In the dusky twilight, the shrubs and trees beyond stood out withblack and almost startling distinctness against the clear sky. 

"You remember the girl--I told you about, whom I found in my flat, andafterwards?" Wrayson asked hoarsely. 

The Colonel nodded. 

"Certainly! What about her? To tell you the truth, I am afraid I--"

Wrayson stopped him with a quick, fierce exclamation. 

"Don't, Colonel!" he said. "Wait until you have heard what I have to say. I have seen her picture--to-day. "

The Colonel removed his cigar from his mouth. 

"Her picture!" he exclaimed. "To-day! Where? My dear fellow, this is veryinteresting! You know my opinion as to that young--"

Again Wrayson stopped him, this time with an oath. 

"In your house, Colonel, " he said. "Your daughter showed it to me--inan album!"

The Colonel sat like a man turned to stone. The hand which held his cigarshook so that the ash fell upon his waistcoat. 

"Go on!" he faltered. 

"I asked who it was. I was told that it was your daughter! Miss Edith'sstep-sister! Forgive me, Colonel! I had to tell you!"

The Colonel seemed to have shrunk in his place. The cigar slipped fromhis fingers and fell unheeded on to the grass. His mouth trembled andtwitched pitifully. 

"My--my daughter Louise!" he faltered. "Wrayson, you are not serious!"

"It is God's truth, " Wrayson answered. "I would stake my soul upon itthat the girl--I told you about--was the original of that picture! When Ilook at your daughter Edith I can see the likeness. "

The Colonel's head was buried in his hands. His exclamation soundedlike a sob. 

"My God!" he murmured. 

Then there was silence. Only the nightingale went on with his song. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE BARONESS INTERVENES

The Baroness trifled with some grapes and looked languidly round theroom. 

"My dear Louise, " she declared, "it is the truth what every one tells meof your country. You are a dull people. I weary myself here. "

The girl whom she had addressed as Louise shrugged her shoulders. 

"So do I, so do all of us, " she answered, a little wearily. "What wouldyou have? One must live somewhere. "

The Baroness sighed, and from a chatelaine hung with elegant triflesselected a gold cigarette case. An attentive waiter rushed for a matchand presented it. The Baroness gave a little sigh of content as sheleaned back in her chair. She smoked as one to the manner born. 

"One must live somewhere, it is true, " she agreed, "but why London? Ithink that of all great cities it is the most provincial. It lacks whatyou call the atmosphere. The people are all so polite, and so deadly, deadly dull. How different in Paris or Berlin, even Brussels!"

"Circumstances are a little against us, aren't they?" Louise remarked. "Our opportunities for making acquaintances are limited. "

The Baroness made a little grimace. 

"You, my young friend, " she said, "are of the English--very English. Quite Saxon, in fact. With you there would never be any making ofacquaintances! I feel myself in the bonds of a cast-iron chaperonagewhenever I move out with you. Why is it, little one? Have you never anydesire to amuse yourself?"

"I don't quite understand you, " her companion answered dryly. "If youmean that I have no desire to encourage promiscuous acquaintances, youare certainly right. I prefer to be dull. "

The Baroness sighed gently. 

"Some of my dearest friends, " she murmured, "I have--but there, it is asubject upon which we disagree. We will talk of something else. Shall wego to the theatre to-night?"

"As you will, " Louise answered indifferently. "There isn't much that wehaven't seen, is there?"

"We will send for a paper and see, " the Baroness said. "We cannot sit andlook at one another all the evening. With music one can make dinner lastout till nine or even half past--an idea, my Louise!" she exclaimedsuddenly. "Cannot we go to a music-hall, the Alhambra, for example? Wecould take a box and sit back. "

"It is not customary, " Louise declared coldly. "If you really wish it, though, I don't--I don't--"

Her speech was broken off in a somewhat extraordinary manner. She wasleaning a little forward in her chair, all her listlessness and pallorseemed to have been swept away by a sudden rush of emotion. The colourhad flooded her cheeks, her tired eyes were suddenly bright; was it withfear or only surprise? The Baroness wasted no time in asking questions. She raised her lorgnettes and turned round, facing the direction inwhich Louise was looking. Coming directly towards them from the furtherend of the restaurant was a young man, whose eyes never swerved fromtheir table. He was pale, somewhat slight, but the lines of his mouthwere straight and firm, and there was not lacking in him that air ofdistinction which the Baroness never failed to recognize. She put downher glasses and looked across at Louise with a smile. She was quiteprepared to approve. 

The young man stopped at their table and addressed himself directly toLouise. The Baroness frowned as she saw how scanty were the signs ofencouragement in her young companion's face. She leaned a little forward, ready at the first signs of an introduction to make every effort to atonefor Louise's coldness by a most complete amiability. This young manshould not be driven away if she could help it!

"I have been hoping, Miss Fitzmaurice, " Wrayson said calmly, "that Imight meet you somewhere. "

She shrank a little back for a moment. There flashed across her face aquiver, as though of pain. 

"Why do you think, " she asked, "that that is my name?"

"Your father, Colonel Fitzmaurice, is one of my best friends, " heanswered gravely. "I was at his house yesterday. I only came up thismorning. I beg your pardon! You are not well!"

Every vestige of colour had left her cheeks. The Baroness touched herfoot under the table, and Louise found her voice with an effort. 

"How did you know that Colonel Fitzmaurice was my father?" she askedbreathlessly. 

"I found a picture in your sister's album, " he answered. 

The answer seemed somehow to reassure her. She leaned a little towardshim. Under cover of the music her voice was inaudible to any one else. 

"Mr. Wrayson, " she said, "please don't think me unkind. I know that Ihave a great deal to thank you for, and that there are certainexplanations which you have almost a right to demand from me. And yet Iask you to go away, to ask me nothing at all, to believe me when I assureyou that there is nothing in the world so undesirable as any acquaintancebetween you and me. "

Wrayson was staggered, the words were so earnestly spoken, and the lookwhich accompanied them was so eloquent. He was never sure, when hethought it over afterwards, what manner of reply he might not have madeto an appeal, the genuineness of which was absolutely convincing. Butbefore he could frame an answer, the Baroness intervened. 

"Louise, " she said softly, "do you not think that this place is alittle public for intimate conversation, and will you not introduce tome your friend?"

Wrayson, who had been afraid of dismissal, turned at once, almosteagerly, towards the Baroness. She smiled at him graciously. Louisehesitated for a moment. There was no smile upon her lips. She bowed, however, to the inevitable. 

"This is Mr. Wrayson, " she said quietly; "the Baroness de Sturm. "

The Baroness raised her eyebrows, and she bestowed upon Wrayson acomprehending look. The graciousness of her manner, however, underwent noabatement. 

"I fancy, " she said, "that I have heard of you somewhere lately, or isit another of the same name? Will you not sit down and take your coffeewith us--and a cigarette--yes?"

"We are keeping Mr. Wrayson from his friends, no doubt, " Louise saidcoldly. "Besides--do you see the time, Amy?"

But Wrayson had already drawn up a chair to the table. 

"I am quite alone, " he said. "If I may stay, I shall be delighted. "

"Why not?" the Baroness asked, passing her cigarette case. "You can solvefor us the problem we were just then discussing. Is it _comme-il-faut, _Mr. Wrayson, for two ladies, one of whom is almost middle-aged, to visita music-hall here in London unescorted?"

Wrayson glanced from Louise to her friend. 

"May I inquire, " he asked blandly, "which is the lady who is posing asbeing almost middle-aged?"

The Baroness laughed at him softly, with a little contraction of theeyebrows, which she usually found effective. 

"We are going to be friends, Mr. Wrayson, " she declared. "You aresitting there in fear and trembling, and yet you have dared to pay acompliment, the first I have heard for, oh! so many months. Do not beafraid. Louise is not so terrible as she seems. I will not let her sendyou away. Now you must answer my question. May we do this terriblething, Louise and I?"

"Assuredly not, " he answered gravely, "when there is a man at hand who isso anxious to offer his escort as I. "

The Baroness clapped her hands. 

"Do you hear, Louise?" she exclaimed. 

"I hear, " Louise answered dryly. 

The Baroness made a little grimace. 

"You are in an impossible humour, my dear child, " she declared. "Nevertheless, I declare for the music-hall, and for the escort of yourfriend, Mr. Wrayson, if he really is in earnest. "

"I can assure you, " he said, "that you would be doing me a great kindnessin allowing me to offer my services. "

The Baroness beamed upon him amiably, and rose to her feet. 

"You have come, " she avowed, "in time to save me from despair. I am notused to go about so much unescorted, and I am not so independent asLouise. See, " she added, pushing a gold purse towards him, "you shall payour bill while we put on our cloaks. And will you ask afterwards for mycarriage, and we will meet in the portico?"

"With pleasure!" Wrayson answered, rising to his feet as they left thetable. "I will telephone for a box to the Alhambra. There is a wonderfulnew ballet which every one is going to see. "

He called the waiter and paid the bill from a remarkably well-filledpurse. As he replaced the change, it was impossible for him to avoidseeing a letter addressed and stamped ready for posting, which occupiedone side of the gold bag. The name upon the envelope struck him as beingvaguely familiar; what had he heard lately of Madame de Melbain? It wasassociated somehow in his mind with a recent event. It lingered in hismemory for days afterwards. 

Louise and the Baroness left the room in silence. In the cloak-room thelatter watched her friend curiously as she arranged her wrap. 

"So that is Mr. Wrayson, " she remarked. 

"Yes!" Louise answered deliberately. "I wish that you had let him go!"

The Baroness laughed softly. 

"My dear child, " she protested, "why? He seems to me quite a personableyoung man, and he may be useful! Who can tell?"

Louise shrugged her shoulders. She stood waiting while the Baroness madesomewhat extensive use of her powder-puff. 

"You forget, " she said quietly, "that I am already in Mr. Wrayson's debtpretty heavily. "

The Baroness looked quickly around. She considered her young friend alittle indiscreet. 

"I find you amusing, _ma chère_, " she remarked. "Since when have youdeveloped scruples?"

Louise turned towards the door. 

"You do not understand, " she said. "Come!"

CHAPTER IX

A BOX AT THE ALHAMBRA

The Baroness lowered her lorgnettes and turned towards Wrayson. 

"There is a man" she remarked, "in the stalls, who finds us apparentlymore interesting than the performance. I do not see very well evenwith my glasses, but I fancy, no! I am quite sure, that his face isfamiliar to me. "

Wrayson leaned forward from his seat in the back of the box and lookeddownward. There was no mistaking the person indicated by the Baroness, nor was it possible to doubt his obvious interest in their little party. Wrayson frowned slightly as he returned his greeting. 

"Ah, then, you know him, " the Baroness declared. "It is a friend, without doubt. "

"He belongs to my club, " Wrayson answered. "His name is Heneage. I begyour pardon! I hope that wasn't my fault. "

The Baroness had dropped her lorgnettes on the floor. She stoopedinstantly to discover them, rejecting almost peremptorily Wrayson's aid. When she sat up again she pushed her chair a little further back. 

"It was my clumsiness entirely, " she declared. "Ah! it is more restfulhere. The lights are a little trying in front. You are wiser than I, mydear Louise, to have chosen a seat back there. "

She turned towards the girl as she spoke, and Wrayson fancied that therewas some subtle meaning in the swift glance which passed between the two. Almost involuntarily he leaned forward once more and looked downwards. Heneage's inscrutable face was still upturned in their direction. Therewas nothing to be read there, not even curiosity. As the eyes of the twomen met, Heneage rose and left his seat. 

"You know my friend, perhaps?" Wrayson remarked. "He is rather aninteresting person. "

The Baroness shrugged her shoulders. 

"We are cosmopolitans, Louise and I, " she remarked. "We wander about somuch that we meet many people whose names even we do not remember. Is itnot so, _chérie_?"

Louise assented carelessly. The incident appeared to have interested herbut slightly. She alone seemed to be taking an interest in theperformance, which from the first she had followed closely. More thanonce Wrayson had fancied that her attention was only simulated, in orderto avoid conversation. 

"This ballet, " she remarked, "is wonderful. I don't believe that youpeople have seen any of it--you especially, Amy. "

The Baroness glanced towards the stage. 

"My dear Louise, " she said, "you share one great failing with themajority of your country-people. You cannot do more than one thing at atime. Now I can watch and talk. Truly, the dresses are ravishing. Doucet never conceived anything more delightful than that blend ofgreens! Tell me about your mysterious-looking friend, Mr. Wrayson. Ishe, too, an editor?"

Wrayson shook his head. 

"To tell you the truth, " he said, "I know very little about him. He isone of those men who seldom talk about themselves. He is a barrister, andhe has written a volume of travels. A clever fellow, I believe, butpossibly without ambition. At any rate, one never hears of his doinganything now. "

"Perhaps, " the Baroness remarked, with her eyes upon the stage, "he isone of those who keep their own counsel, in more ways than one. He doesnot look like a man who has no object in life. "

Wrayson glanced downwards at the empty stall. 

"Very likely, " he admitted carelessly, "and yet, nowadays, it is a littledifficult, isn't it, to do anything really worth doing, and not be foundout? They say that the press is lynx-eyed. "

Louise leaned a little forward in her chair. 

"And you, " she remarked, "are an editor! Do you feel quite safe, Amy? Mr. Wrayson may rob us of our most cherished secrets. "

Her eyes challenged his, her lips were parted in a slight smile. Underneath the levity of her remark, he was fully conscious of theundernote of serious meaning. 

"I am not afraid of Mr. Wrayson, " the Baroness answered, smiling. "My ageand my dressmaker are the only two things I keep entirely to myself, andI don't think he is likely to guess either. "

"And you?" he asked, looking into her companion's eyes. 

"There are many things, " she answered, in a low tone, "which one keepsto oneself, because confidences with regard to them are impossible. And yet--"

She paused. Her eyes seemed to be following out the mystic design paintedupon her fan. 

"And yet?" he reminded her under his breath. 

"Yet, " she continued, glancing towards the Baroness, and lowering hervoice as though anxious not to be overheard, "there is somethingpoisonous, I think, about secrets. To have them known without disclosingthem would be very often--a great relief. "

He leaned a little towards her. 

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, "if I can find out?"

The colour left her face with amazing suddenness. She drew away from himquickly. Her whisper was almost a moan. 

"No! for God's sake, no!" she murmured. "I meant nothing. You must notthink that I was speaking about myself. "

"I hoped that you were, " he answered simply. 

The Baroness turned in her chair as though anxious to join in theconversation. At that moment came a knock at the door of the box. Wraysonrose and opened it. Heneage stood there and entered at once, as thoughhis coming were the most natural thing in the world. 

"Thought I recognized you, " he remarked, shaking hands with Wrayson. "Ibelieve, too, I may be mistaken, but I fancy that I have had the pleasureof meeting the Baroness de Sturm. "

The Baroness turned towards him with a smile. Nevertheless, Wraysonnoticed what seemed to him a strange thing. The slim-fingered, bejewelledhand which rested upon the ledge of the box was trembling. The Baronesswas disturbed. 

"At Brussels, I believe, " she remarked, inclining her head graciously. 

"At Brussels, certainly, " he answered, bowing low. 

She turned to Louise. 

"Louise, " she said, "you must let me present Mr. Heneage--Miss Deveney. Mr. Heneage has a cousin, I believe, of the same name, in the BelgianLegation. I remember seeing you dance with him at the Palace. "

The two exchanged greetings. Heneage accepted a chair and spoke of theperformance. The conversation became general and of stereotyped form. YetWrayson was uneasily conscious of something underneath it all which hecould not fathom. The atmosphere of the box was charged with someelectrical disturbance. Heneage alone seemed thoroughly at his ease. Hekept his seat until the close of the performance, and even then seemed inno hurry to depart. Wrayson, however, took his cue from the Baroness, whowas obviously anxious for him to go. 

"Goodnight, Heneage!" he said. "I may see you at the club later. "

Heneage smiled a little oddly as he turned away. 

"Perhaps, " he said. 

It was not until they were on their way out that Wrayson realized thatshe was slipping away from him once more. Then he took his courage intohis hands and spoke boldly. 

"I wonder, " he said, "if I might be allowed to see you ladies home. Ihave something to say to Miss Fitzmaurice, " he added simply, turning tothe Baroness. 

"By all means, " she answered graciously, "if you don't mind rather anuncomfortable seat. We are staying in Battersea. It seems a long way out, but it is quiet, and Louise and I like it. "

"In Battersea?" Wrayson repeated vaguely. 

The Baroness looked over her shoulder. They were standing on thepavement, waiting for their electric brougham. 

"Yes!" she answered, dropping her voice a little, "in Frederic Mansions. By the bye, we are neighbours, I believe, are we not?"

"Quite close ones, " Wrayson answered. "I live in the next block offlats. "

The Baroness looked again over her shoulder. 

"Your friend, Mr. Heneage, is close behind, " she whispered, "and we areliving so quietly, Louise and I, that we do not care for callers. Tellthe man 'home' simply. "

Wrayson obeyed, and the carriage glided off. Heneage had been within afew feet of them when they had started, and although his attentionappeared to be elsewhere, the Baroness' caution was obviously justified. She leaned back amongst the cushions with a little sigh of relief. 

"Mr. Wrayson, " she inquired, "may I ask if Mr. Heneage is a particularfriend of yours?"

Wrayson shook his head. 

"I do not think that any man could call himself Heneage's particularfriend, " he answered. "He is exceedingly reticent about himself and hisdoings. He is a man whom none of us know much of. "

The Baroness leaned a little forward. 

"Mr. Heneage, " she said slowly, "is associated in my mind with days andevents which, just at present, both Louise and I are only anxious toforget. He may be everything that he should be. Perhaps I amprejudiced. But if I were you, I would have as little to do as possiblewith that man. "

"We do not often meet, " Wrayson answered, "and ours is only a clubacquaintanceship. It is never likely to be more. "

"So much the better, " the Baroness declared. "Don't you agree withme, Louise?"

"I do not like Mr. Heneage, " the girl answered. "But then, I have neverspoken a dozen words to him in my life. "

"You have known him intimately?" Wrayson asked the Baroness. 

She shrugged her shoulders and looked out of the window. 

"Never that, quite, " she answered. "I know enough of him, however, to bequite sure that the advice which I have given you is good. "

The carriage drew up in the Albert Road, within a hundred yards or so ofWrayson's own block of flats. The Baroness alighted first. 

"You must come in and have a whisky and soda, " she said to Wrayson. 

"If I may, " he answered, looking at Louise. 

The Baroness passed on. Louise, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, followed her. 

CHAPTER X

OUTCAST

The room into which a waiting man servant showed them was large andhandsomely furnished. Whisky and soda, wine and sandwiches were upon thesideboard. The Baroness, stopping only to light a cigarette, movedtowards the door. 

"I shall return" she said, "in a quarter of an hour. "

She looked for a moment steadily at her friend, and then turned away. Louise strolled to the sideboard and helped herself to a sandwich. 

"Come and forage, won't you?" she asked carelessly. "There are some_pâté_ sandwiches here, and you want whisky and soda, of course--or doyou prefer brandy?"

"Neither, thanks!" Wrayson answered firmly. "I want what I came for. Please sit down here and answer my questions. "

She laughed a little mockingly, and turning round, faced him, her headthrown back, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly. The light from arose-shaded electric lamp glittered upon her hair. She was wearing blackagain, and something in her appearance and attitude almost took hisbreath away. It reminded him of the moment when he had seen her first. 

"First, " she said, "I am going to ask you a question. Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" he asked. 

She gave vent to a little gesture of impatience. He must know quite wellwhat she meant. 

"Why did you give evidence at the inquest and omit all mention of me?"

"I don't know, " he answered bluntly. 

"You have committed yourself to a story, " she reminded him, "which iscertainly not altogether a truthful one. You have run a great risk, apparently to shield me. Why?"

"I suppose because I am a fool, " he answered bitterly. 

She shook her head. 

"No!" she declared, "that is not the reason. "

He moved a step nearer to her. 

"If I were to admit my folly, " he said, "what difference would itmake--if I were to tell you that I did it to save you--the inconvenienceof an examination into the motive for your presence in Morris Barnes'rooms that night--what then?"

"It was generous of you, " she declared softly. "I ought to thank you. "

"I want no thanks, " he answered, almost roughly. "I want to know that Iwas justified in what I did. I want you to tell me what you were doingthere alone in the rooms of such a man, with a stolen key. And I want youto tell me what you know about his death. "

"Is that all?" she asked. 

"Isn't it enough?" he declared savagely. "It is enough to be making anold man of me, anyhow. "

"You have a right to ask these questions, " she admitted slowly, "and Ihave no right to refuse to answer them. "

"None at all, " he declared. "You shall answer them. "

There was a moment's silence. She leaned a little further back againstthe sideboard. Her eyes were fixed upon his, but her face wasinscrutable. 

"I cannot, " she said slowly. "I can tell you nothing. "

Wrayson was speechless for a moment. It was not only the wordsthemselves, but the note of absolute finality with which they wereuttered, which staggered him. Then he found himself laughing, a soundso unnatural and ominous that, for the first time, fear shone in thegirl's eyes. 

"Don't, " she cried, and her hands flashed towards him for a momentas though the sight of him hurt her. "Don't be angry! Have pity onme instead. "

His nerves, already overwrought, gave way. 

"Pity on a murderess, a thief!" he cried. "Not I! I have suffered enoughfor my folly. I will go and tell the truth to-morrow. It was you whokilled him. You did it in the cab and stole back to his rooms torob--afterwards. Horrible! Horrible!"

Her face hardened. His lack of self-control seemed to stimulate her. 

"Have it so, " she declared. "I never asked you for your silence. If yourepent it, go and make the best bargain you can with the law. They willlet you off cheaply in exchange for your information!"

He walked the length of the room and back. Anything to escape from hereyes. Already he hated the words which he had spoken. When he faced heragain he was master of himself. 

"Listen, " he said; "I was a little overwrought. I spoke wildly. I have noright to make such an accusation. But--"

She held out her hand as though to stop him, but he went steadily on. 

"But I have a right to demand that you tell me the truth as to what youwere doing in Barnes' rooms that night, and what you know of his death. Remember that but for me you would have had to tell your story to a lesssympathetic audience. "

"I never forget it, " she answered, and for the first time her change to amore natural tone helped him to believe in himself and his own judgment. "If you want me to tell you how grateful I am, I might try, but it wouldbe a very hard task. "

"All that I ask of you, " he pleaded, "is that you tell me enough toconvince me that my silence was justified. Tell me at least that you hadno knowledge of or share in that man's death!"

"I cannot do that, " she answered. 

He took a quick step backwards. The horror once more was chilling hisblood, floating before his eyes. 

"You cannot!" he repeated hoarsely. 

"No! I knew that the man was in danger of his life, " she went on, calmly. "On the whole, I think that he deserved to die. I do not mind telling youthis, though. I would have saved him if I could. "

He drew a great breath of relief. 

"You had nothing to do with his actual death, then?"

"Nothing whatever, " she declared. 

"It was all I asked you, this, " he cried reproachfully. "Why could younot have told me before?"

She shook her head. 

"You asked me other things, " she answered calmly. "So much of the truthyou shall know, at any rate. I have pleaded not guilty to the materialaction of drawing that cord around the worthless neck of the man whom youknew as Morris Barnes. I plead guilty to knowing why he was murdered, even if I do not know the actual person who committed the deed, and Iadmit that I was in his rooms for the purpose of robbery. That is all Ican tell you. "

He drew a little nearer to her. 

"Enough! Do you know what it is that you have said? What are you?Who are you?"

She shrugged her shoulders. Somehow, from her side at least, the tragicalnote which had trembled throughout their interview had passed away. Shehelped herself to soda water from a siphon on the sideboard. 

"You appear, somewhat to my surprise, " she remarked, "to know that. Iwonder at poor little Edith giving me away. "

"All that I know is that you are living here under a false name, "he declared. 

She shook her head. 

"My mother's, " she told him. "The discarded daughter always has a rightto that, you know. "

Her eyes mocked him. He felt himself helpless. This was the opportunityfor which he had longed, and it had come to him in vain. He recognizedthe fact that his defeat was imminent. She was too strong for him. 

"I am disappointed, " he said, a little wearily. "You will not let mebelieve in you. "

"Why should you wish to?" she asked quickly

Almost immediately she bit her lip, as though she regretted the words, which had escaped her almost involuntarily. But he was ready enough withhis answer. 

"I cannot tell you that, " he said gravely. "I never thought of myself asa particularly emotional person. In fact, I have always rather pridedmyself on my common sense. That night I think that I went a little mad. Your appearance, you see, was so unusual. "

She nodded. 

"I must have been rather a shock to you, " she admitted. 

She watched him closely. The fire in his eyes was not yet quenched. 

"Yes!" he said, "you were a shock. And the worst of it is--that youremain one!"

"Ah!"

"You mean to keep me at arm's length, " he said slowly, "to tell me aslittle as possible, and get rid of me. I am not sure that I am willing. "

She only raised her eyebrows. She said nothing. 

"You have told me nothing of the things I want to know, " he criedpassionately. "Who and what are you? What place do you hold in theworld?"

"None, " she answered quietly. "I am an outcast. "

He glanced around him. 

"You are rich!"

"On the contrary, " she assured him, "I am nearly a pauper. "

"How do you live, then?" he asked breathlessly. 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

"Why do you ask me these questions?" she said. "I cannot answer them. Whatever my life may be, I live it to myself. "

He leaned a little towards her. His breath was coming quickly, and she, too, caught something of the nervous excitement of his manner. 

"There are better things, " he began. 

"Not for me, " she interrupted quickly. "I tell you that I am anoutcast. Of you, I ask only that you go away--now--before the Baronessreturns, and do your best to blot out the memory of that one nightfrom your life. Remember only that you did a generous action. Rememberthat, and no more. "

"Too late, " he answered; "I cannot do it. "

"You are a man, " she answered, "and you say that?"

"It is because I am a man, and you are what you are, that I cannot, " heanswered slowly. 

There was a moment's breathless silence. Only he fancied that her facehad somehow grown softer. 

"You must not talk like that, " she said. "You do not know what you aresaying--who or what I am. Listen! I think I hear the Baroness. "

She leaned a little forward, and the madness fired his blood. Halfstupefied, she yielded to his embrace, her lips rested upon his, herfrightened eyes were half closed. His arms held her like a vise, he couldfeel her heart throbbing madly against his. How long they remained likeit he never knew--who can measure the hours spent in Paradise! She flunghim from her at last, taking him by surprise with a sudden burst ofenergy, and before he could stop her she had left the room. In her place, the Baroness was standing upon the threshold, dressed in a wonderful bluewrapper, and with a cigarette between her teeth. She burst into a littlepeal of laughter as she looked into his distraught face. 

"For an Englishman, " she remarked, "you are a little rapid in yourlove affairs, my dear Mr. Wrayson, is it not so? So she has left you_planté là_!"

"I--was mad, " Wrayson muttered. 

The Baroness helped herself to whisky and soda. 

"Come again and make your peace, my friend, " she said. "You will see nomore of her to-night. "

Wrayson accepted the hint and went. 

CHAPTER XI

FALSE SENTIMENT

With his nerves strung to their utmost point of tension Wrayson walkedhomeward with the unseeing eyes and mechanical footsteps of a man unableas yet fully to collect his scattered senses. But for him the events ofthe evening were not yet over. He had no sooner turned the key in thelatch of his door and entered his sitting-room, than he became aware ofthe fact that he had a visitor. The air was fragrant with tobacco smoke;a man rose deliberately from the easy-chair, and, throwing the ash fromhis cigarette into the fire, turned to greet him. Wrayson was soastonished that he could only gasp out his name. 

"Heneage!" he exclaimed. 

Heneage nodded. Of the two, he was by far the more at his ease. 

"I wanted to see you, Wrayson, " he said, "and I persuaded yourhousekeeper--with some difficulty--to let me wait for your arrival. Canyou spare me a few minutes?"

"Of course, " Wrayson answered. "Sit down. Will you have anything?"

Heneage shook his head. 

"Not just now, thanks!"

Wrayson took off his hat and coat, threw them upon the table, and lit acigarette. 

"Well, " he said, "what is it?"

"I have come, " Heneage said quietly, "to offer you some very goodadvice. You are run down, and you look it. You need a change. I shouldrecommend a sea voyage, the longer the better. They say that your paperis making a lot of money. Why not a voyage round the world?"

"What the devil do you mean?" Wrayson asked. 

Heneage flicked off the ash from his cigarette, and looked for a momentthoughtfully into the fire. 

"Three weeks ago last Thursday, I think it was, " he began, reflectively, "I had supper with Austin at the Green Room Club, after the theatre. Hepersuaded me, rather against my will, I remember, for I was tired thatnight, to go home with him and make a fourth at bridge. Austin's flat, asyou know, is just below here, on the Albert Road. "

Wrayson stopped smoking. The cigarette burned unheeded between hisfingers. His eyes were fixed upon his visitor. 

"Go on, " he said. 

"We played five rubbers, " Heneage continued, still looking into the fire;"it may have been six. I left somewhere in the small hours of themorning, and walked along the Albert Road on the unlit side of thestreet. As I passed the corner here, I saw a hansom waiting before yourdoor, and you--with somebody else, standing on the pavement. "

"Anything else?" Wrayson demanded. 

"No!" Heneage answered. "I saw you, I saw the lady, and I saw the cab. It was a cold morning, and I am not naturally a curious person. Ihurried on. "

Wrayson picked up the cigarette, which had fallen from his fingers, andsat down. He could scarcely believe that this was not a dream--that itwas indeed Stephen Heneage who sat opposite to him, Heneage theimpenetrable, whose calm, measured words left no indication whatever asto his motive in making this amazing revelation. 

"You are naturally wondering, " Heneage continued, "why, having seen whatI did see, I kept silence. I followed your lead, because I fancied, inthe first place, that the presence of that young lady was a personalaffair of your own, and that she could have no possible connection withthe tragedy itself. You were evidently disposed to shield her andyourself at the same time. I considered your attitude reasonable, if alittle dangerous. No man is obliged to give himself away in matters ofthis sort, and I am no scandalmonger. The situation, however, hasundergone a change. "

Wrayson looked up quickly. 

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

"To-night, " Heneage said calmly, "I recognized your nocturnal visitorwith the Baroness de Sturm. 

"And what of that?" Wrayson demanded. 

Heneage, who was leaning back in his chair, looking into the fire withhalf closed eyes, straightened himself, and turned directly towards hiscompanion. 

"How much do you know about the Baroness de Sturm?" he asked. 

"Nothing at all, " Wrayson answered. "I met her for the first timeto-night. "

Heneage looked back into the fire. 

"Ah!" he murmured. "I thought that it might be so. The young lady isperhaps an old friend?"

"I cannot discuss her, " Wrayson answered. "I can only say that I willanswer for her innocence as regards any complicity in the murder ofMorris Barnes. "

Heneage nodded sympathetically. 

"Still, " he remarked, "the man was murdered. "

"I suppose so, " Wrayson admitted. 

"And in a most mysterious manner, " Heneage continued. "You have gathered, I dare say, from your knowledge of me, that these affairs always interestme immensely. I am almost as great a crank as the Colonel. I have beenthinking over this case a great deal, but I must confess that up toto-night I have not been able to see a gleam of daylight. I had dismissedthe young lady from my mind. Now, however, I cannot do so. "

"Simply because you saw her with the Baroness de Sturm?" Wrayson asked. 

"They are living together, " Heneage reminded him, "a condition whichnaturally makes for a certain amount of intimacy. "

"Do you know anything against the Baroness?" Wrayson demanded. 

"Against her?" Heneage repeated thoughtfully. "Well, that depends. "

"Do you mean to insinuate that she is an adventuress?" Wraysonasked bluntly. 

"Certainly not, " Heneage replied. "She is a representative of one of theoldest families in Europe, a _persona grata_ at the Court of her country, and an intimate friend of Queen Helena's. She is by no means anadventuress. "

"Then why, " Wrayson asked, "should you attach such significance to thefact of her friendship with Miss Deveney?"

"Because, " Heneage remarked, lighting another cigarette, "I happen toknow that the Baroness is at present under the strictest policesurveillance!"

Wrayson started. Heneage's first statement had reassured him: his laterone was simply terrifying. He stared at his visitor in dumb alarm. 

"I came to know of this in rather a curious way, " Heneage continued. "Myinformation, in fact, came direct from her own country. She is beingwatched with extraordinary care, in connection with some affair of whichI must confess that I know nothing. She is staying in London, a citywhich I happen to know she detests, without any ostensible reason. Of allparts, she has chosen Battersea as a place of residence. It is hercompanion whom I saw leaving your flat at three o'clock on the morning ofBarnes' murder. I am bound to say, Wrayson, that I find these factsinteresting. "

"Why have you come to me?" Wrayson asked. "What are you going to doabout them?"

"I am going to set myself the task of solving the mystery of MorrisBarnes' death, " Heneage answered calmly. "If I succeed, I am very muchafraid that, directly or indirectly, the presence of Miss Deveney in theflats that night will become known. "

"And you advise me, therefore, " Wrayson remarked, "to take a voyage--inplain words, to clear out. "

"Exactly, " Heneage agreed. 

Wrayson threw his cigarette angrily into the fire. 

"What the devil business is it of yours?" he demanded. 

Heneage looked at him steadily. 

"Wrayson, " he said, "I am sorry that you should use that tone with me. Iam no moralist. I admit frankly that I take this matter up because mypersonal tastes prompt me to. But murder, however great the provocation, is an indefensible thing. "

"I am not seeking to justify it, " Wrayson declared. 

"I am glad to hear that, " Heneage answered. "I cannot believe, either, that you would shield any one directly or indirectly connected with sucha crime. I am going to ask you, therefore, to tell me what Miss Deveneywas doing in these flats on that particular evening. "

Wrayson was silent. In the light of what he had just been told about theBaroness, he knew very well how Heneage would regard the truth. Ofcourse, she was innocent, innocent of the deed itself and of allknowledge of it. But Heneage did not know her; he would be hard toconvince. So Wrayson shook his head. 

"I can tell you nothing, " he said. "I admit frankly my sympathies are notwith you. I should not say a word likely to bring even inconvenience uponMiss Deveney. "

"Dare you tell me, " Heneage asked calmly, "that her visit was to you?No! I thought not, " he added, as Wrayson remained silent. "I believethat that young lady could solve the mystery of Morris Barnes' death, ifshe chose. "

Then Wrayson had an idea. At any rate, the disclosure would do no harm. 

"Do you know who Miss Deveney is?" he asked. 

Heneage looked across at him quickly. 

"Do you?"

"Yes! She is the eldest daughter of the Colonel!"

"Our Colonel?" Heneage exclaimed. 

Wrayson nodded. 

"Her real name is Miss Fitzmaurice, " he said. "Her mother's namewas Deveney. "

Heneage looked incredulous. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. 

"Absolutely, " Wrayson answered. "I saw her picture the day of the gardenparty, and I recognized her at once. There is no doubt about itwhatever. She and the Baroness were schoolfellows in Brussels. There isno mystery about their friendship at all. "

Heneage was thoughtful for several moments. 

"This is interesting, " he said at last, "but it does not, of course, affect the situation. "

"You mean that you will go on just the same?" Wrayson demanded. 

"Certainly! And it rests with you to say whether you will be on my sideor theirs, " Heneage declared. "If you are on mine, you will tell me whatMiss Deveney was doing in these flats on that night of all others. If youare on theirs, you will go and warn them that I am determined to solvethe mystery of Morris Barnes' death--at all costs. "

"I had no idea, " Wrayson remarked quietly, "that you were ambitious toshine as an amateur policeman. "

"We all have our hobbies, " Heneage answered. "Take the Colonel, forinstance, the most harmless, the most good-natured man who ever lived. Nothing in the world fascinates him so much as the details of a tragedylike this, however gruesome they may be. I have seen him handle amurderer's knife as though he loved it. His favourite museum is theprofessional Chamber of Horrors in Scotland Yard. My own interests run ina slightly different direction. I like to look at an affair of this sortas a chess problem, and to set myself to solve it. I like to make asilent study of all the characters around, to search for motives anddissect evidence. Human nature has its secrets, and very wonderfulsecrets too. "

"I once, " Wrayson said thoughtfully, "saw a man tracked down bybloodhounds. My sympathies were with the man. "

Heneage nodded. 

"Your view of life, " he remarked, "was always a sentimental one. "

"No correct view, " Wrayson declared, "can ignore sentiment. "

"Granted; but it must be true sentiment, not false, " Heneage said. "Thissentiment which interferes with justice is false sentiment. "

"Justice is altogether an arbitrary, a relative phrase, " Wraysondeclared. "I know no more about the case of Morris Barnes than you do. Iknew the man by sight and repute, and I knew the manner of his life, andit seems to me a likely thing that there is more human justice about hisdeath than in the punishing the person who compassed it. "

"There are cases of that sort, " Heneage admitted. "That is the advantageof being an amateur, like myself. My discoveries, if I make any, are myown. I am not bound to publish them. "

Wrayson smiled a little bitterly. 

"You would be less than human if you didn't, " he said. 

Heneage rose to his feet and began putting on his coat. Wrayson remainedin his seat, without offering to help him. 

"So I may take it, I suppose, " he said, as he moved towards the door, "that my visit to you is a failure?"

"I have not the slightest idea of running away, if that is what youmean, " Wrayson answered. "I am obliged to you for your warning, but whatI did I am prepared to stand by. "

"I am sorry, " Heneage answered. "Good night!"

CHAPTER XII

TIDINGS FROM THE CAPE

Wrayson paused for a moment in his work to answer the telephone whichstood upon his table. 

"What is it?" he asked sharply. 

His manager spoke to him from the offices below. 

"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there is a young man here who won't goaway without seeing you. His name is Barnes, and he says that he has justarrived from South Africa. "

It was a busy morning with Wrayson, for in an hour or so the paper wentto press, but he did not hesitate for a moment. 

"I will see him, " he declared. "Bring him up yourself. "

Wrayson laid down the telephone. Morris Barnes had come from SouthAfrica. It was a common name enough, and yet, from the first, he was surethat this was some relative. What was the object of his visit? The ideaschased one another through his brain. Was he, too, an avenger?

There was a knock at the door, and the clerk from downstairs ushered inhis visitor. Wrayson could scarcely repress a start. It was a youngeredition of Morris Barnes who stood there, with an ingratiating smile uponhis pale face, a trifle more Semitic in appearance, perhaps, but in otherrespects the likeness was almost startling. It extended even to theclothes, for Wrayson recognized with a start a purple and white tie ofparticularly loud pattern. The cut of his coat, the glossiness of his hatand boots, too, were all strikingly reminiscent of the dead man. 

His visitor was becoming nervous under Wrayson's close scrutiny. Hismanner betrayed a curious mixture of diffidence and assurance. He seemedoveranxious to create a favourable impression. 

"I took the liberty of coming to see you, Mr. Wrayson" he said, twistinghis hat round in his hand. "My name is Barnes, Sydney Barnes. MorrisBarnes was my brother. "

Wrayson pointed to a chair, into which his visitor subsided withexaggerated expressions of gratitude. He had very small black eyes, setvery close together, and he blinked continually. The more Wrayson studiedhim, the less prepossessing he found him. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?" he asked quietly. 

"I have just come from Cape Town, " the young man said. "Such a shock itwas to me--about my poor brother! Oh! such a shock!"

"How did you hear about it?" Wrayson asked. 

"Just a newspaper--I read an account of it all. It did give me a turn andno mistake. Directly I'd finished, I went and booked my passage on the_Dunottar Castle. _ I had a very fair berth over there--two quid a week, but I felt I must come home at once. Fact is, " he continued, looking downat his trousers, "I had no time to get my own togs together. I was soanxious, you see. That's why I'm wearing some of poor Morris's. "

"Are you the only relative?" Wrayson asked. 

"'Pon my sam, I am, " the other answered with emphasis. "We hadn't arelation in the world. Father and mother died ten years ago, and Morrisand I were the only two. Anything that poor Morris possessed belongs tome, sure! There's no one else to claim a farthing's worth. You must knowthat yourself, Mr. Wrayson, eh?"

"If, as you say, you are the only relative, your brother's effects, ofcourse, belong to you, " Wrayson answered. 

"It's a sure thing, " the young man declared. "I've been to the landlordof the flat, and he gave me up the keys at once. There's only onequarter's rent owing. Pretty stiff though--isn't it? Fifty pounds!"

"Your brother's was a furnished flat, I believe, " Wrayson answered. "Thatmakes a difference, of course. "

The young man's face fell. 

"Then the furniture wasn't his?" he remarked. 

Wrayson shook his head. 

"No! the furniture belongs to the landlord. There will be an inventory, of course, and you will be able to find out if anything was yourbrother's. "

It was obvious that Mr. Sydney Barnes had not as yet entered upon thepurpose of his visit. He fidgeted for a moment or two with his hat, andlooked up at Wrayson, only to look nervously away again. To set him moreat his ease, Wrayson lit a cigarette and passed the box over. 

"Thank you, Mr. Wrayson! Thank you, sir!" his visitor exclaimed. "Yousee I'm a smoker, " he added, holding up his yellow-stained forefinger. "That is, I smoke when I can afford to. Things have been pretty dickyout in South Africa lately, you know. Terrible hard it has been to makea living. "

"Your brother was supposed to have done pretty well out there, " Wraysonremarked, more for the sake of keeping the conversation alive thananything. The effect of his words, however, was electrical. Mr. SydneyBarnes leaned over from his chair, and his little black eyes twinkledlike polished beads. 

"Mr. Wrayson, " he declared, "a week before he sailed for England, Morriswas on his uppers! He was caught in Johannesburg when the war broke out, and he had to stay there. When he turned up in Cape Town again, his ownmother wouldn't have known him. He was in rags--he'd come down on afreight--he hadn't a scrap of luggage, or a copper to his name. That wasMorris when he came to me in Cape Town!"

Wrayson was listening attentively; he almost feared to let his visitorsee how interested he was. 

"He was fair done in!" the young man continued. "He never had the pluckof a chicken, and the night he found me in Cape Town he cried like ababy. He had lost everything, he said. It was no use staying in thecountry any longer. He was wild to get back to England. And yet, do youknow, sir, all the time I had the idea that he was keeping something backfrom me. And he was! He was, too! The--!"

He stopped short. The vindictiveness of his countenance suppliedthe epithet. 

"You'll excuse me if I'm a bit excited, Mr. Wrayson, " he continued. "I'llleave you to judge how I've been served when you hear all. He got overme, and I lent him nearly half of my savings, and he started back toEngland. He took this flat at two hundred pounds a year the very week hegot back, and he's lived, from what I can hear, like a lord ever since. Will you believe this, sir! He sent back the money he borrowed from me aquid at a time, and wrote me to say he was saving it with greatdifficulty--out of his salary of three pounds a week. When he'd paid backthe lot, I never heard another line from him. I was doing rotten myself, and he knew well enough that I should have been over first steamer if I'dknown about his two hundred a year flat, and all the rest of it. What doyou think of my brother, sir, eh? What do you think of him? Treated menicely, didn't he? Nine pounds ten it was I lent him, and nine pounds tenwas all I had back, and here he was living like a duke, and lying to meabout his three pounds a week; and there was I hawkering groceries on abarrow, selling sham diamonds, any blooming thing to get a mouthful toeat. Nice sort of brother that, eh? What?"

Wrayson repressed an inclination to smile. There was something grimlyhumourous about his visitor's indignation. 

"You must remember, " he said, "that your brother is dead, and that hisdeath itself was a terrible one. Besides, even if you have had to waitfor a little time, you are his heir now. "

The young man was breathing hard. The perspiration stood out in littlebeads upon his forehead. He showed his teeth a little. He was becomingmore and more unpleasant to look upon as his excitement increased. 

"Look here, Mr. Wrayson!" he exclaimed. "I'm coming to that. I've beenthrough his things. Clothes! I never saw such a collection. All from aWest End tailor, too! And boots! Patent, with white tops; pumps, everything slap up! Heaven knows what he must have spent upon hisclothes. Bills from restaurants, too; why, he seems to have thoughtnothing of spending a quid or two on a dinner or a supper. Photographsof ladies, little notes asking him to tea; why, between you and me, Mr. Wrayson, sir, he was living like a prince! And look here!"

He rose to his feet and planked down a bank-book on the desk in frontof Wrayson. 

"Look here, sir, " he declared. "Every three months, within a day or two, cash--five hundred pounds. Here you are. Here's the last: March27--cash, £500! Look back! January 1--By cash £500! October 2--cash, £500! There you are, right back to the very day he arrived in England. And he left South Africa with ten bob of mine in his pocket, after he'dpaid his passage! and from what I can hear, he never did a day's workafter he landed. And me over there working thirteen and fourteen hours aday, and half the time stony-broke! There's a brother for you! Cain wasa fool to him!"

"But you must remember that after all you are going to reap the benefitof it now, " Wrayson remarked. 

"Ah! but am I?" the young man exclaimed fiercely. "That's what I want toknow. Look here! I've been through every letter and every scrap of paperI can find, I've been to the bank and to his few pals, and strike me deadif I can find where that five hundred pounds came from every threemonths! It was in gold always; he must have gone and changed itsomewhere--five hundred golden sovereigns every three months, and I can'tfind where they came from!"

"Have you been to a solicitor?" Wrayson asked. 

"Not yet, " the young man answered. "I don't see what good he'll be when Ido. Morris was always one of the close sort, and I can't fancy himspending much over lawyers. "

"What made you come to me?" Wrayson inquired. 

"Well, the caretaker at the flat told me that you and Morris used tospeak now and then, and I'm trying every one. I'm afraid he wasn't quiteclassy enough for you to have palled up with, but I thought he might havelet something slip perhaps. "

Wrayson shook his head. 

"He never spoke to me of his affairs, " he said. "He always seemed to haveplenty of money, though. "

"Doesn't the bank-book prove it?" the young man exclaimed excitedly. "Every one who knew anything about him says the same. There was I halfstarved in Cape Town, and here was he spending two thousand a year. Beast, he was! I'll find out where it came from if it takes me alifetime. "

Wrayson leaned back in his chair. Nothing since the events of that nightitself had appealed to him more than the coming of this young man and hisstrange story. 

"I am sorry that I have no information to give you, " he said. "On theother hand, if I can help you in any other way I shall be very glad. "

"What should you advise me to do?" the young man asked. 

"I should like to think the matter over carefully, " Wrayson answered. "What are your engagements for to-day? Can you lunch with me?"

"I have no engagements, " his visitor answered eagerly. "When andwhat time?"

Wrayson repressed a smile. 

"I shall be ready in twenty minutes, " he answered. "We will go outtogether if you don't mind waiting. "

"I'm on, " Mr. Sydney Barnes declared, crossing his legs. "Don't you hurryon my account. I'll wait as long as you like. "

CHAPTER XIII

SEARCHING THE CHAMBERS

Wrayson took his guest to a popular restaurant, where there was music anda five-course luncheon for three and six. Their conversation during theearlier part of the meal was limited, for Mr. Sydney Barnes showedhimself possessed of an appetite which his host contemplated withrespectful admiration. His sallow cheeks became flushed and hisnervousness had subsided, long before the arrival of the coffee. 

"I say, this is all right, this place is, " he said, leaning back in hischair with a large cigar between his teeth. "Jolly expensive, I suppose, isn't it?"

Wrayson smiled. 

"It depends, " he answered. "I don't suppose your brother would have foundit so. A bachelor can do himself pretty well on two thousand a year. "

"I only hope I get hold of it, " Mr. Sydney Barnes declared fervently. "This is the way I should like to live, this is. "

"I hope you will, " Wrayson answered. "An income of that sort couldscarcely disappear into thin air, could it? By the bye, Mr. Barnes, thatreminds me of a very important circumstance which, up to now, we have notmentioned. I mean the way your brother met with his death. "

The young man nodded thoughtfully. 

"Ah!" he remarked, "he was murdered, wasn't he? Some one must have owedhim a nasty grudge. Morris always was a one to make enemies. "

"I don't know whether the same thing has occurred to you, " Wraysoncontinued, "but I can't help wondering whether there may not have beensome connection between his death and that mysterious income of his. "

"I've thought of that myself, " the young man declared. "All the same, I can't see what he could have carried about with him worth twothousand a year. "

"Exactly, " Wrayson answered, "but you see the matter stands like this. Hewas in receipt of about £500 every three months, as his bank-book proves. This sum would represent five per cent interest on forty thousand pounds. Now, considering your brother's position when he left you at Cape Town, and the fact that you cannot discover at his bankers or elsewhere anydocuments alluding to property or shares of any sort, one can scarcelyhelp dismissing the hypothesis that this payment was the result ofdividends or interest. At any rate, let us put that out of the questionfor the moment. Your brother received five hundred pounds every threemonths from some one. People don't give money away for nothing nowadays, you know. From whom and for what services did he receive that money?"

Mr. Sydney Barnes looked puzzled. 

"Ask me another, " he remarked facetiously. 

"You do not know of any secrets, I suppose, which your brother may havestumbled into possession of?"

"Not I! He went about with his eyes open and his mouth closed, but Inever heard of his having that sort of luck. "

"He could not have had any adventures on the steamer, for he came backsteerage, " Wrayson continued thoughtfully, "and he was in funds almostfrom the moment he landed in England. I am afraid, Mr. Barnes, that hemust have been deceiving you in Cape Town. "

"If I could only have a dozen words with him!" the young manmuttered savagely. 

"It would be useful, " Wrayson admitted, "but, unfortunately, it is out ofthe question. Either he was deceiving you, or he was in possession ofsomething which turned out far more valuable than he had imagined. "

"If so, where is it?" Mr. Sydney Barnes demanded. "If it was worth thatto him, it may be to me. "

"Exactly, " Wrayson remarked, "but the question of your brother'smurder comes in there. People don't commit a crime like that fornothing, you know. If it was information which your brother had, itdied with him. If it was documents, they were probably stolen by theperson who killed him. "

"Come, that's cheerful, " the young man declared ruefully. "If you'reguessing right, where do I come in?"

"I'm afraid you don't come in, " Wrayson answered; "but remember I am onlyfollowing out a surmise. Have you looked through your brother's paperscarefully?"

"I've gone through 'em all, " Mr. Sydney Barnes answered, "but, of course, I was looking for scrip or a memorandum of investments, or something ofthat sort. Perhaps if a clever chap like you were to go through them, youmight come across a clue. "

"It seems hard to believe that he shouldn't have left something of thesort behind him, " Wrayson answered. "It might be only an address, or aname, or anything. "

"Will you come round with me and see?" Mr. Barnes demanded eagerly. "Itwouldn't take you long. You're welcome to see everything there is there. "

Wrayson called for the bill. 

"Very well" he said, "we will take a hansom round there at once. "

They left the place a few minutes later, and drove to Battersea. 

"There's a quarter to run, the landlord says, so I'm staying here, "Barnes explained, as he unlocked the front door. "I can't afford aservant or anything of that sort of course, but I shall just sleep here. "

The rooms had a ghostly and unkempt appearance. The atmosphere of thesitting-room was stuffy and redolent of stale tobacco smoke. Wrayson'sfirst action was to throw open the window. 

"There isn't a sign of a paper anywhere, except in that desk, " the youngman remarked. "You'll find things in a mess, but whatever was there isthere now. I've destroyed nothing. "

Wrayson seated himself before the desk, and began a careful search. Therewere restaurant bills without number, and a variety of ladies' cards, more or less soiled. There were Empire and Alhambra programmes, a bundleof racing wires, and an account from a bookmaker showing a small debitbalance. There were other miscellaneous bills, a plaintive epistle from alady signing herself Flora, and begging for the loan of a fiver for aweek, and an invitation to tea from a spinster who called herself Poppy. Amongst all this mass of miscellaneous documents there were only threewhich Wrayson laid on one side for further consideration. One of thesewas a note, dated from the Adelphi a few days before the tragedy, andwritten in a stiff, legal hand. It contained only a few lines:

"DEAR SIR, --

"My client will be happy to meet you at any time on Thursday you may bepleased to appoint, either here or at your own address. Please reply, making an appointment, by return of post. 

"Yours faithfully, "W. BENTHAM. "

The second document was also in the shape of a letter from a firm ofprivate detective agents and was dated only a day earlier than thelawyer's letter. It ran as follows:

"MY DEAR SIR, --

"In reply to your inquiry, our charges for watching a single person inLondon only are three guineas a day, including all expenses. For thatsum we can guarantee that the person with whose movements you desire tokeep in touch will be closely shadowed from roof to roof, so long asthe person remains within seven miles of Charing Cross. A daily reportwill be made to you, and should legal proceedings ensue from anyinformation procured by us, you may rely upon any witness whom we mightplace in the box. 

"Trusting to hear from you, "We are, yours sincerely, "McKENNA & FOULDS. "

The third document which Wrayson had preserved was the Cunard sailinglist for the current month, the plan of a steamer which sailed within aweek of the murder, and a few lines from the steamship office respectingaccommodation. 

"These, at any rate, will give you something to do, " Wrayson remarked. "You can go to the lawyer and find out who his client was who desired tosee your brother. There is a chance there! You can go to McKenna & Fouldsand find out who it was whom he wanted shadowed, and you can go to theCunard office and see whether he really intended sailing for America. "

Mr. Sydney Barnes looked a little doubtful. 

"I suppose, " he suggested timidly, "you couldn't spare the time to goround to these places with me? You see, I'm not much class over here, even in Morris's togs. They'd take more notice of you, being a gentleman. Good God! what's that?"

Both men had started, for the sound was unexpected. Some one was fittinga latch-key into the door!

CHAPTER XIV

THE DEAD MAN'S BROTHER

At the sight of the two men who awaited her entrance, the Baronessstopped short. Whatever alarm or surprise she may have felt at theirpresence was effectually concealed from them by the thick veil which shewore, through which her features were undistinguishable. As thoughpurposely, she left to them the onus of speech. 

Wrayson took a quick step towards her. 

"Baroness!" he exclaimed. "What are you--I beg your pardon, but what areyou doing here?"

She raised her veil and looked at them both attentively. In her hand shestill held the latch-key by means of which she entered. 

"Do you know, " she answered quietly, "I was just going to ask you thesame thing. "

"Our presence is easily explained, " Wrayson answered. "This is Mr. SydneyBarnes, the brother of the Mr. Barnes who used to live here. He iskeeping the flat on for a short time. "

The Baroness was surprised, and showed it. Without a moment's hesitation, however, she accepted Wrayson's words as an introduction to the youngman, and held out her hand to him with a brilliant smile. 

"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Barnes, " she said, "even under suchpainful circumstances. I knew your brother very well, and I have heardhim speak of you. "

Mr. Sydney Barnes did not attempt to conceal his surprise. He shookhands with the Baroness, however, and regarded her with undisguisedadmiration. 

"Well, this licks me!" he exclaimed frankly. "Do you mean to say that youwere a friend of Morris's?"

"Certainly, " the Baroness answered. "Why not?"

"Oh! I don't know, " the young man declared. "I'm getting past beingsurprised at anything. I suppose it's the oof that makes the difference. A friend of Morris's, you said. Why, perhaps--" He hesitated, and glancedtowards Wrayson. 

"There is no harm in asking the Baroness, at any rate, " Wrayson said. "The fact of the matter is, " he continued, turning towards her, "that Mr. Sydney Barnes here finds himself in a somewhat extraordinary position. Heis the sole relative and heir of his brother, and he has come over herefrom South Africa, naturally enough, to take possession of his effects. Now there is no doubt, from his bank-book, and his manner of life, thatMorris Barnes was possessed of a considerable income. According to hisbank-book it was £2, 000 a year. "

The Baroness nodded thoughtfully. 

"He told me once that he was worth as much as that, " she remarked, "Exactly, but the curious part of the affair is that, up to the present, Mr. Sydney Barnes has been unable to discover the slightest trace of anyinvestments or any sum of money whatever. Now can you help us? DidMorris Barnes ever happen to mention to you in what direction hiscapital was invested? Did he ever give you any idea at all as to thesource of his income?"

The Baroness stood quite still, as though lost in thought. Wraysonwatched her with a curious sense of fascination. He knew very well thatthe subtle brain of the woman was occupied in no fruitless attempt atreminiscence; he was convinced that the Baroness had never exchanged asingle word with Morris Barnes in her life. She was thinking her waythrough this problem--how best to make use of this unexpected tool. Theireyes met and she smiled faintly. She judged rightly that Wrayson, at anyrate, was not deceived. 

"I cannot give you any definite information, " she said at last, "but--"

She hesitated, and the young man's eagerness escaped all bounds. 

"But what?" he cried, leaning breathlessly towards her. "You knowsomething! What is it? Go on! Go on!"

"I think that if I can remember it, " she continued, "I can tell you thename of the solicitor whom he employed. "

The young man dashed his fist upon the table. He was pale almostto the lips. 

"By God! you must remember it, " he cried. "Don't say you've forgotten. It's most important. Two thousand a year!--pounds! Think!"

She turned towards Wrayson. She wished to conciliate him, but the youngman was not a pleasant sight. 

"It was something like Benton, " she suggested. 

Wrayson glanced downward at one of the three documents which he hadpreserved. 

"Bentham!" he exclaimed. "Was that it?"

The face of the Baroness cleared at once. 

"Of course it was! How stupid of me to have forgotten. His offices aresomewhere in the Adelphi. "

Barnes caught up his hat. 

"Where is that?" he exclaimed. "I'm off. "

Wrayson held out his hand. 

"Wait a moment, " he said. "There is no hurry for an hour or so. Thisaffair may not be quite so simple, after all. "

"Why not?" the young man demanded fiercely. "It's my money, isn't it? Ican take out letters of administration. It belongs to me. He'll have togive it up. "

"In the long run I should say that he will--if he has it, " Wraysonanswered. "But before you go to him, remember this. He has seen theaccount of your brother's death. He did not appear at the inquest. He hastaken no steps to discover his next of kin. Both of these proceedingswere part of his natural duty. "

"Mr. Wrayson is quite right, " the Baroness remarked. "Mr. Bentham has notbehaved as an honest man. He will have to be treated firmly butcarefully. You are a little excited just now. Wait for an hour or so, andperhaps Mr. Wrayson will go with you. "

Barnes turned towards him eagerly, and Wrayson nodded. 

"Yes! I'll go, " he said. "I know Mr. Bentham slightly. He once paid merather a curious visit. But never mind that now. "

"Was it in connection with this affair?" the Baroness asked him quietly. 

Wrayson affected not to hear. He passed his cigarette case to Barnes, whowas stamping up and down the room, muttering to himself. 

"Look here, you'd better have a smoke and calm down, young man, " hesaid. "It's no use going to see Bentham in a state like this. "

The young man threw himself into a chair. Suddenly he sat up again, andaddressed the Baroness. 

"I say, " he exclaimed, "how is it that you have a key to this flat? Whatdid you come here for this afternoon?"

The Baroness laughed softly. 

"Well, I got the key from the landlord a few days ago. I told him that Imight take the flat, and he told me to come in and look at it and returnthe key--which you see I haven't done. To be quite honest with you, though, I had another reason for coming here. "

The young man looked at her with mingled suspicion and admiration. Shehad raised her veil now, and even Wrayson was aware that he had scarcelyrealized how beautiful a woman she was. Her tailor-made gown of darkgreen cloth fitted her to perfection; she was turned out with all thatdelightful perfection of detail which seems to be the Frenchwoman'sheritage. Her smile, half pathetic, half appealing, was certainlysufficient to turn the head of a dozen young men such as Sydney Barnes. 

"I have told you, " she continued, "that your brother and I used to bevery good friends. I wrote him now and then some rather foolish letters. He promised to destroy them, but--men are so foolish, you know, sometimes--I was never quite sure that he had kept his word, and I meantto take this opportunity of looking for myself that he had not left themabout. You do not blame me, Mr. Sydney? You are not cross?"

He kept his eyes upon her as though fascinated. 

"No!" he said. "No! I mean of course not. "

"These letters, " she continued, "you have not seen them, Mr. Sydney? No?Or you, Mr. Wrayson?"

"We have not come across any letters at all answering to thatdescription, " Wrayson assured her. 

The Baroness glanced across at Barnes, who was certainly regarding her insomewhat peculiar fashion. 

"Why does Mr. Sydney look at me like that?" she asked, with a littleshrug of the shoulders. "He does not think that I came here to steal?Why, Mr. Sydney, " she added, "I am very, very much richer than ever yourbrother was. "

"Richer--than he was! Richer than two thousand a year!" he gasped. 

The Baroness laughed softly but heartily. She stole a sidelong glanceat Wrayson. 

"Why, my dear young man, " she said, "it costs me--oh! quite as much asthat each year to dress. "

Barnes looked at her as though she were something holy. When he spoke, there was awe in his tone. The problem which had formed itself in histhoughts demanded expression. 

"And you say that you were a pal--I mean a friend of Morris's? You wrotehim letters?"

The Baroness smiled. 

"Why not?" she exclaimed. "Women have queer tastes, you know. We like allsorts of men. I think I must ask Mr. Wrayson to bring you in to tea oneafternoon. Would you like to come?"

"Yes!" he answered. 

She nodded a farewell and turned to Wrayson. 

"As for you, " she said under her breath, "you had better come soon ifyou want to make your peace with Louise. "

"May I come this afternoon?" he asked. 

She nodded, and held out her exquisitely gloved hand. 

"I knew you were going to be an ally" she murmured under her breath. "Don't let the others get hold of him. "

She was gone before Wrayson could ask for an explanation. The others! Ifonly he could discover who they were. 

He turned back into the room. 

"Do you mind coming down into my flat for a moment, Barnes?" he asked. "Iwant to telephone to the office before I go out with you again. "

The young man followed him heavily. He seemed a little dazed. InWrayson's sitting-room, he stood looking about him as though appraisingthe value of the curios, pictures, and engravings with which theapartment was crowded. Wrayson, while waiting for his call, watched himcuriously. In his present state his vulgarity was perhaps less glaringlyapparent, but his lack of attractiveness was accentuated. His ears seemedto have grown larger, his pinched, Semitic features more repulsive, andhis complexion sallower. He was pitchforked into a world of which he knewnothing, and he seemed stunned by his first contact with it. Only onething remained--the greed in his eyes. They seemed to have grown narrowerand brighter with desire. 

He did not speak until they were in the cab. Then he turned to Wrayson. 

"I say, " he exclaimed, "what was her name?"

Wrayson smiled. 

"The Baroness de Sturm, " he answered. 

"Baroness! Real Baroness! All O. K. , I suppose?"

"Without a doubt, " Wrayson answered. 

"And Morris knew her--she wrote letters to him, " he continued, "awoman--like that. "

He was silent for several moments. It was obvious that his opinion of hisbrother was rising rapidly. His tone had become almost reverential. 

"I've got to find where that money is, " he said abruptly. "If I gothrough fire and water to get it, I'll have it! I'll keep on Morris'sflat. I'll go to his tailor! I'll--you're laughing at me. But I mean it!I've had enough of grubbing along on nothing a week, and living in thegutters. I want a bit of Morris's luck. "

Wrayson put his head out of the cab. The young man's face was notpleasant to look at. 

"We are there, " he said. "Come along. "

CHAPTER XV

THE LAWYER'S SUGGESTION

The offices of Mr. Bentham were situated at the extreme end of a dingy, depressing looking street which ran from the Adelphi to the EmbankmentGardens. It was a street of private hotels which no one had ever heardof, and where apparently no one ever stayed. A few cranky institutions, existing under the excuse of charity, had their offices there, and a firmof publishers, whose glory was of the past, still dragged out theiruncomfortable and profitless existence in a building whose dusty windowsand smoke-stained walls sufficiently proclaimed their fast approachingextinction. They found the name of Mr. Bentham upon a rusty brass plateoutside the last building in the street, with the additional intimationthat his offices were upon the first floor. There they found him, withoutclerks, without even an errand boy, in a large bare apartment overlookingthe embankment. The room was darkened by the branches of one of a row ofelm trees, and the windows themselves were curtainless. There was nocarpet upon the floor, no paper upon the walls, no rows of tin boxes, none of the usual surroundings of a lawyer's office. The solicitor, whohad bidden them enter, did not at first offer them any salutation. Hepaused in a letter which he was writing and his eyes rested for a momentupon Wrayson, and for a second or two longer upon his companion. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bentham!" Wrayson said. "My name is Wrayson--youremember me, I daresay. "

"I remember you certainly, Mr. Wrayson, " the lawyer answered. His eyeswere resting once more upon Sydney Barnes. 

"This, " Wrayson explained, "is Mr. Sydney Barnes, a brother of the Mr. Morris Barnes, who was, I believe, a client of yours. "

"Scarcely, " the lawyer murmured, "a client of mine, although I mustconfess that I was anxious to secure him as one. Possibly if he had liveda few more hours, the epithet would have been in order. "

Wrayson nodded. 

"From a letter which we found in Mr. Barnes' desk, " he remarked, "weconcluded that some business was pending between you. Hence our visit. "

Mr. Bentham betrayed no sign of interest or curiosity of any sort. 

"I regret, " he said, "that I cannot offer you chairs. I am notaccustomed to receive my clients here. If you care to be seated uponthat form, pray do so. "

Wrayson glanced at the form and declined. Sydney Barnes seemed scarcelyto have heard the invitation. His eyes were glued upon the lawyer's face. 

"Will you tell me precisely, " Mr. Bentham said, "in what way I can be ofservice to you?"

"I want to know where my brother's money is, " Barnes declared, stepping alittle forward. "Two thousand a year he had. We've seen it in hisbank-book. Five hundred pounds every quarter day! And we can't find acopper! You were his lawyer, or were going to be. You must have knownsomething about his position. "

Mr. Bentham looked straight ahead with still, impassive face. No traceof the excitement in Sydney Barnes' face was reflected in his features. 

"Two thousand a year, " he repeated calmly. "It was really as much asthat, was it? Your brother had, I believe, once mentioned the amount tome. I had no idea, though, that it was quite so large. "

"I am his heir, " the young man declared feverishly. "I'll take my oaththere's no one else. I'm going to take out letters of administration. Hehadn't another relation on God's earth. "

Mr. Bentham regarded the young man thoughtfully. 

"Have you any idea, Mr. Barnes, " he asked, "as to the source ofthis income?"

"Of course I haven't, " Barnes answered. "That's why we're here. You mustknow something about it. "

"Your brother was not my client, " the lawyer said slowly. "If his deathhad not been quite so sudden, I think that he might have been. As it is, I know very little of his affairs. I am afraid that I can be of verylittle use to you. "

"You must know something, " Barnes declared doggedly. "You must tell uswhat you do know. "

"Your brother was, " Mr. Bentham said, "a very remarkable man. Has itnever occurred to you, Mr. Barnes, that this two thousand a year mighthave been money received in payment of services rendered--might havebeen, in short, in the nature of a salary?"

"Not likely, " Barnes answered, contemptuously. "Morris did no work atall. He did nothing but just enjoy himself and spend money. "

"Nothing but enjoy himself and spend money, " Mr. Bentham repeated. "Ah!Did you see a great deal of your brother during the last few years?"

"I saw nothing of him at all. I was out in South Africa. I have only justgot back. Not but that I'd been here long ago, " the young man added, witha note of exasperation in his tone, "if I'd had any idea of the luck hewas in. Why, I lent him a bit to come back with, though I was onlyearning thirty bob a week, and the brute only sent it me back in bits, and not a farthing over. "

"That was not considerate of him, " Mr. Bentham agreed--"not at allconsiderate. Your brother had the command of considerable sums of money. In fact, Mr. Barnes, I may tell you, without any breach of confidence, Ithink that if he had kept his appointment with me on the night when hewas murdered, I was prepared, on behalf of my client, to hand him acheque for ten thousand pounds!"

Barnes struck the table before him with his clenched fist. 

"For what?" he cried, hysterically. "Ten thousand pounds for what?"

"Your brother, " Mr. Bentham said calmly, "was possessed of securitieswhich were worth that much or even more to my client. "

"And where are they now?" Barnes gasped. 

"I do not know, " Mr. Bentham answered. "If you can find them, I think itvery likely that my client might make you a similar offer. "

It was the first ray of hope. Barnes moistened his dry lips with histongue, and drew a long breath. 

"Securities!" he muttered. "What sort of securities?"

"There, unfortunately, " Mr. Bentham said, "I am unable to help you. I aman agent only in the matter. They were securities which my client wasanxious to buy, and your brother was not unwilling to sell for cash, notwithstanding the income which they were bringing him in. "

"But how can I look for them, if I don't know what they are?" Barnesprotested. 

"There are difficulties, certainly, " the lawyer admitted, carefullypolishing his spectacles with the corner of a silk handkerchief; "but, then, as you have doubtless surmised, the whole situation is adifficult one. "

"You can get to know, " Barnes exclaimed. "Your client would tell you. "

Mr. Bentham sighed gently. 

"Of course, " he said, "I am only quoting my own opinion, but I do notthink that my client would do anything of the sort. These securitieshappen to be of a somewhat secret nature. Your brother was in a positionto make an exceedingly clever use of them. It appears incidentally tohave cost him his life, but there are risks, of course, in everyprofession. "

Barnes stared at him with wide-open eyes. He seemed, for the moment, struck dumb. Wrayson, who had been silent during the greater part of theconversation, turned towards the lawyer. 

"You believe, then, " he asked, "that Morris Barnes was murdered for thesake of these securities?"

"I believe--nothing, " the lawyer answered. "It is not my business tobelieve. Mr. Morris Barnes was in the receipt of an income of twothousand a year, which we might call dividend upon these securities. Myclient, through me, made Mr. Barnes a cash offer to buy them outright, and although I must admit that Mr. Barnes had not closed with us, yet Ibelieve that he was on the point of doing so. He had doubtless had itbrought home to him that there was a certain amount of danger associatedwith his position generally. The night on which my client arrived inEngland was the night upon which Mr. Morris Barnes was murdered. Theinference to be drawn from this circumstance I can leave, I am sure, tothe common sense of you two gentlemen. "

"First, then, " Wrayson said, "it would appear that he was murdered by thepeople who were paying him two thousand a year, and who were acting inopposition to your client!"

Mr. Bentham shrugged his shoulder gently. 

"It does not sound unreasonable, " he admitted. 

"And secondly, " Wrayson continued, "if that was so, he was probablyrobbed of these securities at the same time. "

"Now that, also, " Mr. Bentham said smoothly, "sounds reasonable. But, asa matter of fact, " he continued, looking down upon the table, "there arecertain indications which go to disprove it. My personal opinion is thatthe assassin--granted that there was an assassin, and granted that he wasacting on behalf of the parties we have referred to--met with adisappointment. "

"In plain words, " Wrayson interrupted, "you mean that the other side havenot possessed themselves of the securities?"

"They certainly have not, " Mr. Bentham declared. "They still remain--theproperty by inheritance of this young gentleman here--Mr. Sydney Barnes, I believe. "

His tone was so even, so expressionless, that its slightest changes werenoticeable. It seemed to Wrayson that a faint note of sarcasm had creptinto these last few words. Mr. Barnes himself, however, was quiteoblivious of it. His yellow-stained fingers were spread out upon thetable. He leaned over towards the lawyer. His under lip protruded, hisdeep-set eyes seemed closer than ever together. He was grimly, tragicallyin earnest. 

"Look here, " he said. "What can I do to get hold of 'em? I don't carewhat it is. I'm game! I'll deal with your man--the cash client. I'll giveyou a commission, see! Five per cent on all I get. How's that? I'll playfair. Now chuck away all this mystery. What were these securities? Whereshall I start looking for them?"

Mr. Bentham regarded him with stony face. "There are certain points, " hesaid, "upon which I cannot enlighten you. My duty to my client forbidsit. I cannot describe to you the nature of those securities. I cannotsuggest where you should look for them. All that I can say is that theyare still to be found, and that my client is still a buyer. "

The young man turned to Wrayson. His face was twitching with someemotion, probably anger. 

"Did you ever hear such bally rot!" he exclaimed. "He knows allabout these securities all right. They belong to me. He ought to bemade to tell. "

Wrayson shrugged his shoulders. 

"It does seem rather a wild-goose chase, doesn't it?" he remarked. "Can'tyou tell him a little more, Mr. Bentham?"

Mr. Bentham sighed, as though his impotence were a matter of sincereregret to him. 

"The only advice I can offer Mr. Barnes, " he said, "is that he induce youto aid him in his search. Between you, I should never be surprised tohear of your success. "

"And why, " Wrayson asked, "should you consider me such a useful ally?"

Mr. Bentham looked at him steadily for a moment. 

"You appear to me, " he said, "to be a young man of intelligence--and youknow how to keep your own counsel. I should consider Mr. Barnes veryfortunate if you could make up your mind to aid him in his search. "

"It is not my affair, " Wrayson answered stiffly. "I could not possiblypledge myself to enter upon such a wild-goose chase. "

Mr. Bentham turned over some papers which lay upon the table before him. He had apparently had enough of the conversation. 

"You must not call it exactly that, Mr. Wrayson, " he said. "Mr. Barnes'success in his quest would probably result in an act of justice tosociety. To you personally, I should imagine it would be expresslyinteresting. "

"What do you mean?" Wrayson asked, quickly. 

The lawyer looked at him calmly. 

"It should solve the mystery of Morris Barnes' murder!" he answered. 

Wrayson touched his companion on the shoulder. 

"I think that we might as well go, " he said. "Mr. Bentham does not meanto tell us anything more. "

Barnes moved slowly towards the door, but with reluctance manifested inhis sullen face and manner. 

"I don't know how I'm going to set about this job, " he said, turning oncemore towards the lawyer. "I shall do what I can, but you haven't seen thelast of me, yet, Mr. Bentham. If I fail, I shall come back to you. "

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. He was already absorbed in other work. 

CHAPTER XVI

A DINNER IN THE STRAND

Wrayson was conscious, from the moment they left Mr. Bentham's office, ofa change in the deportment of the young man who walked by his side. Avariety of evil passions had developed one at least more tolerable--hewas learning the lesson of self-restraint. He did not speak until theyreached the corner of the street. 

"Where can we get a drink?" he asked, almost abruptly. "I wantsome brandy. "

Wrayson took him to a bar close by. They sat in a quiet corner. 

"I want to ask you something, " he said, leaning halfway over the littletable between them. "How much do you know about the lady who came into mybrother's flat when we were there?"

The direct significance of the question startled Wrayson. This young manwas beginning to think. 

"How much do I know of her?" he repeated. "Very little. "

"She is really a Baroness--not one of these faked-up ones?"

"She is undoubtedly the Baroness de Sturm, " Wrayson answered, alittle stiffly. 

"And she has plenty of coin?"

"Certainly, " Wrayson answered. "She is a great lady, I believe, in herown country. "

Barnes struck the table softly with the flat of his hand. His eyes weresearching for his answer in Wrayson's face, almost before the words hadleft his lips. 

"Do you believe then, " he asked, "that a woman like that wrotelove-letters to Morris? You knew Morris. He was what those sort of peoplecall a bounder. Same as me! If he knew her at all it was a wonder. Ican't believe in the love-letters. "

Wrayson shrugged his shoulders. 

"The whole affair, " he declared, "everything connected with your brother, is so mysterious that I really don't know what to say. "

"You knew Morris, " the young man persisted. "You know the Baroness. Set'em down side by side. They don't go, eh? You know that. Morris could toghimself up as much as he liked, and he was always a good 'un at that whenhe had the brass, but he'd never be able to make himself her sort. And ifshe's a real lady, and wasn't after the brass, then I don't believe thatshe ever wrote him love-letters. What?"

Wrayson said nothing. The young man held out his empty glass to a waiter. 

"More brandy, " he ordered briefly. "Look here, Mr. Wrayson, " he added, adopting once more his mysterious manner, "those love-letters don't go!What did the Baroness want in my brother's flat? She struck me dumb whenI first saw her. I admit it. I'd have swallowed anything. More fool me! Itell you, though, I'm not having any more. Will you come along with me toher house now, and see if we can't make her tell us the truth?"

Wrayson shook his head deliberately. 

"Mr. Barnes, " he said, "I am sorry to disappoint you, and I sympathizevery much with your position, but you mustn't take it for granted thatI am, shall we say, your ally in this matter. I haven't either the timeor the patience to give to investigations of this sort. I have donewhat I could for you, and I will give you what advice I can, or helpyou in any way, if you care to come and see me. But you mustn't counton anything else. "

Barnes' face dropped. He was obviously disappointed. 

"You won't come and see the Baroness with me even?" he asked. 

"I think not, " Wrayson answered. "To tell you the truth, I don't thinkthat it would be of any use. Even if your suspicions are correct--and youscarcely know what you suspect, do you?--the Baroness is much too clevera woman to allow herself to be pumped by either you or me. "

Wrayson felt himself subjected for several moments to the scrutinizingstare of those blinking, unpleasant eyes. 

"You're not taking her side against me, are you?" Barnes askeddistrustfully. 

"Certainly not, " Wrayson answered impatiently. "You must be reasonable, my young friend. I have done what I can to put you in the way of helpingyourself, but I am a busy man. I have my own affairs to look after, and Ican't afford to play the part of a twentieth-century Don Quixote. "

"I understand, " the young man said slowly. "You are going to turn me up. "

"You are putting a very foolish construction upon what I have said, "Wrayson answered irritably. "I have gone out of my way to help you, but, frankly, I think that yours is a wild-goose chase. "

Barnes rose to his feet and finished his brandy. 

"I don't believe it, " he declared. "I'm going to have that two thousand ayear, if I have to take that man Bentham by the throat and strangle thetruth out of him. If I can't find out without, I'll make him tell me thetruth if I swing for it. By God, I will!"

They left the place together and walked towards the corner of the street. 

"I shouldn't do anything rash, if I were you, " Wrayson said. "I fancyyou'd find Bentham a pretty tough sort to tackle. You must excuse me now. I am going into the club for a few minutes. "

"How are you, Wrayson?" a quiet voice asked behind. 

Wrayson turned round abruptly. It was Stephen Heneage who had greetedhim--the one man whom, at that moment, he was least anxious to meet ofany person in the world. Already he could see that Heneage was takingquiet but earnest note of his companion. 

Wrayson nodded a little abruptly and left Barnes without anyfurther farewell. 

"Coming round to the club?" he asked. 

Heneage assented, and glanced carelessly behind at Barnes, who waswalking slowly in the opposite direction. 

"Who's your friend?" he asked. "You shook him off a little suddenly, didn't you?"

"He is not a friend, " Wrayson answered, "and I was trying to get rid ofhim when you came up. He is nobody of any account. "

Heneage shook his head thoughtfully. 

"It won't do, Wrayson, " he said. "That young man possessed a cast offeatures which are positively unmistakable. "

"What do you mean?" Wrayson demanded. 

"I mean that he was a relation, and a near relation, too, I shouldimagine, of our deceased friend Morris Barnes, " Heneage answered coolly. "I shall be obliged to make that young man's acquaintance. "

"Damn you and your prying!" Wrayson exclaimed angrily. "I wish--"

He stopped abruptly. Heneage was already retracing his steps. 

Wrayson, after a moment's indecision, went on to the club, and made hisway at once to the billiard-room. The Colonel was sitting in his usualcorner chair, watching a game of pool, beaming upon everybody with hisfatherly smile, encouraging the man who met with ill luck, and applaudingthe successful shots. He was surrounded by his cronies, but he held outhis hand to Wrayson, who leaned against the wall by his side and waitedfor his opportunity. 

"Colonel, " he said at last in his ear, taking advantage of the applausewhich followed a successful shot, "I want half an hour's talk with you, quite by ourselves. Can you slip away and come and dine with mesomewhere?"

The Colonel looked dubious. 

"I'm afraid they won't like it, " he answered. "Freddy and George arehere, and Tempest's coming in later. "

"I can't help it, " Wrayson answered. "You can guess what it's about. It'sa serious matter. "

The Colonel sighed. 

"We might find an opportunity later on, " he suggested. 

"It won't do, " Wrayson answered. "I want to get right away from here. Iwouldn't bother you if it wasn't necessary. "

"I'm sure you wouldn't, " the Colonel admitted. "We'll slip away quietlywhen this game is over. It won't be long. Good shot, Freddy! Sixpence, you divide!"

They found themselves in the Strand about half an hour later. 

"Where shall we go?" Wrayson asked. "Somewhere quiet. "

"Across the way, " the Colonel answered. "We shan't see any one weknow there. "

Wrayson nodded, and they crossed the street and entered Luigi's. It wasearly for diners, and they found a small table in a retired corner. Wrayson ordered the dinner, and then leaned across the table towardshis guest. 

"It's that Barnes matter, Colonel, " he said quietly. "Heneage has takenit up and means going into it thoroughly. He saw me letting out yourdaughter that night. "

The Colonel was in the act of helping himself to _hors d'oeuvre. _ Hisfork remained suspended for a moment in the air. Then he set it down withtrembling fingers. The cheery light had faded from his face. He seemedsuddenly older. His voice sounded unnatural. 

"Heneage!" he repeated, sharply. "Stephen Heneage! What affair isit of his?"

"None, " Wrayson answered. "He likes that sort of thing, that's all. Hesaw--your daughter with a lady--the Baroness de Sturm, and the seeingthem together, after he had watched her come out of the flat that night, seemed to suggest something to him. He warned me that he had made up hismind to solve the mystery of Morris Barnes' murder; he advised me, infact, to clear out. And now, since then--"

The waiter brought the soup. Wrayson broke off and talked for a moment ortwo to the _maître d'hôtel, _ who had paused at their table. Presently, when they were alone, he went on. 

"Since then, a young brother of Barnes has turned up from South Africa. There was some mystery about Morris Barnes and the source of his income. The brother is just as determined to solve this as Heneage seems to be todiscover the--the murderer! They will work together, and I am afraid! Notfor myself! You know for whom. "

The Colonel was very grave. He ate slowly, and he seemed to be thinking. 

"There is one man, a solicitor named Bentham, " Wrayson continued, "who Ibelieve knows everything. But I do not think that even Heneage will beable to make him speak. His connection with the affair is on behalf of amysterious client. Young Barnes and I went to see him this afternoon, butbeyond encouraging the boy to search for the source of his brother'sincome, he wouldn't open his mouth. "

"A solicitor named Bentham, " the Colonel repeated mechanically. "Ah!"

"Do you know him?" Wrayson asked. 

"I have heard of him, " the Colonel answered. "A most disreputable person, I believe. He has offices in the Adelphi. "

Wrayson nodded. 

"And whatever his business is, " he continued, "it isn't the ordinarybusiness of a solicitor. He has no clerks--not even an office boy!"

The Colonel poured himself out a glass of wine. 

"No clerks--not even an office boy! It all agrees with what I have heard. A bad lot, Wrayson, I am afraid--a thoroughly bad lot. Are you sure thatup to now he has kept his own counsel?"

"I am sure of it, " Wrayson answered. 

The Colonel seemed in some measure to have recovered himself. He lookedWrayson in the face, and though grave, his expression was decidedlymore natural. 

"Herbert, " he asked, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, "who do youbelieve murdered Morris Barnes?"

"God knows, " Wrayson answered. 

"Do you believe--that--my daughter had any hand in it?"

"No!" Wrayson declared fiercely. 

The Colonel was silent for a moment. He seemed to be contemplating thelabel on the bottle of claret which reposed in its cradle by their side. 

"And yet, " he said thoughtfully, "she would necessarily be involved inany disclosures which were made. "

"And so should I, " Wrayson declared. "And those two, Sydney Barnes andHeneage, mean to bring about disclosures. That is why I felt that I musttalk to some one about this. Colonel, can't you get your daughter to tellus the whole truth--what she was doing in Barnes' flat that night, andall the rest of it? We should be forewarned then!"

The Colonel covered his face with his hand for a moment. The questionobviously distressed him. 

"I can't, Herbert, " he said, in a low tone. "You would scarcely think, would you, that I was the sort of man to live on irreconcilable termswith one of my own family? But there it is. Don't think hardly of her. Itis more the fault of circumstances than her fault. But I couldn't go tosee her--and she wouldn't come to see me. "

Wrayson sighed. 

"It is like the rest of this cursed mystery, utterly incomprehensible, "he declared. "I shall never--"

With his glass half raised to his lips, he paused suddenly in hissentence. His face became a study in the expression of a boundlessamazement. His eyes were fastened upon the figures of two people on theirway up the room, preceded by the smiling _maître d'hôtel. _ Some words, orrather an exclamation, broke incoherently from his lips. He set down hisglass hurriedly, and a stain of red wine crept unheeded across thetablecloth. 

"Look, " he whispered hoarsely, --"look!"

CHAPTER XVII

A CONFESSION OF LOVE

The Colonel turned bodily round in his chair. The couple to whom Wraysonhad drawn his attention were certainly incongruous enough to attractnotice anywhere. The man was lank, elderly, and of severe appearance. Hewas bald, he had slight side-whiskers, he wore spectacles, and his facewas devoid of expression. He was dressed in plain dinner clothes ofold-fashioned cut. The tails of his coat were much too short, his collarbelonged to a departed generation, and his tie was ready made. In a smallScotch town he might have passed muster readily enough as the clergymanor lawyer of the place. As a diner at Luigi's, ushered up the room to thesoft strains of "La Mattchiche, " and followed by such a companion, he wasalmost ridiculously out of place. If anything, she was the morenoticeable of the two to the casual observer. Her hair was dazzlinglyyellow, and arranged with all the stiffness of the coiffeur's art. Shewore a dress of black sequins, cut perilously low, and shorn a little bywear of its pristine splendour. Her complexion was as artificial as herhigh-pitched voice; her very presence seemed to exude perfumes of thepatchouli type. She was the sort of person concerning whom the veriestnovice in such matters could have made no mistake. Yet her companionseemed wholly unembarrassed. He handed her the menu and looked calmlyaround the room. 

"Who are those people?" the Colonel asked. "Rather a queer combination, aren't they?"

"The man is Bentham, the lawyer, " Wrayson answered. His eyes were fixedupon the lady, who seemed not at all indisposed to become the object ofany stray attention. 

"That Bentham!" the Colonel repeated, under his breath. "But what onearth--where the mischief could he pick up a companion like that?"

Wrayson scarcely heard him. He had withdrawn his eyes from the lady withan effort. 

"I have seen that woman somewhere, " he said thoughtfully--"somewherewhere she seemed quite as much out of place as she does here. Lately, too. "

"H'm!" the Colonel remarked, leaning back in his chair to allow thewaiter to serve him. "She's not the sort of person you'd be likely toforget either, is she?"

"And, by Heavens, I haven't!" Wrayson declared, suddenly laying down hisknife and fork. "I remember her now. It was at the inquest--Barnes'inquest. She was one of the two women at whose flat he called on his wayhome. What on earth is Bentham doing with her?"

"You think, " the Colonel remarked quietly, "that there is someconnection--"

"Of course there is, " Wrayson interrupted. "Does that old fossil looklike the sort to take such a creature about for nothing? Colonel, hedoesn't know himself--where those securities are! He's brought thatwoman here to pump her!"

The Colonel passed his hand across his forehead. 

"I am getting a little confused, " he murmured. 

"And I, " Wrayson declared, with barely suppressed excitement, "ambeginning to see at least the shadow of daylight. If only you had someinfluence with your daughter, Colonel!"

The Colonel looked at him steadfastly. Wrayson wondered whether it wasthe light, or whether indeed his friend had aged so much during the lastfew months. 

"I have no influence over my daughter, Wrayson, " he said. "I thought thatI had already explained that. And, Herbert, " he added, leaning over thetable, "why don't you let this matter alone? It doesn't concern you. Youare more likely to do harm than good by meddling with it. There may beinterests involved greater than you know of; you may find understanding agood deal more dangerous than ignorance. It isn't your affair, anyhow. Take my advice! Let it alone!"

"I wish I could, " Wrayson answered, with a little sigh. "Frankly, I wouldif I could, but it fascinates me. "

"All that I have heard of it, " the Colonel remarked wearily, "soundssordid enough. "

Wrayson nodded. 

"I think, " he said, "that it is the sense of personal contact in a caselike this which stirs the blood. I have memories about that night, Colonel, which I couldn't describe to you--or any one. And now this youngbrother coming on the scene seems to bring the dead man to life again. He's one of the worst type of young bounders I ever came into contactwith. A creature without sentiment or feeling of any sort--nothing but analmost ravenous cupidity. He's wearing his brother's clothes now--thinksnothing of it! He hasn't a single regret. I haven't heard a single decentword pass his lips. But he wants the money. Nothing else! The money!"

"Do you believe, " the Colonel asked, "that he will get it?"

"Who can tell?" Wrayson answered. "That Morris Barnes was in possessionof valuables of some sort, everything goes to prove. Just think of thenumber of people who have shown their interest in him. There is Benthamand his mysterious client, the Baroness de Sturm and your daughter, and--the person who murdered him. Apparently, even though he lost hislife, Barnes was too clever for them, for his precious belongings muststill be undiscovered. "

The Colonel finished his wine and leaned back in his chair. 

"I am tired of this subject, " he said. "I should like to get back tothe club. "

Wrayson called for the bill a little unwillingly. He was, in a sense, disappointed at the Colonel's attitude. 

"Very well, " he said, "we will bury it. But before we do so, there is onething I have had it in my mind to say--for some time. I want to say itnow. It is about your daughter, Colonel!"

The Colonel looked at him curiously. 

"My daughter?" he repeated, under his breath. 

Wrayson leaned a little forward. Something new had come into his face. This was the first time he had suffered such words to pass hislips--almost the first time he had suffered such thoughts to formthemselves in his mind. 

"I never looked upon myself, " he said quietly, "as a particularlyimpulsive person. Yet it was an impulse which prompted me to conceal thetruth as to her presence in the flat buildings that night. It was aserious thing to do, and somehow I fancy that the end is not yet. "

"Why did you do it?" the Colonel asked. "You did not know who she was. Itcould not have been that. "

"Why did I do it?" Wrayson repeated. "I can't tell you. I only know thatI should do it again and again if the need came. If I told you exactlyhow I felt, it would sound like rot. But I'm going to ask you thatquestion. "

"Well?"

The Colonel's grey eyebrows were drawn together. His eyes were keen andbright. So he might have looked in time of stress; but he was not in theleast like the genial idol of the Sheridan billiard-room. 

"If I came to you to-morrow, " Wrayson said, "and told you that I had metat last the woman whom I wished to make my wife, and that woman was yourdaughter, what should you say?"

"I should be glad, " the Colonel answered simply. 

"You and she are, for some unhappy reason, not on speaking terms. That--"

"Good God!" the Colonel interrupted, "whom do you mean? Whom are youtalking about?"

"About your daughter--whom I shielded--the companion of the Baroness deSturm. Your daughter Louise. "

The Colonel raised his trembling fingers to his forehead. His voicequivered ominously. 

"Of course! Of course! God help me, I thought you meant Edith! I neverthought of Louise. And Edith has spoken of you lately. "

"I found your younger daughter charming, " Wrayson said seriously, "butit was of your daughter Louise I was speaking. I thought that you wouldunderstand that. "

"My daughter--whom you found--in Morris Barnes' flat--that night?"

"Exactly, " Wrayson answered, "and my question is this. I cannot ask youwhy you and she parted, but at least you can tell me if you know of anyreason why I should not ask her to be my wife. "

The Colonel was silent. 

"No!" he said at last, "there is no reason. But she would not consent. Iam sure of that. "

"We will let it go at that, " Wrayson answered. "Come!"

He had chosen his moment for rising so as to pass down the room almost atthe same time as Mr. Bentham and his strange companion. Prolific ofsmiles and somewhat elephantine graces, the lady's darkened eyes metWrayson's boldly, and finding there some encouragement, she even favouredhim with a backward glance. In the vestibule he slipped a half-crown intothe attendant's hand. 

"See if you can hear the address that lady gives her cabman, " hewhispered. 

The boy nodded, and hurried out after them. Wrayson kept the Colonel backunder the pretence of lighting a fresh cigar. When at last they strolledforward, they met the boy returning. He touched his hat to Wrayson. 

"Alhambra, sir!" he said, quietly. "Gone off alone, sir, in a hansom. Gentleman walked. "

The Colonel kept silence until they were in the street. 

"Coming to the club?" he asked, a little abruptly. 

"No!" Wrayson answered. 

"You are going after that woman?" the Colonel exclaimed. 

"I am going to the Alhambra, " Wrayson answered. "I can't help it. Itsounds foolish, I suppose, but this affair fascinates me. It works on mynerves somehow. I must go. "

The Colonel turned on his heel. Without another word, he crossed theStrand, leaving Wrayson standing upon the pavement. Wrayson, with alittle sigh, turned westwards. 

CHAPTER XVIII

AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE

Wrayson easily discovered the object of his search. She was seated upon alounge in the promenade, her ample charms lavishly displayed, and herblackened eyes mutely questioning the passers-by. She welcomed Wraysonwith a smile which she meant to be inviting, albeit she was a littlesuspicious. Men of Wrayson's stamp and appearance were not often sucheasy victims. 

"Saw you at Luigi's, didn't I?" he asked, hat in hand. 

She nodded, and made room for him to sit down by her side. 

"Did you see the old stick I was with?" she asked. "I don't know why Iwas fool enough to go out with him. Trying to pump me about poor oldBarney, too, all the time. Just as though I couldn't see through him. "

"Old Barney!" Wrayson repeated, a little perplexed. 

She laughed coarsely. 

"Oh! come, that won't do!" she declared. "I'm almost sure you're on thesame lay yourself. Didn't I see you at the inquest?--Morris Barnes'inquest, of course? You know whom I mean right enough. "

"I know whom you mean now, " Wrayson admitted. "Yes! I was there. Queeraffair, wasn't it?"

The lady nodded. 

"I should like a liqueur, " she remarked, with apparent irrelevance. "Benedictine!"

They were seated in front of a small table, and were at times the objectof expectant contemplation on the part of a magnificent individual inlivery and knee-breeches. Wrayson summoned him and ordered twoBenedictines. 

"Now I don't mind telling you, " the lady continued, leaning over towardshim confidentially, "that I'm dead off that old man who came prying roundand took me out to dinner, to pump me about poor Barney! He didn't getmuch out of me. For one thing, I don't know much. But the little I doknow I'd sooner tell you than him. "

"You're very kind, " Wrayson murmured. "He used to come to these places agood deal, didn't he?"

She nodded assent. 

"He was always either here or at the Empire. He wasn't a bad sort, Barney, although he was just like all the rest of them, close with hismoney when he was sober, and chucking it about when he'd had a drop toomuch. What did you want to know about him in particular?"

"Well, for one thing, " Wrayson answered, "where he got his money from. "

She shook her head. 

"He was always very close about that, " she said. "The only story I everheard him tell was that he'd made it mining in South Africa. "

"You have really heard him say that?" Wrayson asked. 

"Half a dozen times, " she declared. 

"That proves, at any rate, " he remarked thoughtfully, "that there wassome mystery about his income, because I happen to know that he cameback from South Africa a pauper. "

"Very likely, " she remarked. "Barney was always the sort who would rathertell a lie than the truth. "

"Did he say anything to you that night about being in any kind ofdanger?" he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"No! I don't think so. I didn't take particular notice of what he said, because he was a bit squiffy. I believe he mentioned some thing about abusiness appointment that night, but I really didn't take much notice. "

"You didn't tell them anything about that at the inquest, " Wraysonremarked. 

"I know I didn't, " she admitted. "You see, I was so knocked over, and Ireally didn't remember anything clearly, that I thought it was best tosay nothing at all. They'd only have been trying to ferret things out ofme that I couldn't have told them. "

"I think that you were very wise, " Wrayson said. "You don't happen toremember anything else that he said, I suppose?"

"No! except that he seemed a little depressed. But there's something elseabout Barney that I always suspected, that I've never heard mentionedyet. Mind you, it may be true or it may not, but I always suspected it. "

"What was that?" Wrayson demanded. 

"I believe that he was married, " she declared impressively. 

"Married!"

Wrayson looked incredulous. It certainly did not seem probable. 

"Where is his wife then?" he asked. "Why hasn't she turned up to claimhis effects? Besides, he lived alone. He was my neighbour, you know. Hisbrother has taken possession of his flat. "

The lady rather enjoyed the impression she had made. She was not averse, either, to being seen in so prominent a place in confidential talk with aman of Wrayson's appearance. It might not be directly remunerative, butit was likely to do her good. 

"He showed me a photograph once, " she continued. "A baby-faced chit of agirl it was, but he was evidently very proud of it. A little girl of hisdown in the country, he told me. Then, do you know this? He was never inLondon for Sunday. Every week-end he went off somewhere; and I neverheard of any one who ever saw him or knew where he went to. "

"This is very interesting, " Wrayson admitted; "but if he was married, surely his wife would have turned up by now!"

"Why should she?" the lady answered. "Don't you see that she very likelyhas what all you gentlemen seem to be so anxious about--his income?"

"By Jove!" Wrayson exclaimed softly. "Of course, if there wasanything mysterious about the source of it, all the more reason forher to keep dark. "

"Well, that's what I've had in my mind, " she declared, summoning thewaiter. "I'll take another liqueur, if you don't mind. "

Wrayson nodded. His thoughts were travelling fast. 

"Did you tell Mr. Bentham this?" he asked. 

"Not I, " she answered. "The old fool got about as much out of me as hedeserved--and that's nothing. "

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged, " Wrayson answered, drawing out hispocketbook. "I wonder if I might be allowed--?"

He glanced at her inquiringly. She nodded. "I'm not proud, " shedeclared. 

 * * * * *

"As an amateur detective, " Wrayson remarked to himself, as he strolledhomewards, "I am beginning rather to fancy myself. And yet--"

His thoughts had stolen away. He forgot Morris Barnes and the sordidmystery of which he was the centre. He remembered only the compellingcause which was driving him towards the solution of it. The night waswarm, and he walked slowly, his hands behind him, and ever before hiseyes the shadowy image of the girl who had brought so many strangesensations into his somewhat uneventful life. Would he ever see her, hewondered, without the light of trouble in her eyes, with colour in hercheeks, and joy in her tone? He thought of her violet-rimmed eyes, herhesitating manner, her air always as of one who walked hand in hand withfear. She was not meant for these things! Her lips and eyes were made forlaughter; she was, after all, only a girl. If he could but lift thecloud! And then he looked upwards and saw her--leaning from the littleiron balcony, and looking out into the cool night. 

He half stopped. She did not move. It was too dark to see her features, but as he looked upwards a strange idea came to him. Was it a gesture orsome unspoken summons which travelled down to him through thesemi-darkness? He only knew, as he turned and entered the flat, that anew chapter of his life was opening itself out before him. 

CHAPTER XIX

DESPERATE WOOING

Wrayson felt, from the moment he crossed the threshold of the room, thathe had entered an atmosphere charged with elusive emotion. He was notsure of himself or of her as she turned slowly to greet him. Only he wasat once conscious that something of that change in her which he hadprophetically imagined was already shining out of her eyes. She was atonce more natural and further removed from him. 

"I am glad, " she said simply. "I wanted to say good-bye to you. "

He was stunned for a moment. He had not imagined this. 

She nodded. 

"Good-bye!" he repeated. "You are going away?"

"To-morrow. Oh! I am glad. You don't know how glad I am. "

She swept past him and sank into an easy-chair. She wore a blackvelveteen evening dress, cut rather high, without ornament or relief ofany sort, and her neck gleamed like polished ivory from which creepsalways a subtle shade of pink. Her hair was parted in the middle andbrushed back in little waves, her eyes were full of fire, and her facewas no longer passive. Beautiful she had seemed to him before, butbeautiful with a sort of impersonal perfection. She was beautiful now inher own right, the beauty of a woman whom nature has claimed for her own, who acknowledges her heritage. The fear-frozen subjectivity in which hehad yet found enough to fascinate him had passed away. He felt that shewas a stranger. 

"Always, " she murmured, "I shall think of London as the city of dreadfulmemories. I should like to be going to set my face eastwards or westwardsuntil I was so far away that even memory had perished. But that is justwhere the bonds tell, isn't it?"

"There are many who can make the bonds elastic, " he answered. "It is onlya question of going far enough. "

"Alas!" she answered, "a few hundred miles are all that aregranted to me. And London is like a terrible octopus. Its armsstretch over the sea. "

"A few hundred miles, " he repeated, with obvious relief. "Northward orsouthward, or eastward or westward?"

"Southward, " she answered. "The other side of the Channel. That, atleast, is something. I always like to feel that there is sea between meand a place which I--loathe!"

"Is London so hateful to you, then?" he asked. 

"Perhaps I should not have said that, " she answered. "Say a place ofwhich I am afraid!"

He looked across at her. He, too, in obedience to a gesture from her, was seated. 

"Come, " he said, "we will not talk of London, then. Tell me where youare going. "

She shook her head. 

"To a little Paradise I know of. "

"Paradise, " he reminded her, "was meant for two. "

"There will be two of us, " she answered, smiling. 

He felt his heart thump against his ribs. 

"Then if one wanted to play the part of intruder?"

She shook her head. 

"The third person in Paradise was always very much _de trop_, " shereminded him. 

"It depends upon the people who are already there, " he protested. 

"My friend, " she said, "is in search of solitude, absolute and complete. "

He shook his head. 

"Such a place does not exist, " he declared confidently. "Your friendmight as well have stayed at home. "

"She relies upon me to procure it for her, " she said. 

A rare smile flashed from Wrayson's lips. 

"You can't imagine what a relief her sex is to me!" he exclaimed. 

"I don't know why, " she answered pensively. "Do you know anything aboutthe North of France, Mr. Wrayson?"

"Not much, " he answered. "I hope to know more presently. "

Her eyes laughed across at him. 

"You know what I said about the third person in Paradise?"

"I can't admit your Paradise, " he said. 

"You are a heretic, " she answered. "It is a matter of sex, of course. "

"Naturally! Paradise is so relative. It may be the halo thrownround a court in the city or a rose garden in the country, anyplace where love is!"

"And may I not love my friend!" she demanded. 

"You may love me, " he answered, the passion suddenly vibrating in histone. "I will be more faithful than any friend. I will build Paradise foryou--wherever you will! I will build the walls so high that no harm orany fear shall pass them. "

She waved him back. Something of the old look, which he hated so to see, was in her face. 

"You must not talk to me like this, Mr. Wrayson, " she said. "Indeed youmust not. "

"Why not?" he demanded. "If there is a reason I will know it. "

She looked him steadily in the eyes. 

"Can't you imagine one for yourself?" she asked. 

He laughed scornfully. 

"You don't understand, " he said. "There is only one reason in the worldthat I would admit--I don't even know that I would accept that. The otherthings don't count. They don't exist. "

She looked at him a little incredulously. She was still sitting, and hewas standing now before her. Her fingers rested lightly upon the arms ofher chair, she was leaning slightly forward as though watching forsomething in his face. 

"Tell me that there is another man, " he cried, "that you don't carefor me, that you never could care for me, and I will go away and youshall never see my face again. But nothing short of that will drive mefrom you. "

He spoke quickly, his tone was full of nervous passion. It never occurredto her to doubt him. 

"You can be what else you like, " he continued, "thief, adventuress--murderess! So long as there is no other man! Come to me andI will take you away from it all. "

She laughed very softly, and his pulses thrilled at the sound, for therewas no note of mockery there; it was the laugh of a woman who listens tohidden music. 

"You are a bold lover, " she murmured. "Have you been reading romanceslately? Do you know that it is the twentieth century, and I have seen youthree times? You don't know what you say. You can't mean it. "

"By Heaven, I do!" he cried, and for one exquisite moment he held her inhis arms. Then she freed herself with a sudden start. She had lost hercomposure. Her cheeks were flushed. 

"Don't!" she cried, sharply. "Remember our first meeting. I am not thesort of person you imagine. I never can be. There are reasons--"

He swept them aside. Something seemed to tell him that if he did notsucceed with her now, his opportunity would be gone forever. 

"I will listen to none of them, " he declared, standing between her andthe door. "They don't matter! Nothing matters! I choose you for my wife, and I will have you. I wouldn't care if you came to me from a prison. Better give in, Louise. I shan't let you escape. "

She had indeed something of the look of a beautiful hunted animal as sheleaned a little towards him, her eyes riveted upon his, her lips a littleparted, her bosom rising and falling quickly. She was taken completely bysurprise. She had not given Wrayson credit for such strength of mind orpurpose. She had believed entirely in her own mastery over him, for anysuch assault as he was now making. And she was learning the truth. Lovethat makes a woman weak lends strength to the man. Their positions werebecoming reversed. It was he who was dictating to her. 

"I am going away, " she said nervously. "You will forget me. You mustforget me. "

"You shall not go away, " he answered, "unless I know where. Don't beafraid. You can keep your secrets, whatever they are. I want to knownothing. Go on exactly with the life you are leading, if it pleases you. I shan't interfere. But you are going to be my wife, and you shall notleave London without telling me about it. "

"I am leaving London, " she faltered, "to-morrow. "

"I was thinking, " he remarked, calmly, "of taking a little holidaymyself. "

She laughed uneasily. 

"You are absurd, " she declared, "and you must go away. Really! TheBaroness will be home directly. I would rather, I would very much ratherthat she did not find you here. "

He held out his arms to her. His eyes were bright with the joy ofconquest. 

"I will go, Louise, " he answered, "but first I will have my answer--andno answer save one will do!"

She bit her lip. She was moved by some emotion, but he was unable, forthe moment, to classify it. 

"I think, " she declared, "that you must be the most persistent manon earth. "

"You are going to find me so, " he assured her. 

"Listen, " she said firmly, "I will not marry you!"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"On that point, " he answered, "I am content to differ from you. Anything else?"

She stamped her foot. 

"I do not care for you! I do not wish to marry you!" she repeated. "I amgoing away, and I forbid you to follow me. "

"No good!" he declared, stolidly. "I am past all that. "

She held up her finger, and glanced backward out of the window. 

"It is the Baroness, " she said. "I must go and open the door. "

For one moment she lay passive in his arms; then he could have sworn thather lips returned his kiss. She was there when they heard the turning ofa latch-key in the door. With a little cry she slipped away and left himalone. The outer door was thrown open, and the Baroness stood upon thethreshold. 

CHAPTER XX

STABBED THROUGH THE HEART

The Baroness recognized Wrayson with a little shrug of the shoulders. 

"Ah! my dear Mr. Wrayson, " she exclaimed, "this is very kind of you. Youhave been keeping Louise company, I hope. And see what droll thingshappen! It is your friend, Mr. Barnes, who has brought me home thisevening, and who will take a whisky and soda before he goes. Is it notso, my friend?"

She turned around, but there was no immediate response. The Baronesslooked over the banisters and beheld her escort in the act of ascending. 

"Coming right along, " he called out cheerfully. "It was the cabman whotried to stop me. He wanted more than his fare. Found he'd tackled thewrong Johnny this time. "

Mr. Sydney Barnes came slowly into view. He was wearing an evening suit, obviously too large for him, a made-up white tie had slipped roundunderneath his ear, a considerable fragment of red silk handkerchief wasvisible between his waistcoat and much crumpled white shirt. An operahat, also too large for him, he was wearing very much on the back of hishead, and he was smoking a very black cigar, from which he had failed toremove the band. He frowned when he saw Wrayson, but followed theBaroness into the room with a pronounced swagger. 

"You two need no introduction, of course, " the Baroness remarked. "I amnot going to tell you where I found Mr. Barnes. I do not expect to bevery much longer in England, so perhaps I am not so careful as I ought tobe. Louise, if she knew, would be shocked. Now, Mr. Wrayson, do not hurryaway. You will take some whisky and soda? I am afraid that my youngfriend has not been very hospitable. "

"You are very kind, " Wrayson said. "To tell you the truth, I was ratherhoping to see Miss Fitzmaurice again. She disappeared rather abruptly. "

The Baroness shook her finger at him in mock reproach. 

"You have been misbehaving, " she declared. "Never mind. I will go and seewhat I can do for you. "

She stood for a moment before a looking-glass arranging her hair, andthen left the room humming a light tune. Sydney Barnes, with his hands inhis pockets, flung himself into an easy-chair. 

"I say, " he began, "I don't quite see what you're doing here. "

Wrayson looked at him for a moment in supercilious surprise. 

"I scarcely see, " he answered, "how my movements concern you. "

Mr. Barnes was unabashed. 

"Oh! chuck it, " he declared. "You know very well what I'm thinking of. Totell you the truth, I've come to the conclusion that there's someconnection between this household and my brothers affairs. That's why I'mpalling on to the Baroness. She's a fine woman--class, you know, and allthat sort of thing, but what I want is the shino! You tumble?"

Wrayson shrugged his shoulders slightly. 

"I wish you every success, " he said. "Personally, I think that you arewasting your time here. "

"Perhaps so, " Barnes answered. "I'm taking my own risks. "

Wrayson turned away, and at that moment the Baroness re-entered the room. 

"My friend, " she said, addressing Wrayson, "I can do nothing for you. Whether you have offended Louise or made her too happy, I cannot say. Butshe will not come down. You will not see her again to-night. "

"I am sorry, " Wrayson answered. "She is going away to-morrow, Iunderstand?"

The Baroness sighed. 

"Alas!" she declared, "I must not answer any questions. Louise hasforbidden it. "

Wrayson took up his hat. 

"In that case, " he remarked, "there remains nothing for me but to wishyou good night!"

There was a cab on the rank opposite, and Wrayson, after a moment'shesitation, entered it and was driven to the club. He scarcely expectedto find any one there, but he was in no mood for sleep, and the thoughtof his own empty rooms chilled him. Somewhat to his surprise, however, hefound the smoking-room full. The central figure of the most importantgroup was the Colonel, his face beaming with good-nature, and his cheeksjust a little flushed. He welcomed Wrayson almost boisterously. 

"Come along, Herbert, " he cried. "Plenty of room. What'll you have todrink, and have you heard the news?"

"Whisky and soda, " Wrayson answered, sinking into an easy-chair, "and Ihaven't heard any news. "

The Colonel took his cigar from his mouth, and leaned forward in hischair. He had the appearance of a man who was striving to appear moregrave than he felt. 

"You remember the old chap we saw dining at Luigi's to-night--Bentham, Ithink you said his name was?"

Wrayson nodded. 

"Of course! What about him?"

"He's dead!" the Colonel declared. 

Wrayson jumped out of his chair. 

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean it, Colonel!"

"Unfortunately, I do, " the Colonel answered. "He was found dead on thestairs leading to his office, about ten o'clock to-night. A mostinteresting case. The murder, presuming it was a murder, appears to havebeen committed--"

Wrayson was suddenly pale. 

"Murder!" he repeated. "Colonel, do you mean this?"

The Colonel, who hated being interrupted, answered a little testily. 

"My dear Wrayson, " he expostulated, "is this the sort of thing a maninvents for fun? Do listen for a moment, if you can, in patience. It is adeeply interesting case. If you remember, it was about nine o'clock whenwe left Luigi's; Bentham must have gone almost straight to his office, for he was found there dead a very few minutes after ten. "

"Who killed him, and why?" Wrayson asked breathlessly. 

"That, I suppose, we shall know later, " the Colonel answered. "Thepolice will be on their mettle this time, but it isn't a particularlyeasy case. He was found lying on his face, stabbed through the heart. That is all anybody knows. "

The thoughts went rushing through Wrayson's brain. He remembered the manas he had seemed only a few hours ago, cold, stonily indifferent toyoung Barnes' passionate questions, inflexibly silent, a man who mighteasily kindle hatreds, to all appearance without a soft spot or anyhuman feeling. He remembered the close of their interview, and SydneyBarnes' rash threat. The suggested idea clothed itself almostunconsciously with words. 

"I have just seen young Barnes, " he said. "He has been at the Empire allthe evening. "

The Colonel lit another cigar. 

"It takes a man of nerve and deliberation, " he remarked, "to commit amurder. From what I have heard of him, I should not imagine your youngfriend to be possessed of either. The lady whom he was entertaining, orrather failing to entertain, at dinner--"

"I have seen her since, " Wrayson interrupted shortly. "She went straightto the Alhambra. "

The Colonel nodded. 

"I would have insured her against even suspicion, " he remarked. "She wasa large, placid woman, of the flabby order of nerves. She will probablyfaint when she hears what has happened. She might box a man's ears, buther arm would never drive a dagger home into his heart, especially withsuch beautiful, almost mathematical accuracy. We must look elsewhere, Ifancy, for the person who has paid Bentham's debt to society. Heneage, here, has an interesting theory. "

Wrayson looked across and found that his eyes met Heneage's. He wassitting a little in the background, with a newspaper in his hand, whichhe was, however, only affecting to read. He was taking note of every wordof the conversation. He was obviously annoyed at the Colonel's referenceto him, but he did his best to conceal it. 

"Scarcely a theory, " he remarked, laying down his paper for a moment. "Ican hardly call it that. I only remarked that I happened to know a littleabout Bentham, and that his clients, if he had any, were mostlyforeigners, and their business of a shady nature. As a matter of fact, hewas struck off the rolls here some years ago. I forget the case now, butI know that it was a pretty bad one. "

"So you see, " the Colonel resumed, "he was probably in touch with a looselot, though what benefit his death could have been to any one it is, ofcourse, a little hard to imagine. Makes one think, somehow, of thisMorris Barnes affair, doesn't it? I wonder if there is any connectionbetween the two. "

Heneage laid down his paper now, and abandoned his attitude ofindifferent listener. He was obviously listening for what Wraysonhad to say. 

"Connection of some sort between the two men there certainly was, "Wrayson admitted. "We know that. "

"Exactly, " Heneage remarked. "I speak without knowing very much aboutthe matter, but I am thoroughly convinced of one thing. If you can findthe murderer of Morris Barnes, you will solve, at the same time, themystery of Bentham's death. It is the same affair; part and parcel ofthe same tangle. "

The Colonel was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be reflecting onHeneage's words. 

"I believe you are right, " he said at last. "I should be curious to know, though, how you arrived at this decision. "

Heneage looked past him at Wrayson. 

"You should ask Wrayson, " he said. 

But Wrayson had risen, and was sauntering towards the door. 

"I'm off, " he remarked, looking backwards and nodding his farewells. "IfI stay here any longer, I shall have nightmare. Time you fellows were inbed, too. How's the Malleni fund, Colonel?"

The Colonel's face relaxed. A smile of genuine pleasure lit up hisfeatures. 

"Going strong, " he declared triumphantly. "We shall ship him off forItaly next week with a very tidy little cheque in his pocket. Dear oldDobson gave us ten pounds, and the concert fund is turning out well. "

Wrayson lit a cigarette and looked back from the open door. 

"You're more at home with philanthropy than horrors, Colonel, " heremarked. "Good night, everybody!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE FLIGHT OF LOUISE

The Baroness was looking her best, and knew it. She had slept well thenight before, and her eyes were soft and clear. Her maid had beenunusually successful with her hair, and her hat, which had arrivedonly that morning from Paris, was quite the smartest in the room. Shewas at her favourite restaurant, and her solitary companion was agood-looking man, added to which the caviar was delightfully fresh, and the toast crisp and thin. Consequently the Baroness was in aparticularly good temper. 

"I really do wish, my dear friend, " she said, smiling across at him, "that I could do what you ask. But it is not so simple, not so simple asyou think. You say, 'Give me the address of your friend, ' You ask menicely, and I like you well enough to be glad to do it. But Louise shesay to me, 'Give no one my address! Let no one know where I am gone. '"

"I'm sure she didn't mean that to apply to me, " Wrayson pleaded. 

"Ah! but she even mentioned your name, " the Baroness declared. "I say toher, 'Not even Mr. Wrayson?' and she answered, 'No! No! No!'"

"And you promised?" he asked. 

"Why, yes! What else could I do?" she replied. "I say to her, 'You are avery foolish girl, Louise. After you have gone you will be sorry. Mr. Wrayson will be angry with you, and I shall make myself very, veryagreeable to him, and who knows but he will forget all about you?' ButLouise she only shake her head. She knows her own countrymen too well. They are so terribly insularly constant. "

"Is that such a very bad quality, Baroness?"

"Ah! I find it so, " she admitted. "I do not like the man who can think ofonly one thing, only one woman at a time. He is so dull, he has noimagination. If he has only one sweetheart, how can he know anythingabout us? for in a hundred different women there are no two alike. "

"That is all very well, " Wrayson answered, smiling; "but, you see, if aman cares very much for one particular woman, he hasn't the leastcuriosity about the rest of her sex. "

She sighed gently, and her eyes flashed her regrets. Very blue eyes theywere to-day, almost as blue as the turquoises about her throat. 

"They say, " she murmured, "that some Englishmen are like that. It is somuch a pity--when they are nice!"

"I suppose, " he suggested, "that yours is the Continental point of view. "

She was silent until the waiter, who was filling her glass with whitewine, had departed. Then she leaned over towards him. Her forehead was alittle wrinkled, her eyebrows raised. She had the half-plaintive air of achild who is complaining of being unjustly whipped. 

"Yes! I think it is, " she answered. "The lover, as I know him, is one whocould not be unkind to a woman. In his heart he is faithful, perhaps, toone, but for her sake the whole world of beautiful women are objects ofinterest to him. He will flirt with them when they will. He is alwaystheir admirer. In the background there may always be what you call thepreference, but that is his secret. "

Wrayson smiled across the table. 

"This is a very dangerous doctrine, Baroness!" he declared. 

"Dangerous?" she murmured. 

"For us! Remember that we are a susceptible race. "

She flung out her hands and shook her head. Susceptible! She denied itvehemently. 

"It is on the contrary, " she declared. "You do not lose your heads oryour hearts very easily, you Englishmen. "

"You do not know us, " he protested. 

"I know _you_, " she answered. "For myself, I admit it. When I am with aman who is nice, I try that I may make him, just a little, no more, butjust a little in love with me. It makes things more amusing. It is betterfor him, and we are not bored. But with you, _mon ami, I_ know very wellthat I waste my time. And so, I ask you instead this question. Tell mewhy you have invited me to take luncheon with you. "

She flashed her question across at him carelessly enough, but he feltthat she expected an answer, and that she was not to be deceived. 

"I wanted Miss Fitzmaurice's address, " he said. 

"Naturally. But what else?"

He sighed. 

"I want to know more than you will tell me, I am afraid, " he said. "Iwant to know why you and Miss Fitzmaurice are living together in Londonand leading such an unusual life, and how in Heaven's name you becameconcerned in the affairs of Morris Barnes. "

"Ah!" she said. "You want to know that? So!"

"I do, " he admitted. 

"And yet, " she remarked, "even for that it was not worth while to makelove to me! You ask so much, my friend, and you give so little. "

"If you--" he began, a little awkwardly. 

Her light laugh stopped him. 

"Ah, no! my friend, you must not be foolish, " she said. "I will tell youwhat I can for nothing, and that, I am afraid, is very little more thannothing. But as for offering me a bribe, you must not think of that. Itwould not be _comme-il-faut;_ not at all _gentil_. "

"Tell me what you can, then, " he begged. 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

"It is so little, " she declared; "only this. We are not adventuresses, Louise and I. We are living together because we were schoolfellows, andbecause we are both anxious to succeed in a certain undertaking to which, for different reasons, we have pledged ourselves. To succeed we neededsome papers which had come into the hands of Mr. Morris Barnes. That iswhy I am civil to that little--what you call bounder, his brother. "

"It sounds reasonable enough, this, " Wrayson said; "but what aboutthe murder of Morris Baines, on the very night, you know, when Louisewas there?"

"It is all a very simple matter, " the Baroness answered, quietly, "butyet it is a matter where the death of a few such men would count fornothing. A few ages ago it would not have been a matter of a dozen MorrisBarnes, no, nor a thousand! Diplomacy is just as cruel, and just asruthless, as the battlefield, only it works, down there--underground!"

"It is a political matter, then?" Wrayson asked swiftly. 

The Baroness smiled. She took a cigarette from her little gold caseand lit it. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "you must not try to, what you say, pump me! You cancall it what you will. Only to Louise, as to me, it is very much apersonal affair. Shall we talk now, for a little, of other things?"

Wrayson sighed. 

"I may not know, then, " he begged, "where Louise has gone, or why?"

"It would not be her wish, " the Baroness answered, "that I shouldtell you. "

"Very well, " Wrayson said, "I will ask you no more questions. Only this. I have told you of this man Bentham. "

The Baroness inclined her head. He had told her nothing that wasnews to her. 

"Was he on your side, or opposed to you?"

"You are puzzling me, " the Baroness confessed. 

"Already, " Wrayson explained, "I know as much of the affair as this. Morris Barnes was in possession of something, I do not know whether itwas documents, or what possible material shape it had, but it brought himin a considerable income, and both you and some others were endeavouringto obtain possession of it. So far, I believe that neither of you havesucceeded. Morris Barnes has been murdered in vain; Bentham the lawyer, who telephoned to me on the night of his death, has shared his fate. Towhose account do these two murders go, yours or the others'?"

"I cannot answer that question, Mr. Wrayson, " the Baroness said. 

"Do you know, " Wrayson demanded, dropping his voice a little, "that, butfor my moral, if not actual perjury, Louise herself would have beencharged with the murder of Morris Barnes?"

"She had a narrow escape, " the Baroness admitted. 

"She had a narrow escape, " Wrayson declared, "but the unfortunate part ofthe affair is, that she is not even now safe!"

The Baroness looked at him curiously. She was in the act of drawing onher gloves, but her fingers suddenly became rigid. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"I mean, " Wrayson said, "that another person saw her come out of theflats that night. It was a friend of mine, who kept silence at firstbecause he believed that it was a private assignation of my own. Sincethen events have occurred to make him think differently. He has goneover to the other side. He is spending his time with young SydneyBarnes, and he has set himself to discover the mystery of Morris Barnes'murder. He has even gone so far as to give me warning that I should bebetter out of England. "

"Who is this person?" the Baroness asked calmly. 

"His name is Stephen Heneage, and he is a member of my club, the club towhich Louise's father also belongs, " Wrayson replied. 

The Baroness suddenly dropped her veil, but not before Wrayson had seena sudden change in her face. He remembered suddenly that Heneage was nostranger to her, he remembered the embarrassment of their meeting atthe Alhambra. 

"You know him, of course, " he repeated. "Heneage is not a man to betrifled with. He has had experience in affairs of this sort, he is noordinary amateur detective. "

"Yes! I know Mr. Stephen Heneage, " the Baroness said. "Tell me, doesLouise know?"

Wrayson shook his head. 

"I have had no opportunity of telling her, " he answered. "I might nothave thought so seriously of it, but this morning I received a notefrom Heneage. "

"Yes! What did he say?"

"It was only a line or two, " Wrayson answered. "He reminded me of hisprevious warning to me to leave England for a time, and he underlined it. Louise ought to know. I want to tell her!"

"I am glad you did not tell me this before, " the Baroness said, as theyleft the room together, "or it would have spoiled my luncheon. I do notlike your friend, Mr. Heneage!"

"You will give me Louise's address?" he asked. "Some one must see her. "

"I will send it you, " the Baroness promised, "before the day is out. "

CHAPTER XXII

THE CHÂTEAU OF ÉTARPE

"One would scarcely believe, " Wrayson remarked, leaning back in his chairand drawing in a long deep breath, "that we are within three miles of oneof the noisiest and most bustling of French watering places. "

"It is incredible, " his companion admitted. 

They were seated in a garden behind the old inn of the _Lion d'Or_, inthe village of St. Étarpe. Before them was a round table, on whosespotless white cloth still remained dishes of fruit and a bottle ofwine--not the _vin ordinaire_ which had been served with their repast, but something which Wrayson had ordered specially, and which the landlordhimself, all smiles and bows, had uncorked and placed before them. Wrayson produced his cigarette case. 

"How did you hear of this place?" he asked, watching the smoke curlupwards into the breathless air. "I fancy that you and I are the onlyguests here. "

Wrayson's companion, tall, broad-shouldered, and heavily bearded, wasbusy filling a pipe from a pouch by his side. His features wereunmistakably Saxon, and his cheeks were tanned, as though by muchexposure to all sorts of weathers. He was still apparently on the rightside of middle age, but his manners were grave, almost reserved. 

"I was in the neighbourhood many years ago, " he answered. "I had a fancyto revisit the place. And you?"

"I discovered it entirely by accident, " Wrayson admitted. "I walked outfrom Chourville this morning, stayed here for some luncheon, and was sodelighted that I took a room and went straight back for my bag. Thereisn't an emperor in Europe who has so beautiful a dining-room as this!"

Together they looked across the valley, a wonderful panorama of vine-cladslopes and meadows, starred with many-coloured wild flowers, throughwhich the river wound its way, now hidden, now visible, a thin line ofgleaming quicksilver. Tall poplars fringed its banks, and there werewhite cottages and farmhouses, mostly built in the shelter of thevine-covered cliffs. To the left a rolling mass of woods was pierced byone long green avenue, at the summit of which stretched the grey frontand towers of the Château de St. Étarpe. Wrayson looked long at thefertile and beautiful country, which seemed to fade so softly away in thehorizon; but he looked longest at the chateâu amongst the woods. 

"I wonder who lives there, " he remarked. "I meant to have askedthe waiter. "

"I can tell you, " the stranger said. "The château belongs to the Baronessde Sturm. "

"A Frenchwoman?" Wrayson asked. 

"Half French, half Belgian. She has estates in both countries, Ibelieve, " his companion answered. "As a matter of fact, I believe thatthis château is hers in her own right as a daughter of the Étarpes. Shemarried a Belgian nobleman. "

"You seem well acquainted with the neighbourhood, " Wrayson remarked. 

"I have been here before, " was the somewhat short answer. 

Wrayson produced his card-case. 

"As we seem likely to see something of one another during the next fewdays, _nolens volens_, " he remarked, "may I introduce myself? My name isWrayson, Herbert Wrayson, and I come from London. "

The stranger took the card a little doubtfully. 

"I am much obliged, " he said. "I do not carry a card-case, but my nameis Duncan. "

"An Englishman, of course?" Wrayson remarked smiling. 

"I am English, " Mr. Duncan answered, "but I have not been in England formany years. "

There was something about his manner which forbade any furtherquestioning on Wrayson's part. The two men sat together in silence, andWrayson, although not of a curious turn of mind, began to feel more thanan ordinary interest in his companion. One thing he noticed inparticular. Although, as the sun sank lower, the beauties of thelandscape below increased, Duncan's eyes scarcely for a moment restedupon them. He had turned his chair a little, and he sat directly facingthe chateâu. The golden cornfields, the stained-glass windows of the greychurch rising like a cathedral, as it were, in the midst of thedaffodil-starred meadows, caught now with the flood of the dying sunlightmingled so harmoniously with their own time-mellowed richness, theincreasing perfume of the flowers by which they were surrounded, --none ofthese things seemed for one moment to distract his attention. Steadilyand fixedly he gazed up that deep green avenue, empty indeed of anymoving object, and yet seemingly not empty to him. For he had the air ofone who sees beyond the world of visible objects, of one who sees thingsdimmed to those of only natural powers. With what figures, Wraysonwondered, idly, was he peopling that empty avenue, what were the fancieswhich had crept out from his brain and held him spellbound? He hadadmitted a more or less intimate acquaintance with the place: was he, perhaps, a former lover of the Baroness, when she had been simply Amy deSt. Étarpe? Wrayson forgot, for a while, his own affairs, in followingout these mild speculations. The soft twilight stole down upon them; hereand there little patches of grey mist came curling up the valley. A batcame flying about their heads, and Wrayson at last rose. 

"I shall take a stroll. " he remarked, "and turn in. Good night, if Idon't see you again!"

The man named Duncan turned his head. 

"Good night!" he said, mechanically. 

Wrayson walked down the garden and passed through a wicket-gate into thebroad white road. Setting his back to the village, he came, in a fewminutes, to the great entrance gate of the château, hung from massivestone pillars of great age, and themselves fashioned of intricate andcuriously wrought ironwork. The gates themselves were closed fast, andthe smaller ones on either side, intended for pedestrians, were fastenedwith a padlock. Wrayson stood for a moment looking through the bars intothe park. The drive ran for half a mile perfectly straight, and then, taking an abrupt bend, passed upwards into the woods, amongst which wasthe château. 

"What do you want?" an abrupt voice demanded. 

Wrayson looked round in surprise. A man in gamekeeper's clothes hadissued from the lodge, carrying a gun. 

"Good evening!" Wrayson said. "Is it permitted for the public to enterthe park?"

"By no means, " was the surly answer. "Cannot monsieur see that the gatesare locked?"

"I understood from the landlord of the _Lion d'Or_" Wrayson said, "thatthe villagers were allowed the privilege of walking in the park. "

The man looked at him suspiciously. 

"You are not of the village, " he said. 

"I am staying there, " Wrayson answered. 

"It makes nothing. For the present, villagers and every one are forbiddento enter. There are visitors at the château. "

Wrayson turned away. 

"Very well, " he said. "Good night!"

The man did not answer him. Wrayson continued to climb the hill whichskirted the park. He did not turn round, but he heard the gates open, andhe was convinced that he was being watched, if he was not followed. Hekept on, however, until he came to some more iron gates, from whichstretched the grass avenue which led straight to the gardens of thechâteau. Dimly, through the gathering dusk, he caught a view of it, whichwas little more than an impression; silver grey and quiet with the peacewhich the centuries can bring, it seemed to him, with its fantastictowers, and imperfectly visible outline, like a palace of dreams ratherthan a dwelling house, however magnificent, of material stone and brick. An owl flew out from the trees a few yards to the left of him, anddrifted slowly over his head, with much flapping of wings, and a weird, soft call, faintly answered in the distance by his mate; from far awaydown in the valley came the slow ringing of a single evening bell. Savefor these things, a silence almost wonderful reigned. Gradually Wraysonbegan to feel that sense of soothed nerves, of inexpressible relief, which Nature alone dispenses--her one unequalled drug! All the agitationand turmoil of the last few months seemed to fall away from him. He feltthat he had been living in a world of false proportions; that the maze ofdoubts and fears through which he had wandered was, after all, no part oflife itself, merely a tissue of irrelevant issues, to which his distortedimagination had affixed a purely fictitious importance. What concern ofhis was it how Morris Barnes had lived or died? And who was Bentham thathis fate should ever disturb him? The secrets of other people were theirsto keep. His own secret was more wonderful by far. Alone, from amidst thetangle of his other emotions, he felt its survival--more than itssurvival, its absolute conquest of all other feelings and considerations. It was truth, he knew, that men sought after in the quiet places, and itwas the truth which he had found. If he could but see her coming down theavenue, coming to him across the daisy-strewn grass, beneath the shadowof the stately poplars! The very thought set his heart beating like aboy's. He felt the blood singing in his veins, the love-music swelling inhis heart. He shook the gates. They, too, were padlocked. Then helistened. There was no sound of any footfall in the road. He moved a fewsteps higher up, and, making use of the pillars of the gate, he climbedon to the wall. It was a six-foot drop, but he came down noiselesslyinto a bed of moss. Once more he paused to listen. There was no soundsave the burring of some night insect over his head. Stealthily, andkeeping in the shadow of the trees, he began to climb the grassy avenuetowards the château. 

CHAPTER XXIII

A PASSIONATE PILGRIM

It seemed to Wrayson, as by and by he began to make bolder and morerapid progress, that it was an actual fairy world into which he waspassing with beating heart and this strange new sense of deliciousexcitement. As he drew nearer, the round Norman towers and immense greyfront of the château began to take to themselves more definite shape. The gardens began to spread themselves out; terraced lawns, from whoseflower-beds, now a blurred chaos so far as colour was concerned, wavesof perfume came stealing down to him; statuary appeared, white andghostly in the half light, and here and there startlingly lifelike;there were trimmed shrubs, and a long wall of roses trailed down fromthe high stone balcony. But, as yet, there was no sound or sign of humanlife! That was to come. 

Wrayson came to a pause at last. He had passed from the shelter of thewoods into a laurel walk, but further than this he could not go withoutbeing plainly visible to any one in the château. So he waited andwatched. There were lights, he could see now, behind many of the groundfloor windows of the chateâu, and more than once he fancied that he couldcatch the sound of music. He tried to fancy in which room she was, toproject his passionate will through the twilight, so that she should cometo him. But the curtains remained undrawn, and the windows closed. StillWrayson waited!

Then at last Providence intervened. Above the top of the woods, over onthe other side of the château, came first a faint lightening in the sky, which gradually deepened into a glow. Slowly the rim of the moon creptup, and very soon the spectral twilight was at an end. The shadowylandscape became real and vivid. It was a new splendour creeping softlyinto the night. Wrayson moved a little further back into his shelter, andeven as he did so one of the lower windows of the château was thrownopen, and two women, followed by a man, stepped out. Their appearance wasso sudden that Wrayson felt his breath almost taken away. He leaned alittle forward and watched them eagerly. 

The woman, who was foremost of the little group, was a stranger to him, although her features, and a somewhat peculiar headdress which she wore, seemed in a sense familiar. She was tall and dark, and she carriedherself with the easy dignity of a woman of rank. Her face was thoughtfuland her expression sweet; if she was not actually beautiful, she was atleast a woman whom it was impossible to ignore. But Wrayson glanced ather only for a minute. It was Louise who stood by her side!--the music ofher voice came floating down to him. Heavens! had he ever realized howbeautiful she was? He devoured her with his eyes, he strained his nervesto hear what they were saying. He was ridiculously relieved to see thatthe man who stood by their side was grey-headed. He was beginning torealize what love was. Jealousy would be intolerable. 

They moved about the terrace. He scarcely knew whether he hoped or fearedthe more that they would descend and come nearer to him. After all, itwas cruelly tantalizing. He dared not disobey the Baroness, or he wouldhave stepped boldly from his hiding-place and gone up to them. But that, by the terms of his promise, was impossible. He was to make his presenceknown to Louise only if he could do so secretly. He was not to accost herin the presence of any other person. It might be days or weeks before theopportunity came--or it might--it might be minutes! For, almost withoutwarning, she was alone. The others had left her, with farewells, if any, of the briefest. She came forward to the grey stone parapet, and, withher head resting upon her hand, looked out towards the woods. 

His heart began to beat faster--his brain was confused. Was there anychance that she would descend into the gardens--dare he make a signalto her? Her head and shoulders were bare, and a slight breeze hadsprung up during the last few minutes. Perhaps she would feel the coldand go in! Perhaps--

He watched her breathlessly. She had abandoned her thoughtful attitudeand was standing upright, looking around her. She looked once at thewindow. She was apparently undecided whether to go in or not. Wraysonprayed then, if he had never prayed before. He didn't know to whom! Hewas simply conscious of an intense desire, which seemed somehowformulated into an appeal. Before he was fully conscious of it, she wascoming down the steps. She stood on the edge of the lawn for a moment, asthough considering; then, carefully raising her skirts in both hands, shepicked her way amongst the flower-beds, coming almost directly towardshim. Glancing round, he saw her objective--a rustic seat under a darkcedar tree, and he saw, too, that she must pass within a few feet ofwhere he stood. She walked as one dreaming, or whose thoughts are fardistant, her head thrown back, her eyes half closed. The awakening, whenit came, was sudden enough. 

"Louise, " he called to her softly, "Louise!"

She dropped her skirts. For a moment he feared that she was goingto cry out. 

"Who is that?" she asked sharply. 

"It is I, Herbert Wrayson, " he answered. "Don't be afraid. Shall I comeout to you, or will you come down the laurel path?"

"You!" she murmured. "You!"

He saw the light in her face, and his voice was hoarse with passion. 

"Come, " he cried, "or I must fetch you! Louise! Sweetheart!"

She came towards him a little timidly, her eyebrows arched, a divinesmile playing about her lips. She stood at the entrance to the laurelgrove and peered a little forward. 

"Where are you?" she asked. "Is it really you? I think that I am a littleafraid! Oh!"

He took her into his arms with a little laugh of happiness. Time and lifeitself stood still. Her feeble remonstrances were swept away in the tideof his passion. His lips hung burning against hers. 

"My sweetheart!" he murmured. "Thank God you came!". .. 

She disengaged herself presently. A clock from the stables was striking. She counted the hours. 

"Eleven o'clock!" she exclaimed. "Herbert, how long have I been here?"

"Don't ask me that, " he answered. "Only tell me how long you aregoing to stay. "

"Not another minute, really, " she declared. "They will be sending outsearch parties for me directly. And--Herbert--how did you get here?" shedemanded anxiously. 

"I climbed over the wall, " he answered cheerfully. "There didn't seem tobe any other way. "

She seemed almost incredulous. 

"Didn't you see any watchmen?" she asked. 

"There was one at the gates, " he answered. "I fancied he followed me upthe road, but I gave him the slip all right. "

"Be careful how you go back, " she begged. "This place is supposed to beclosely watched. "

"Watched! Why?" he asked. "Are you afraid of robbers?"

"How much did the Baroness tell you?" she asked. 

"Nothing, except that I should find you here, " he declared. "She made mepromise that I would wait for an opportunity of seeing you alone. "

"And why, " she asked, "have you come?"

He took her into his arms again. 

"I have learnt what love is, " he murmured, "and I have forgotten theother things. "

"That is all very well, " she laughed, smoothing out her hair; "but theother things may be very important to me. "

"A man named Stephen Heneage has taken up this Barnes affair, " heanswered. "He saw you leave the flats that night, and he is likely, if hethinks that it might lead to anything, to give the whole show away. Hewarned me to get away from England and--but you want the truth, don'tyou? All these are excuses! I came because I wanted you!--because Icouldn't live without you, Louise! Couldn't we steal away somewhere andnever go back? Why need we? We could go to Paris to-morrow, catch theOrient express the next day--I know a dozen hiding-places where we shouldbe safe enough. We will make our own world and our own life--and forget!"

"Forget!" She drew a little away from him. Her tone chilled him. "Herbert, " she said, "whatever happens, I must go now--this moment. Whereare you stopping?"

"The _Lion d'Or_, " he answered, "down in the village. "

"I will send a note in the morning, " she said eagerly. "Only you must gonow, dear. Some one will be out to look for me, and I cannot think--Imust have a little time to decide. Be very careful as you go back. If youare stopped, be sure and make them understand that you are an Englishman. Good night!"

He kissed her passionately. She yielded to his embrace, but almostimmediately drew herself away. He clutched at her hand, but she eludedhim. With swift footsteps she crossed the lawn. Just as she reached theterrace, the windows opened once more and some one called her name. 

"I am coming in now, " he heard her answer. "It has been such awonderful night!"

CHAPTER XXIV

AN INVITATION TO DINNER

The landlord of the _Lion d'Or, _ who had appeared for a moment to chatwith his guests while they took their morning coffee, pointed downwardsinto the valley, where little clouds of mist hung over the lowlands. 

"The _messieurs_ will find themselves hot to-day, " he remarked. "Here, only, there will be a breeze. Eleven hundred feet up, and only threemiles from the sea! It is wonderful, eh?"

Wrayson pointed across towards the château, whose towers rose from thebosom of the cool green woods. 

"There, also, " he said, "it will be very pleasant. The château is as highas we are, is it not so?"

The landlord shrugged his shoulders. 

"There is little difference, " he admitted, "and in the woods there isalways shade. But who may go there? Never was an estate kept so zealouslyprivate, and, does monsieur know? Since yesterday a new order has beenissued. The villagers were forbidden even their ancient rights of walkingacross the park! The head forester has posted a notice in the village. "

"I have heard something of it, " Wrayson admitted. "Has any reason beengiven. Are the family in residence there?"

The landlord shook his head. 

"Madame la Baronne was never so exacting, " he replied. "One hears thatshe has lent the château to friends. Two ladies are there, and onegentleman. It is all. "

"Do you know who they are?" Wrayson asked. 

The landlord assumed an air of mystery. 

"One, " he said, "is a young English lady. The other--well, they call herMadame de Melbain. "

"What?"

The exclamation came like a pistol-shot from Wrayson's fellow-guest atthe inn, who, up to now, had taken no part in the conversation. He hadturned suddenly round, and was facing the startled landlord. 

"Madame de Melbain, " he repeated. "Monsieur, perhaps, knows the lady?"

There was a moment's silence. Then the man who had called himself Duncanlooked away, frowning. 

"No!" he said, "I do not know her. The name is familiar, but there is nolady of my acquaintance bearing it at present. "

The landlord looked a little disappointed. 

"Ah!" he remarked, "I had hoped that monsieur would have been able togive us a little information. There are many people in the village whowould like to know who this Madame de Melbain is, for it is since hercoming that all has been different. The park has been closed, thepeasants and farmers have received orders forbidding them to acceptboarders at present, and I myself am asked--for a consideration, Iadmit--to receive no further guests. Naturally, we ask ourselves, monsieur, what does it mean? One does not wish to gossip, but there ismuch here to wonder at!"

"What is she like, this Madame de Melbain?" Duncan asked. 

"No one has seen her, monsieur, " the landlord answered. "She arrived ina close carriage, since when she has not passed the lodge gates. She hasher own servants who wait upon her. Without doubt she is a person of someimportance! Possibly, though, she is eccentric. They say that everyentrance to the château is guarded, and that a cordon of men are alwayswatching. "

Wrayson laughed. 

"A little exaggeration, my friend, there, eh?"

The landlord shrugged his shoulders. 

"One cannot tell, " he declared. "This, at least, is singular, " hecontinued, bending forward confidentially. "Since the arrival of thesetwo ladies several strangers have been observed about the place, some ofwhom have endeavoured to procure lodgings. They spoke French, but theywere not Frenchmen or Englishmen. True, this may be a coincidence, butone can never tell. Monsieur has any further commands?"

Monsieur had none, and the landlord withdrew, smiling and bowing. 

Duncan leaned across the table. 

"My French, " he said deliberately, "is rotten. I couldn't understand halfof what that fellow said. Do you mind repeating it to me?"

Wrayson did so, and his companion listened moodily. When he had finished, Duncan was gazing steadfastly over towards the château, and knocking theashes from his pipe. 

"Sounds a little feudal, doesn't it?" he remarked, drawing his pouchfrom his pocket. "However, I don't suppose it is any concern of yoursor of mine. "

Wrayson made no direct answer. He was fully conscious that his companionwas watching him closely, and he affected to be deeply interested in theselection of a cigarette. 

"No!" he said at last; "it is no concern of ours, of course. And yet onecannot help feeling a little interested. I noticed myself that the lodgegates of the château were rather strictly guarded. "

"Very likely, " the other answered. "Women of fashion who suffer fromnerves take strange fancies nowadays. This Madame de Melbain is probablyone of these. "

Wrayson nodded. 

"Very likely, " he admitted. "What are you going to do withyourself all day?"

"Loaf! I am going to lie down in the fields there amongst the wildflowers, in the shade of the woods, " Duncan answered; "that is, ifone may take so great a liberty with the woods of madame! This sortof country rather fascinates me, " he added thoughtfully. "I havelived so long in a land where the vegetation is a jungle and theflowers are exotics. There is a species of exaggeration about it all. I find this restful. "

"Africa?" Wrayson asked. 

The other nodded silently. He did not seem inclined to continue theconversation. 

"You are the second man I have met lately who has come home from Africa, "Wrayson remarked, "and you represent the opposite poles of life. "

"It is very possible, " Duncan admitted. "We are a polyglot lot who comefrom there. "

"You were in the war, of course?" Wrayson asked. 

"I was in the war, " Duncan answered, "almost to the finish. Afterwards Iwent into Rhodesia, and incidentally made money. That's all I have tosay about Africa. I hate the country, and I don't want to talk about it. See you later, I suppose. "

He rose from his chair and stretched himself. Across the lawn thelandlord came hurrying, his face perturbed and uneasy. His bow to Wraysonwas subtly different. Here was perhaps an aristocrat under an assumedname, a person to be, without doubt, conciliated. 

"Monsieur, " he announced, with a little flourish of the white serviettewhich, from habit, he was carrying, "there is outside a young lady fromthe château who is inquiring for you. "

"Which way?" Wrayson demanded anxiously. 

"Monsieur will be pleased to follow me, " the landlord answered. 

Louise was alone in a victoria, drawn up before the front door of theinn. Wrayson saw at once that something had happened to disturb her. Evenunder her white veil he knew that she was pale, and that there were ringsunder her eyes. She leaned towards him and held out her hand inconventional manner for the benefit of the landlord, who lingered uponthe steps. 

"Come round to the other side of the carriage, Herbert, " she said. "Ihave something to say to you. The coachman does not understand English. Ihave tried him. "

Wrayson crossed behind the carriage and stood by her side. 

"Herbert, " she asked, anxiously, "will you do something for me, somethingI want you to do very much?"

"If I can, " he answered simply. 

"You can do this, " she declared. "It is very easy. I want you to leavethis place this morning, go away, anywhere! You can go back to London, oryou can travel. Only start this morning. "

"Willingly, " he answered, "on one condition. "

"What is it?" she asked quickly. 

"That you go with me, " he declared. 

She shook her head impatiently. 

"You know that is not what I mean, " she said reproachfully. "I was madlast night. You took me by surprise and I forgot everything. I was awakeall night. This morning I can see things clearly. Nothing--of thatsort--is possible between you and me. So I want you to go away!"

He shook his head, gently but firmly. 

"It isn't possible, Louise, " he said. "You mustn't ask me to do anythingof that sort after last night. It's too late you see, dear. You belong tome now. Nothing can alter that. "

"It is not too late, " she answered passionately. "Last night was justan hour of madness. I shall cut it out of my life. You must cut it outof yours. "

He leaned over till his head nearly touched hers, and under the hollanddust-sheet which covered her knees he gripped her hand. 

"I will not, " he answered. "I will not go away. You belong to me, and Iwill have you!"

She looked at him for a moment without speech. Wrayson's features, moredistinguished in a general way by delicacy than strength, had assumed acuriously set and dogged appearance. His eyes met hers kindly butmercilessly. He looked like a man who has spoken his last word. 

"Herbert, " she murmured, "there are things which you do not know andwhich I cannot tell you, but they stand between us! They must standbetween us forever!"

"Of that, " he said, "I mean to be the judge. And until you tell me whatthey are, I shall treat them as though they did not exist. "

"I came here, " she said, "to ask you, to beg you to go away. "

"Then I am afraid you must write your mission down a failure, " heanswered doggedly, "for I refuse to go!"

Her eyes flashed at him from underneath her veil. He felt the pressureof her fingers upon his hand. He heard a little sigh--could it have beenof relief?

"If I failed--" she began. 

"And you have failed, " he said decidedly. 

"I was to bring you, " she continued, "an invitation to dine to-night atthe château. It is only a verbal one, but perhaps you will forgive that. "

The colour streamed into his cheeks. He could scarcely believe his ears. 

"Louise!" he exclaimed, "you mean it?"

"Yes!" she answered softly. "It would be better for you, better, perhaps, for me, if you would do as I ask--if you would go away and forget! But ifyou will not do that, there is no reason why you should not come to thechâteau. A carriage will arrive for you at seven o'clock. "

"And you will come with me again into the gardens?" he whisperedpassionately. 

"Perhaps, " she murmured. 

The horses, teased by the flies, tossed their heads, and the jingling ofharness reminded Louise that half the village, from various vantagepoints, were watching the interview between the young lady from thechâteau and the visitor at the inn. 

"I must go at once, " she said to Wrayson. "About to-night, do not besurprised at anything you see at the château. I have no time to say more. If you notice anything that seems to you at all unusual, accept itnaturally. I will explain afterwards. "

She spoke a word to the immovable man on the box, and waved her hand toWrayson as the horses started forward. They were round the corner in amoment, and out of sight. Wrayson turned back to the inn, but before hehad taken half a dozen paces he stopped short. He had happened to glancetowards the upper windows of the small hotel, and he caught a suddenvision of a man's face--a familiar face, transformed, rigid, yet withstaring eyes following the departing carriage. Wrayson himself wasconscious of a quick shock of surprise, followed by a sense ofapprehension. What could there possibly have been in the appearance ofLouise to have brought a look like that into the face of hisfellow-guest?

CHAPTER XXV

THE MAN IN THE YELLOW BOOTS

The two men did not meet again until luncheon-time, Anglicized into aone-o'clock meal for their benefit. Already seated at the table theyfound a short fair man, in the costume of a pedestrian tourist. He wore atweed knickerbocker suit, and a knapsack lay upon the grass by his side. As Wrayson and his fellow-guest arrived almost at the same time, thenewcomer rose and bowed. 

"Good morning, gentlemen!" he said. "I trust you will permit me a seat atyour table. It appears to be the only one. "

Duncan contented himself with a nod. Wrayson felt compelled to be alittle more civil. The man certainly seemed harmless enough. 

"A very delightful spot, gentlemen, " he continued, "and a fine, a veryfine church that in the valley. I am spending my holiday takingphotographs of churches of a certain period in this vicinity. I amlooking forward to explore this one. "

"I am afraid, " Wrayson remarked, "that I do not know much ofecclesiastical architecture, but the aesthetic effect of this one, atleast, is very fine. "

The newcomer nodded. 

"You are an artist perhaps, sir?" he asked innocently. 

"I hope so--in some degree, " Wrayson answered. 

"Every one is fundamentally an artist, I suppose, who is capable ofappreciating a work of beauty. "

Duncan smiled slightly to himself. So far he had not spoken. 

"It is all new country to me, " the newcomer continued, "but from what Ihave seen of it, I should think it a grand place for painters. Not muchfor the ordinary tourist, eh?"

"That depends, " Wrayson answered, "upon the ordinary tourist. "

"Exactly! Quite so!" the little man agreed. "Of course, if one wanted aquiet time, what could be better than this? There must be others whothink so besides yourselves. "

"Who?" Wrayson asked. 

"Your fellow-guests here. "

"We have no fellow-guests, " Wrayson answered, a little incautiously. 

The newcomer leaned back in his chair with a disconcerted look. 

"Then I wonder why, " he exclaimed, "the landlord told me that he had nota single room. "

Wrayson bit his lip. 

"I fancy, " he said, "that he is not in the habit of having peoplestay here. "

"I am afraid, " the little fair man said, "that it is not an hospitablevillage. I tried to get a room elsewhere, but, alas! with no success. They do not seem to want tourists at St. Étarpe. "

Wrayson looked at the knapsack, at the camera, and at the little manhimself. He spoke English easily, and without any trace of an accent. His clothes, too, had the look of having come from an Englishready-made shop. Yet there was something about the man himself notaltogether British. 

"I fancy the people are busy getting ready for the harvest, " Wraysonremarked at last. "You will find lots of places as pretty as this alongthe coast. "

"Perhaps so, " the visitor admitted, "and yet when one has taken a fancyto a place, it seems a pity to have to leave it so soon. You couldn'tspeak a word to the landlord for me, sir, I suppose--you or your friend. I don't fancy he understood my French very well. "

Wrayson shook his head. 

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use, " he said. "As a matter of fact, Iknow that he does not intend to take any more visitors. He has not thestaff to deal with them. "

"It is a pity, " the little man said dejectedly. "I think that I must tryagain in the village. By the by, sir, perhaps you can tell me to whom thechâteau there belongs?"

"Madame la Baronne de Sturm, " Wrayson answered. "At least, so our hosttold me yesterday. "

"It is a very beautiful place--very beautiful, " the tourist saidreverently. "I dare say there is a chapel there, too! Can one gainadmission there, do you know, sir?"

Wrayson laid down his knife and fork. 

"Look here, " he said good-humouredly, "I'm not a guide-book, you know, and I only arrived here yesterday myself. You've reached the limit of myinformation. You had better try the landlord. He will tell you all thatyou want to know. "

Duncan pushed his chair back. He had eaten very little luncheon, but hewas filling his pipe preparatory to leaving the table. As soon as itbegan to draw, he rose and turned to Wrayson. The little tourist heabsolutely ignored, as he had done all the time during the meal. 

"I should like a word with you before you go out, " he said. 

Wrayson nodded, and followed him in a few minutes to the summer-house atthe end of the lawn. Duncan did not beat about the bush. 

"That little brute over there, " he said, inclining his head towards thetable, "is neither an Englishman nor a tourist. I have seen him before, and I never forget a face. "

"What is he then?" Wrayson asked. 

"Heaven knows what he is now, " Duncan answered. "I saw him last atColenso, where he narrowly escaped being shot for a spy. He is either aDutchman or a German, and whatever he may be up to here, I'll swearecclesiastical architecture is not his game. "

There was a moment's silence. Wrayson had turned involuntarily towardsthe château, and Duncan had followed suit. They both looked up thebroad green avenue to where the windows of the great building flashedback the sunlight. At the same moment their mutual action was realizedby both of them. 

Wrayson first turned away and glanced round at the table which they hadjust quitted. The little man, who was still seated there, had lit a cigarand was talking to the waiter. He looked back again and moved his headthoughtfully in the direction of the château. 

"He asked questions about the château, " Wrayson remarked. "Do you supposethat there can be anything going on there to interest him?"

"You should know better than I, " Duncan answered. "You received a visitthis morning from one of the two ladies who are staying there. "

Wrayson turned a little pale. He looked at Duncan steadily for a moment. A giant in height, his features, too, were of a large and resolute type. His eyes were clear and truthful; his expression, notwithstanding acertain gloom which scarcely accorded with his years and apparenthealth, was unmistakably honest. Wrayson felt instinctively that he wasto be trusted. 

"Look here, " he said, "I should like to tell you the truth--as much of itas is necessary. I happen to know that the young lady with whom you sawme talking this morning, and who is a friend of the Baroness de Sturm's, is suspected in certain quarters of being implicated in a--criminalaffair which took place recently in London. I myself, in a lesser degree, am also under suspicion. I came over here to warn her. "

Duncan was looking very grave indeed. 

"In a criminal affair, " he repeated. "That is a little vague. "

"I am sorry, " Wrayson answered, "but I cannot very well be moreexplicit. The matter is one in which a good many other people areconcerned, and I might add that it is a hopeless mystery to me. All Iknow is that a crime was committed; that this young lady was presentunder suspicious circumstances; that I, in certain evidence I had togive, concealed the fact of her presence; and that now a third personturns up, who also knew of the young lady's presence, but who was notcalled upon to give evidence, who is working on his own account to clearup the whole affair. He happens to be a friend of mine, and he warned mefrankly to clear out. "

"I am beginning to follow you, " Duncan said thoughtfully. "Now whatabout Madame de Melbain?"

"I know absolutely nothing of her, " Wrayson answered. "I found out wherethe young lady was from the Baroness de Sturm, with whom she was livingin London, and I came over to warn her. "

"The young lady was living with the Baroness de Sturm?" Duncan repeated. "Is she, then, an orphan?"

"No!" Wrayson answered. "She is, for some reason--I do not knowwhy--estranged from her family. Now the question arises, has this fellowhere come over to track her down? Is he an English detective?"

Duncan turned deliberately round and stared at the person whom they werediscussing. 

"I should doubt it very much, " he answered. "For my part, I don't believefor a moment that he is an Englishman at all. "

"I am very glad to hear you say so, " Wrayson declared. "But the questionis, if he is not on this business, what the devil is he doing here?"

"Have you the _entrée_ to the chateâu?" Duncan asked abruptly. 

"I am invited to dine there this evening, " Wrayson answered. 

"Then, if I were you, " Duncan said, "I should make a point ofascertaining, if you can, the personality of this Madame de Melbain. "

Wrayson nodded. 

"I shall see her, of course, " he said, "and I will do so. "

"My own idea, " Duncan said deliberately, "is that it is in connectionwith her presence here that the landlord of the inn and the villagershave received these injunctions about strangers. Try and find out whatyou can about her, and in the meantime I will look after the gentlemanover there. He wants to be friendly--I will make a companion of him. Whenyou come back to-night we will have another talk. "

"It's awfully good of you, " Wrayson said. "And now--I've one thingmore to say. "

Duncan nodded. 

"Go on, " he said. 

"I have taken you into my confidence so far as was possible, " Wraysonsaid slowly. "I am going to ask you a question now. "

"I cannot promise to answer it, " Duncan declared, taking up his pipe andcarefully refilling it. 

"Naturally! But I am going to ask it, " Wrayson said. "An hour or so ago Iwas talking to the young lady in front of the inn, and you were watchingus. I saw your face at the window as she was driving off. "

"Well?"

The monosyllable was hard and dry. 

"You are neither an inquisitive nor an emotional person, " Wrayson said. "I am sure of that. I want an explanation. "

"Of what?"

"Of your suddenly becoming both!"

Duncan had lit his pipe now, and smoked for a few moments furiously. 

"I will not bandy words with you, " he said at last. "You want anexplanation which I cannot give. "

Wrayson looked as he felt, dissatisfied. 

"Look here, " he said, "I'm not asking for your confidence. I'm simplyasking you to explain why the sight of that young lady should be a matterof emotion to you. You know who she is, I am convinced. What else?"

Duncan shook his head. 

"I'm sorry, " he said. "You may trust me or not, as you like. All I cansay about myself is this. I've been up against it hard--very hard. So faras regards the ordinary affairs of life I simply don't count. I'm anegation--a purely subjective personage. I may be able to help you alittle here--I shall certainly never be in your way. My interest in theplace--there, I will tell you that--is purely of a sentimental nature. Myinterest in life itself is something of the same sort. Take my advice. Let it go at that. "

"I will, " Wrayson declared, with sudden heartiness. 

Duncan nodded. 

"I'll go and look after our little friend in the yellow boots, " he said. 

CHAPTER XXVI

MADAME DE MELBAIN

Punctually at half-past seven the carriage arrived to take Wrayson to thechâteau. A few minutes' drive along a road fragrant with the perfume ofhay, and with the pleasant sound of the reaping machines in his ears, andthe carriage turned into the park through the great iron gates, whichopened this time without demur. By the side of the road was a clear troutstream, a little further away a herd of deer stood watching the carriagepass. The park was uncultivated but picturesque, becoming more wooded asthey climbed the hill leading to the chateâu. Wrayson smiled to himselfas he remembered that this magnificent home and estate belonged to thewoman who was his neighbour at Battersea, and whom he himself had beenmore than half inclined to put down as an adventuress. 

A major-domo in quiet black clothes, who seemed to reflect in his toneand manner the subdued splendour of the place, received him at the door, passing him on at once to a footman in powdered hair and resplendentlivery. Across a great hall, whose white stone floor, height, andstained-glass windows gave Wrayson the impression that he had found hisway by mistake into the nave of a cathedral, he was ushered into adrawing-room, whose modernity and comparatively low ceiling were almost arelief. Here there were books and flowers and music, some exquisitewater-colours upon the white walls, newspapers and magazines lying about, which gave the place a habitable air. A great semicircular windowcommanded a wonderful view of the park, but Wrayson had little time toadmire it. A door was opened at the further end of the room, and he heardthe soft rustling of a woman's gown upon the carpet. It was Louise whocame towards him. 

She was dressed in white muslin, unrelieved by ornament or any suggestionof colour. Her cheeks were unusually pale, and the shadows under her eyesseemed to speak of trouble. Yet Wrayson thought that he had never seenher look more beautiful. She gave him her hand with a faint smile ofwelcome, and permitted him to raise it to his lips. 

"This is very, very foolish, " she said softly, "and I know that I oughtto be ashamed of myself. "

"On the contrary, " he answered, "I think that it is very natural. But, seriously, I feel a little overpowered. You won't want to live always ina castle, will you, Louise?"

She sighed, and smiled, and sighed again. 

"I am afraid that our castle, Herbert, " she murmured, "will exist only inthe air! But listen. I must speak to you before the others come in. "

"I am all attention, " he assured her. 

"It is about Madame de Melbain, " she began, a little hesitatingly. 

He waited for her to continue. She seemed to be in some difficulty. 

"I want you to watch and do just what we others do, " she said, "and notto be surprised if some of our arrangements seem a little curious. Forinstance, although she is the elder, do not give her your arm fordinner. She will go in first alone, and you must take me. "

"I can assure you, " Wrayson said, smiling, "that I shall make nodifficulty about that. "

"And she doesn't like to be talked to very much, " Louise continued. 

"I will humour her in that also, " Wrayson promised. "She is a good sortto let me come here at all. "

"She is very kind and very considerate, " Louise said, "and her life hasbeen a very unhappy one. "

Wrayson moved his chair a little nearer. 

"Need we talk about her any more?" he asked. "There is so much I want tosay to you about ourselves. "

She looked at him for a moment, a little sadly, a little wistfully. 

"Ah! don't, " she murmured. "Don't talk about definite things at all. Forto-night--to-night only, let us drift!"

He smiled at her reassuringly. 

"Don't be afraid, " he said. "I am not going to ask you any questions. Iam not going to ask for any explanations. I think that we have passed allthat. It is of the future I wanted to speak. "

"Don't, " she begged softly. "Of the past I dare not think, nor of thefuture. It is only the present which belongs to us. "

"The present and the future, " he answered firmly. 

She rose suddenly to her feet, and Wrayson instinctively followed herexample. They were no longer alone. Two women, who had entered by a doorat the further end of the apartment, were slowly approaching them. Theforemost was tall and dark, a little slim, perhaps, but with an elegantfigure, and a carriage of singular dignity. Her face was youthful, andher brown eyes were soft and clear as the eyes of a girl, but her darkhair was plentifully streaked with grey, and there was about her wholeappearance an air of repressed sadness. 

"This is Mr. Wrayson, is it not?" she asked, in a very sweet voice, butwith a strong foreign accent. "We have so few visitors that one canscarcely make a mistake. You are very welcome. "

She did not offer to shake hands, and Wrayson contented himself witha low bow. 

"You are very kind, " he murmured. 

"Monsieur le Baron, " she remarked, turning to an elderly gentleman whohad just entered, "will doubtless find your coming pleasant. Theentertainment of three ladies must have seemed at times a little trying. Let me make you gentlemen known to one another, Monsieur Wrayson, Monsieur le Baron de Courcelles. And Ida, " she added, turning to hercompanion, who had moved a few steps apart, "permit that I present toyou, also, Mr. Wrayson--Mademoiselle de Courcelles. "

The conversation for a moment or two followed the obvious lines. Madamede Melbain and Louise had drawn a little apart; a few remarks as to thebeauty of the chateâu and its situation passed between Wrayson and theBaron. The name of its owner was mentioned, and Wrayson indicated hisacquaintance with her. At the sound of her name, Madame de Melbainturned somewhat abruptly round, and seemed to be listening; but at thatmoment the door was thrown open, and the major-domo of the household, who had received Wrayson, announced dinner. He directly addressed Madamede Melbain. 

"Madame is served, " he murmured respectfully. 

The little procession arranged itself as Louise had intimated. Madame deMelbain led the way, ushered by the major-domo and followed immediatelyby the Baron and Mademoiselle de Courcelles. Wrayson, with Louise, brought up the rear. They crossed the white flagged hall and entered anapartment which Wrayson, although his capacity for wonder wasdiminishing, felt himself compelled to pause and admire. It was of greatheight, and again the curiously shaped windows were filled with stainedglass. The oak-panelled walls, black with age, were hung with portraits, sombre and yet vivid, and upon a marble pedestal at the end of the room, lifelike, and untouched by the centuries, stood a wonderful presentationof Ralph de St. Étarpe, the founder of the house, clad in the armour ofhis days. The dinner table, with its brilliant and modern appurtenancesof flowers and plate, standing in the middle of the floor, seemed like aminute and yet startling anachronism. The brilliant patches of scarletgeranium, the deep blue livery of the two footmen, the glitter of theVenetian glass upon the table, were like notes of alien colour amongstsurroundings whose chief characteristic was a magnificent restraint, andyet such dignity as it was possible to impart into the everyday businessof eating and drinking was certainly manifest in the meal, whichpresently took its leisurely course. 

Wrayson, although no one could accuse him of a lack of _savoir faire_, found himself scarcely at his ease. Madame de Melbain; erect; dignified, and beautiful, sat at the head of the table, and although she addresseda remark to each of them occasionally, she remained alwaysunapproachable. The Baron made only formal attempts at conversation, andMademoiselle de Courcelles was absolutely silent. Wrayson was unable todivest himself of the feeling of representing an alien presence amongst alittle community drawn closely together by some mysterious tie. Louisewas his only link with them, and to Louise he decided to devote himselfentirely, regardless of the apparent demands of custom. His position atthe table enabled him to do this, and very soon he discovered that it wasprecisely what was expected of him. The conversation between the others, such as it was, lapsed into German, or some kindred tongue. Wrayson foundhimself able presently to talk confidentially with Louise. 

"Remember, " he said, after a slight pause, "that I have finishedaltogether with the role of investigator. I no longer have any curiosityabout anything. Still, I think that there is something which I ought totell you. "

She smiled. 

"You may tell me as much as you like, " she said, "as long as you don'task questions. "

"Exactly! Well, there is another Englishman staying at the _Lion d'Or. _He appears to be a decent fellow, and a gentleman. I am not going to talkabout him. I imagine that he is harmless. "

"We have heard of him, " Louise murmured. "It certainly appears as thoughhe were only an ordinary tourist. Has any one else arrived?"

"Yes!" Wrayson answered, "some one else has arrived, and I want to tellyou about him. "

Louise was obviously disturbed. She refused a course a littleimpatiently, and turned towards Wrayson anxiously. 

"But the landlord, " she said in a low tone, "has orders to receive nomore guests. "

"This man arrived to luncheon to-day, " Wrayson answered. "The landlordcould not refuse him that. He wished for a room and was told that hecould not be taken in. "

"Well, who is he, what is he like?" she demanded. 

"He is a miserable sort of bounder--an imitation cockney tourist, withready-made English clothes, a knapsack, and a camera. I should have feltsuspicious about him myself, but the other fellow whom I told you about, who is staying at the inn, recognized him. He had seen him abroad, andwhat he told me seems decisive. I am afraid that he is a spy. "

Wrayson cursed himself for a moment that he had been so outspoken, forthe girl by his side seemed almost on the point of collapse. Her eyeswere full of fear, and she clutched at the tablecloth as though overcomewith a spasm of terror. 

"Don't be alarmed, " Wrayson whispered in her ear. "I am sure, I am quitesure that he is not here for what you may fear. I don't believe he is anEnglishman at all. "

The girl recovered herself amazingly. 

"I was not thinking of myself, " she said quietly; and Wrayson noticedthat her eyes were fixed upon the pale, distinguished face of the womanwho sat with a certain air of isolation at the head of the table. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SPY

Wrayson found himself a few minutes later alone with the Baron, who, withsome solemnity, rose and took the chair opposite to him. Conversationbetween them, however, languished, for the Baron spoke only inmonosyllables, and his attitude gave Wrayson the idea that he viewed hispresence at the chateâu with disfavour. With stiff punctiliousness, hebegged Wrayson to try some wonderful Burgundy, and passed a box ofcigarettes. He did not, however, open any topic of conversation, andWrayson, embarrassed in his choice of subjects by the fact that anyremark he could make might sound like an attempt at gratifying hiscuriosity, remained also silent. In a very few minutes the Baron rose. 

"You will take another glass of wine, sir?" he asked. 

Wrayson rose too with alacrity, and bowed his refusal. They recrossed thegreat hall and entered the drawing-room. Louise and Madame de Melbainwere talking earnestly together in a corner, and from the look that thelatter threw at him as they entered, Wrayson was convinced that in someway he was concerned with the subject of their conversation. It was alook deliberate and scrutinizing, in a sense doubtful, and yet notunkindly. Behind it all, Wrayson felt that there was something which hecould not understand, there was something of the mystery in those darksad eyes which seemed to pervade the whole atmosphere of the place andthe lives of these people. 

Louise rose as he approached and motioned him to take her vacated place. 

"Madame de Melbain would like to talk to you for a few moments, " she saidquietly. "Afterwards will you come on to the terrace?"

She swept away through the open window, and was at once followed by theBaron. Mademoiselle de Courcelles was playing very softly on a grandpiano in an unseen corner of the apartment. Wrayson and his hostesswere alone. 

She turned towards him with a faint smile. She spoke with greatdeliberation, but very clearly, and there was in her voice some hiddenquality, indefinable in words, yet both musical and singularlyattractive. 

"I shall not keep you very long, Mr. Wrayson, " she said. "Louise has beentalking to me about you. She is happy, I think, to have found a friend sochivalrous and so discerning. "

Wrayson smiled doubtfully as he answered. 

"It is very little that I have been able to do for her, " he said. "Mycomplaint is that she will not give me the opportunity of doing more. "

"You are too modest, " Madame de Melbain said slowly. "Louise has told mea good deal. I think that you have been a very faithful friend. "

Wrayson bowed but said nothing. If Madame de Melbain had anything tosay to him, he preferred to afford her the opportunity of anattentive silence. 

"Louise and I, " Madame de Melbain continued, "were school friends. Soyou see that I have known her all my life. She has had her troubles, asI have! Only mine are a righteous judgment upon me, and hers she hasdone nothing to deserve. It is the burden of others which she fastensupon her back. "

Wrayson felt instinctively that his continued silence was what she mostdesired. She was speaking to him, but her eyes had travelled far away. Itwas as though she had come into touch with other and greater things. 

"Louise has not told me everything, " she continued. "There is much thatshe will not confess. So it is necessary, Mr. Wrayson, that I ask you aquestion. Do you care for her?"

"I do!" Wrayson answered simply. 

"You wish to marry her?"

"To-morrow, if she would!"

Madame de Melbain leaned a little forward. Her cheeks were still entirelycolourless, but some spark of emotion glittered in her full dark eyes. 

"You will be alone with her presently. Try and persuade her to marry youat once. There is nothing but an absurd scruple between you! Rememberthat always. "

"It is a scruple which up till now has been too strong for me, " Wraysonremarked quietly. 

She measured him with her eyes, as though making a deliberate estimate ofhis powers. 

"A man, " she said, "should be able to do much with the woman whom hecares for--the woman who cares for him. "

"If I could believe that, " he murmured. 

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. He understood the gesture. 

"You are right, " he declared, with more confidence. "I will do my best. "

She moved her head slowly, a sign of assent, also of dismissal. He roseto his feet. 

"Louise is on the terrace, " she said. "Will you give me your arm? TheBaron is there also. We will join them. "

They stepped through the high French windows on to the carpeted terrace. It seemed to Wrayson that they had passed into a veritable land ofenchantment. The service of dinner had been a somewhat leisurely affair, and the hour was already late. The moon was slowly rising behind thetrees, but the landscape was at present wrapped in the soft doubtfulobscurity of a late twilight. The flowers, with whose perfume the air wasfaintly fragrant, remained unseen, or visible only in blurred outline;the tall trees, whose tops were unstirred by even the slightest breeze, stood out like silent sentinels against the violet sky. Madame de Melbainstopped short upon the threshold of the terrace, with head slightlythrown back, and half-closed eyes. 

"Suzanne was right, " she murmured, "there is peace here--peace, if onlyit would last!"

The Baron came hastily forward. He seemed to be eyeing Wrayson a littledoubtfully. Madame de Melbain pointed down the avenue. 

"I think, " she said, "that it would be pleasant to walk for a littleway. Give me your arm, Baron. We will go first. Mr. Wrayson will followwith Louise. "

They descended the steps, crossed the lawn, and through a gate into thebroad grass-grown avenue, cut through the woods to the road. Wrayson atfirst was silent, and Louise seemed a little nervous. More than once shestarted at the sound of a rabbit scurrying through the undergrowth. There was something a little mysterious about the otherwise profoundsilence of the impenetrable woods. Even their footsteps fell noiselesslyupon the spongy turf. 

Wrayson spoke at last. They had fallen sufficiently far behind the othersto be out of earshot. 

"Do you know what Madame de Melbain has been saying to me?" he asked. 

Louise turned her head a little. There was the faintest flicker of asmile about her lips. 

"I cannot imagine", she declared, looking once more straight ahead. 

"She has been inciting me to bold deeds, " Wrayson said. "How should youlike to be carried off in mediaeval fashion--married, willing orunwilling?"

"Is that what Madame de Melbain has been recommending you to do?"she asked. 

He nodded. 

"Yes! And I am thinking of taking her advice, " he said coolly. 

She laughed quietly, yet his ears were quick, and he caught the note ofsadness which a moment later crept into her eyes. 

"It would solve so much that is troublesome, wouldn't it?" she remarked. "May I ask if that has been the sole topic of your conversation?"

"Absolutely! Louise! Dear!"

She turned a little towards him. His voice was compelling. The fingers ofher hand closed readily enough upon his, and the soft touch thrilled him. 

"You have some fancy in your brain, " he said, in a low, passionatewhisper. "It is nothing but a fancy, I am assured. You have heard whatyour own friend has advised. You don't doubt that I love you, Louise, that I want to make you happy. "

She leaned a little towards him. A sudden wave of abandonment seemed tohave swept over her. He drew her face to his and kissed her with a suddenpassion. Her lips met his soft and unresisting. Already he felt the songof triumph in his heart. She was his! She could never be anybody else'snow. Very softly she disengaged herself. The other two were still insight, and already the curve of the moon was creeping over the trees. 

"Don't spoil it, " she murmured. "Don't talk of to-morrow, or the future!We have to-night. ". .. 

There followed minutes of which he took no count, and then of a suddenher hand clutched his arm. 

"Listen, " she whispered hoarsely. 

He came suddenly down to earth. They were walking in the shadow of thetrees, close to the side of the wood, and their footsteps upon the softturf were noiseless. Wrayson almost held his breath as he leaned towardsthe dark chaos of the thickly planted trees. Only a few yards away hecould distinctly hear the dry snapping of twigs. Some one was keepingpace with them inside the wood, now he could see the stooping figure ofa man creeping stealthily along. A little exclamation broke fromLouise's lips. 

"It is a spy after all, " she muttered. "They said that every entrance tothe place was guarded. "

Wrayson had time to take only one quick step towards the wood, when ashrill cry rang out upon the still night. Then there was the tramplingunder foot of bushes and undergrowth, the sound of men's voices, oneEnglish and threatening, the other guttural and terrified. Madame deMelbain and her escort had paused and were looking back. Louise wasmoving towards them, and Wrayson was on the point of entering the wood. Into the little semicircle formed by these four people there suddenlystrode Wrayson's friend from the inn, grasping by the collar a shrinkingand protesting figure in a much dishevelled tweed suit. 

"We were right, Mr. Wrayson, " the former remarked quietly. "This fellowhas been spying round all day. You had better ask your friends what theywish done with him. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SCENE IN THE AVENUE

There followed a few minutes of somewhat curious silence. At the firstsound of the voice of the man who had made so startling an appearance intheir midst, a cry, only half suppressed, had broken from Madame deMelbain's lips. She had moved impulsively a little forward; the moon, visible now from over the tree tops, was shining faintly upon herabsolutely colourless face and dilated eyes. For some reason she seemedterror-stricken, both she and Louise, who was clinging now to her arm. Neither of them seemed even to have glanced at the cowering figure of theman, who had relapsed now into a venomous silence. Both of them weregazing at his captor, and upon their faces was the strangest expressionwhich Wrayson had ever seen on any human features. It was as though theystood upon the edge of the world and peered downwards, into the forbiddendepths; as though they suddenly found themselves in the presence of athing so wonderful that thought and speech alike were chained. Wraysoninvoluntarily followed the direction of their rapt gaze. The strangercertainly presented a somewhat formidable appearance. He was standingupon slightly higher ground, and the massive proportions of his tall, powerful figure stood out with almost startling distinctness against theempty background. His face was half in the shadow, yet it seemed toWrayson that some touch of the mystery which was quivering in the drawnface of the two women was also reflected in his dimly seen features. Something indefinable was in the air, something so mysterious andwonderful, that voices seemed stricken dumb, and life itself suspended. An owl flew slowly out from the wood with ponderous flapping of wings, and sailed over their heads. Every one started: Madame de Melbain gave ahalf-stifled shriek. The strain was over. Louise and she were halfsobbing now in one another's arms. 

"I will leave this fellow to be dealt with as the owners of the chateâumay direct, " the stranger said stiffly, turning to Wrayson. "You can tellthem all that we know about him. "

He turned on his heel, but the Baron laid his hand upon his shoulder andpeered into his face inquisitively. 

"_We_ should like to know, " he said, "whom we have to thank for thecapture of this intruder!"

"I am a stranger here, and to all of you, " was the quiet answer. "You oweme no thanks. I have seen something of this fellow before, " he added, pointing to his captive, who was now standing sullenly in the centre ofthe group. "I felt sure that he was up to no good, and I watched him. "

For the first time the fair-haired little tourist, who had been draggedso submissively into their midst, suffered a gleam of intelligence toappear in his face. He changed his position so that he could see hiscaptor better. 

"Ah!" he muttered, "you have seen me before, eh? And I you, perhaps! Letme think! Was it--"

Wrayson's friend leaned a little forwards, and with the careless ease ofone flicking away a fly, he struck the speaker with the back of his handacross the face. The blow was not a particularly severe one, but itsvictim collapsed upon the turf. 

"Look here, " his assailant said, standing for a moment over him, "you cango on and finish your sentence if you like. I only want to warn you, thatif you do, I will break every bone in your body, one by one, the nexttime we meet. Go on, if you think it worth while. "

The man on the ground was dumb, because he was afraid. But the samethought presented itself to all of them. The Baron, who was least of allaffected, expressed it. 

"Perhaps, sir, " he said, "you will not object to telling me--the Baron deCourcelles--whom we have to thank for the discovery of this--intruder!"

Wrayson's friend edged a little away. There was no response in his mannerto the courtesy with which the Baron had sought to introduce himself. 

"You have nothing to thank me for, " he said shortly. "My name would bequite unknown to you, and I am leaving this part of the world at once. Permit me to wish you good evening!"

He had already turned on his heel when Madame de Melbain's voicearrested him. Clear and peremptory, the first words which had passed herlips since the surprise had come to them, seemed somehow to introduce anew note into an atmosphere from which an element of tragedy had neverbeen lacking. 

"Please stop!"

He turned and faced her with obvious unwillingness. She stretched out herhand as though forbidding him to go, but addressed at the same time thetwo men, apparently gamekeepers, who had suddenly emerged from the wood. 

"Monsieur Robert, " she said, "we have caught this man trespassing in thewoods here, notwithstanding the precautions which I understood you hadtaken. Take him away at once, if you please. I trust that you will beable to hand him over to the gendarmes. "

Monsieur Robert, the steward of the estates, an elderly man, whose facewas twitching with anxiety, stepped forward with a low bow. 

"Madame, " he said, "we had word of this intrusion. We were even now uponthe track of this ruffian. There was another, also, who climbed thewall--ah! I see him! The Englishman there!"

"He is our friend, " Madame de Melbain said. "You must not interferewith him. "

"As Madame wills! Come, you rascal, " he added, gripping his prisoner bythe shoulder. "We will show you what it means to climb over walls andtrespass on the estate of Madame la Baronne. Come then!"

The intruder accepted the situation with the most philosophic calm. Onlyone remark he ventured to make as he was led off. 

"It is not hospitable, this! I only wished to see the chateâu bymoonlight!"

Wrayson's fellow guest at the _Lion d'Or_ turned to follow them. 

"The fellow might try to escape, " he muttered; but again Madame deMelbain called to him. 

"You must not go away, " she said, "yet!"

Then she moved forward with smooth, deliberate footsteps, yet withsomething almost supernatural in her white face and set, dilated eyes. Itwas as though she were looking once more through the windows of theworld, as though she could see the figures of dead men playing once moretheir part in the game of life. And she looked always at the Englishman. 

"Listen, " she said, "there is something about you, sir, which I do notunderstand. Who are you, and where do you come from?"

He made no answer. Only he held out his hand as though to keep her away, and drew a little further back. 

"You shall not escape, " she continued, the words leaving her lips with asort of staccato incisiveness, crisp and emotional. "No! you are here, and you shall answer. Who are you who come here to mock us all; becauseit is a dead man who speaks with your voice, and looks with your eyes?You will not dare to say that you are Duncan Fitzmaurice!"

The figure in the shadows seemed to loom larger and larger. He was nolonger shrinking away. 

"I know nothing of the man of whom you speak!" he declared. "I am awanderer. I have no name and no home. "

Madame de Melbain reeled and would have fallen. Then for a moment eventsseemed to leap forward. White and fainting, she lay in the arms of theman who had sprung to her succour, yet through her half-opened eyes thereflashed a strange and wonderful light--a light of passionate and amazingcontent. He held her, almost roughly, for several moments, yet his lipswere pressed to hers with a tenderness almost indescribable. No one ofthe little group moved. Wrayson felt simply that events, impossible forhim to understand, had marched too quickly for him. He stood like a manin a dream, whose limbs are rigid, whose brain alone is working. And theothers, too, seemed to have become part of a silent and wonderfultableau. For years after Wrayson carried with him the memory of those fewminutes, --the perfume from the woods, faint but penetrating; the shadowylight, the passionate faces of the man and the woman, the woman yieldingto a beautiful dream, and the man to a moment of divine madness. Movement, when it came, came from the principal actors in that wonderfulscene. Madame de Melbain was alone, supported in Louise's arms, theEnglishman's heavy footsteps were already audible, crashing through theundergrowth. Louise pointed to the wood and called out to Wrayson:

"Follow him! Don't let him out of your sight! Quick!"

Wrayson turned and sped down the avenue. When he reached the wall, hestood there and waited. Presently Duncan came crashing through thewood and vaulted the wall. Wrayson met him in the middle of the hardwhite road. 

"We will walk back to the _Lion d'Or_ together, " he said calmly, "I havea few things to say to you!"

CHAPTER XXIX

A SUBSTANTIAL GHOST

Monsieur Jules, of the _Lion d'Or, _ was in a state of excitementbordering upon frenzy. Events were happening indeed with him, this placidAugust weather. First the occupancy of the château by the mysteriouslady, and the subsequent edict of the steward against all strangers; thenthe coming of this tourist yesterday, who had gone for an evening strollwithout paying his bill, and was now a prisoner of the law, Heaven onlyknew on what charge! Added to this--a matter of excitement enoughsurely--the giant Englishman, who had been his guest for nearly threeweeks--a model guest too, --had departed at a minute's notice, though not, the saints be praised, without paying his bill. And now, though the hourwas yet scarcely nine o'clock, a carriage with steaming horses wasstanding at his door, and the beautiful young English lady was herselfinside his inn. He was indeed conducting her down the grey stone passageout on to the rose-bordered garden, which was the pride of his heart, andwhere monsieur, the remaining Englishman, was smoking his morningcigarette. 

She barely waited until Monsieur Jules had bowed himself out of hearingdistance. She looked at Wrayson, at the table laid for one only, and atthe empty garden. 

"Where is he--your friend?" she demanded breathlessly. 

"Gone, " Wrayson answered. "I am sorry, but I did my best. He went awayat daylight. I saw him off, but I could not keep him. "

"Where to?" she asked. "You know that, at least. "

He pointed towards the distant coast line. 

"In that direction! That is all I know. "

"He told you nothing before he went?" she asked eagerly. 

"Nothing at all, " he answered. "He refused to discuss what had happened. Sit down, Louise, " he added firmly. "I want to talk to you. "

He placed a chair for her under the trees. She sank into it alittle wearily. 

"A certain measure of ignorance, " he said, "I am willing to put up with, but when you exhibit such extraordinary interest in another man, Ireally feel that my limit has been reached. Who is he, Louise? You musttell me, please!"

"I wish I could tell you, " she answered. "I wish I could say that I knew. Half the night the three of us have talked and wondered. I have heardplenty of theories as to a second life on some imaginary planet, but Inever heard of the dead who lived again here, in this world!"

He looked puzzled. 

"Do you mean, " he asked, "that he was like some one whom you believedto be dead?"

She was silent for a moment. The sun was hot even where they sat, but hefancied that he saw her shiver. She looked into his face, and somethingof the terror of the night before was in her eyes. 

"To us, " she said slowly, "to Madame de Melbain and to me, he was aghost, an actual apparition. He spoke to us with the voice of one whomwe know to be dead. He came to us, in his form. "

Wrayson looked across at her with a quiet smile. 

"There was nothing of the ghost about Duncan!" he remarked. "I shouldconsider him a remarkably substantial person. Don't you think that wewere all a little overwrought last night? A strong likeness and a littleimagination will often work wonders. "

"If it was a likeness only, " she said, "why did he leave us so abruptly, why has he left this place at a moment's notice to avoid us?"

Wrayson was silent for a few seconds. 

"Look here, " he said, "this is a matter of common sense after all. If youwere _not_ deceived by a likeness, it was the man himself! That goeswithout saying. What reasons had you for supposing that he was dead?"

"The newspapers, the War Office, even the return of his effects. "

"From where?" Wrayson asked. 

"From South Africa. He was shot through the lungs in Natal!"

"Men have turned up before, after having been reported dead, " he remarkedsententiously. 

"But he was in the army, " she replied. "Don't you see that if he wasalive now, he would be a deserter. He has never rejoined. He wascertified as having died in the hospital at Ladysmith!"

Wrayson looked steadily into her agitated face. 

"Supposing, " he said, "that he turned out to be the man whom you have inyour mind, what is he to you?"

"My brother, " she answered simply. 

Wrayson's first impulse was of surprise. Then he drew a long breath ofrelief. He looked back upon his long hours of anxiety, and cursed himselffor a fool. 

"What an idiot I have been!" he declared. "Of course, I know that youlost a brother in South Africa. But--but what about Madame de Melbain?"

"Madame de Melbain and my brother were friends, " she said quietly. "Therewere obstacles or they would have been more than friends. "

Wrayson nodded. 

"Now supposing, " he said, "that, by some miracle, your brotherstill lived, that this was he, is there any reason why he shouldavoid you both?"

She thought for a moment. 

"Yes!" she said slowly, "there is. "

"I suppose, " he continued tentatively, "you couldn't tell me allabout it?"

"I couldn't, " she answered. "It isn't my secret. "

Wrayson looked for a moment away from her, across the valley with itsflower-spangled meadows, parted by that sinuous poplar-fringed line ofsilver, the lazy, slow-flowing river stealing through the quiet land tothe sea. The full summer heat was scarcely yet in the air, but already afaint blue haze was rising from the lowlands. Up on the plateau, wherethey were sitting, a slight breeze stirred amongst the trees; MonsieurJules had indeed some ground for his pride in this tiny sylvan paradise. 

"I think, " he said, "that for one day we will forget all this tangle ofsecrets and unaccountable doings. What do you say, Louise?" he whispered, taking her unresisting hand into his. "May I tell Monsieur Jules to servebreakfast for two in the arbour there?"

She laughed softly into his face. There was the look in her eyes whichhe loved to see, half wistful, half content, almost happy. 

"But you are never satisfied, " she declared. "If I give you a day, awhole precious day out of my valuable life--"

"They belong to me, all of them, " he declared, bending over her till hislips touched her cheek. "Some day I am very sure that I shall take themall into my charge. "

She disengaged herself from his embrace with a sudden start. Wraysonturned his head. Within a yard or two of them, Madame de Melbain hadpaused in the centre of the little plot of grass. She was looking at themfrom underneath her lace parasol, with faintly uplifted eyebrows, and thedawn of a smile upon her beautiful lips. Louise sprang to her feet, andWrayson followed her example. Madame de Melbain lowered her parasol asthough to shut out the sight of the two. 

"May I come on?" she asked. "I want to speak to Louise, although I amafraid I am shockingly _de trop. _"

Wrayson had an idea, and acted upon it promptly. 

"Madame de Melbain, " he said, "I believe that you have some influencewith Louise, I am sure that you are one of those who sympathize with theunfortunate. Can't I bespeak your good offices?"

She lowered her parasol to the ground, and leaned a little forward uponit. Her eyes were fixed steadily upon Wrayson. 

"Go on, " she said briefly. 

"I love Louise, " Wrayson said, "and I believe she cares for me. Nevertheless, she refuses to marry me, and will give no intelligiblereason. My first meeting with her was of an extraordinary nature. Iassisted her to leave a house in which a murder had been committed, since which time I think we have both run a risk of trouble with theauthorities. Louise lives always in the shadow of some mystery, and whenI, who surely have the right to know her secrets, beg for her confidence, she refuses it. "

"And what is it that you wish me to do?" Madame de Melbain asked softly. 

"To use your influence with Louise, " Wrayson pleaded. "Let her give meher confidence, and let her accept from me the shelter of my name. "

Madame de Melbain was silent for several moments. She seemed to bethinking. Louise's face was expressionless. She had made one attempt tocheck Wrayson, but recognizing its futility she had at once abandoned it. From below in the valley came the faint whir of the reaping machines, from the rose garden a murmur of bees. But between the two women and theman there was silence--silence which lasted so long that Monsieur Jules, who was watching from a window, called softly upon all the saints of hisacquaintance to explain to him of what nature was this mystery, whichseemed to be developing, as it were, under his own surveillance. 

At last Madame de Melbain appeared to come to a decision. She movedslowly forward, until she stood within a few feet of him. Then she raisedher eyes to his and looked him long and earnestly in the face. 

"You look, " she said, half under her breath, "like a man who might betrusted. I will trust you. I will be kinder to you than Louise, for Iwill tell you all that you want to know. But when I have told you, youwill have in your keeping the honour of an unfortunate woman whose namealone is great. "

Wrayson looked her for a moment in the eyes. Then he bowed low. 

"Madame, " he said, "that trust will be to me my most sacred possession. "

She smiled at him faintly, nodding her head as though to keep pace withher thoughts. 

"I believe you, Mr. Wrayson, " she said. "Yes, I believe you! Let me tellyou this, then. I count it amongst my misfortunes that my own troubleshave become in so large a manner the troubles of my friends. You willappreciate that the more, perhaps, when I tell you that Madame de Melbainis not the name by which I am generally known. I am that unfortunatewoman the Queen of Mexonia!"

CHAPTER XXX

THE QUEEN OF MEXONIA

Wrayson, who had been prepared for something surprising, was yet startledout of his composure. The affairs of the unhappy Royal House of Mexoniawere the property of the world. He half rose to his feet, but Madame deMelbain instantly waved him back again. 

"My friends, " she said, "deem it advisable that my whereabouts should notbe known. I certainly am very anxious that my incognita should bepreserved. "

She paused, and Wrayson, without hesitation, answered her unspokenquestion. Unconsciously, too, he found himself using the same manner ofaddress as the others. 

"Madame, " he said, "whatever you choose to tell me will be sacred. "

She bowed her head slightly. 

"I am going to tell you a good deal, " she said, glancing across atLouise. 

Louise opened her lips as though about to intervene. Madame de Melbaincontinued, however, without a break. 

"I am going to tell you more than may seem necessary, " she said, "becauseI believe that I am one of those unfortunate persons whose evil lot it isto bring unhappiness upon their friends. So far as I can avoid this, Mr. Wrayson, I mean to. Further--it is possible that I may askyou--presently--to render me a service. "

Wrayson bowed low. He felt that she was already well aware of hiswillingness. 

"First, then, let me tell you, " she continued, leaning back in her chair, and looking away across the valley with eyes whose light was whollyreminiscent, "that we three were schoolgirls together, Louise, Amy--whomyou know better, perhaps, as the Baroness de Sturm--and myself. We wereat a convent near Brussels. There were not many pupils, and we three werefriends. .. . 

"We had a great deal of liberty--more liberty, perhaps, than our friendswould have approved of. We worked, it is true, in the mornings, but inthe afternoons we rode or played tennis in the Bois. It was there that Imet Prince Frederick, who afterwards became my husband. 

"I was only sixteen years old, and just as silly, I suppose, as a girlbrought up as I had been brought up was certain to be. I was very muchflattered by Prince Frederick's attentions, and quite ready to respondto them. My own family was noble, and the match was not considered aparticularly unequal one, for though Frederick was of the Royal House, he was a long way from the succession. Still, there was a good deal oftrouble when a messenger from Frederick went to my father. He declaredthat I was altogether too young; my mother, on the other hand, wasjust as anxious to conclude the match. Eventually it was arranged thatthe betrothal should take place in six months--and Frederick went backto Mexonia. "

Madame de Melbain paused for a moment. Wrayson felt, from her slightlyaltered attitude and a significant lowering of her voice, that she wasreaching the part of her narrative which she found the most difficult. 

"We girls, " she continued, "went back to school, and just at that timeLouise's brother came over to Brussels. I think that I have already toldyou that the supervision over us was far from strict. There was nothingto prevent Captain Fitzmaurice being a good deal with us. We hadpicnics, tennis parties, rides! Long before the six months were up Iunderstood how foolish I had been. I wrote to Prince Frederick andbegged him to release me from our uncompleted engagement. His answer wasto appear in person. He made a scene. My mother and father were nowwholly on his side. Within a few weeks he had lost both a cousin and abrother. His succession to the throne was almost a certainty. His ownpeople were just as anxious to have him married. I did not know whythen, but I found out later on. They had their way. I believe thatthings are different in an English home. In mine, I can assure you thatI never had any chance. I entered upon my married life without the leastpossibility of happiness. Needless to say, I never realized any! For thelast four years my husband has been trying for a divorce! Very soon itis possible that he will succeed. "

Wrayson leaned a little towards her. 

"Is it permitted, Madame, to ask a question?"

"Why not?"

"You have fought against this divorce, you and your friends, sozealously. Yet your life has been unhappy. Release could scarcely havebeen anything but a relief to you!"

Madame de Melbain raised her head slightly. Her brows were a littlecontracted. From her eyes there flashed the silent fire of aqueen's disdain. 

"Release! Yes, I would welcome that! If it were death it would be verywelcome! But divorce--he to divorce me, he, whose brutality andinfidelities are the scandal of every Court in Europe! No! A divorce Inever shall accept. Separation I have insisted upon. "

Wrayson hesitated for a moment. 

"May I be pardoned, " he said, "if I repeat to you what I saw in printlately--in a famous English paper? They spoke of this divorce case whichhas lasted so long; they spoke of it as about to be finally decided. There was some fresh evidence about to be produced, a special court wasto be held. "

Madame de Melbain turned, if possible, a shade paler. 

"Yes!" she said slowly, "I have heard of that. We have all heard of that. I want to tell you, Mr. Wrayson, what that fresh evidence consists of. "

Wrayson bowed and waited. Somehow he felt that he was on the eve of agreat discovery. 

"Both before my marriage and afterwards, " Madame de Melbain said quietly, "I wrote to--Captain Fitzmaurice. I was always impulsive--when I wasyounger, and my letters, especially one written on the eve of mymarriage, would no doubt decide the case against me. Captain Fitzmauricewas killed--in Natal, but in a mysterious way news has reached me of theletters since his death. "

"In what way?" Wrayson asked. 

For the first time, Madame de Melbain glanced a little nervously abouther. Against listeners, however, they seemed absolutely secure. There wasno hiding-place, nor any one within sight. Upon the land was everywherethe silence of a great heat. Even in the shade where they sat the stillair was hot and breathless. Down in the valley the cows stood knee deepin the stream, and a blue haze hung over the vineyards. 

"Nearly eighteen months ago, " Madame de Melbain continued, "I received aletter signed by the name of Morris Barnes. The writer said that he hadjust arrived from South Africa, and had picked up on one of thebattlefields there a bundle of letters, which he had come to theconclusion must have been written by me. He did not mince matters in theleast. He was a blackmailer pure and simple. He had given me the firstchance of buying these letters! What was my offer?"

A sharp ejaculation broke from Wrayson's lips. Louise signed to him tobe silent. 

"Amy was with me when the letters came, " Madame de Melbain continued. "She left at once for England to see this man. The sum he demanded wasimpossible. All that she could do was to ask for time, and to arrange topay him so much a month whilst we were considering how to raise themoney. He accepted this, and promised to keep silence. He kept his word, but for a time only. He made inquiries, and he seems to have come to theconclusion that the money was on the other side. At any rate, heapproached the advisers of my husband. He was in treaty with them for theletters--when he--when he met with his death!"

Wrayson had a feeling that the heat was becoming intolerable. He darednot look at Louise. His eyes were fixed upon the still expressionlessface of the woman whose story was slowly unfolding its tragic course. 

"A rumour of this, " Madame de Melbain continued, "reached us in Mexonia!I telegraphed to Amy! She and Louise were at their wits' ends. Louisedecided to go and see this man Barnes, to make her way, if she could, into his flat, to search for and, if she could find them, to steal theseletters. She carried out her purpose or rather her attempted purpose. Therest you know, for it was you who saved her!"

"The man, " Wrayson said hoarsely, "was murdered. "

Madame de Melbain inclined her head. 

"So I have understood, " she remarked. 

"He was murdered, " Wrayson continued in a harsh, unnatural voice, "onthat very night, the night when he was to have made over these letters toyour--enemies! The message was telephoned to me! He was to go to theHotel Francis. He was warned that there was danger. And there was! He wasmurdered--while the cab waited--to take him there!"

Her eyes held his--she did not flinch. 

"The man who telephoned to me--Bentham his name was, the agent of yourenemies, --he, too, was murdered!"

"So I have heard, " she said calmly. 

"The letters!" he faltered. "Where are they?"

"No one knows, " she answered. "That is why I live always on the brink ofa volcano. Many people are searching for them. No one as yet hassucceeded. But that may come at any moment. "

"Madame, " he said, "can you tell me who killed these men?"

She raised her eyebrows. 

"I cannot, " she answered coldly. 

"Madame, " he declared, "the man Barnes was a pitiful blackmailing littleJew! For all I know, he deserved death a dozen times over--ay, andBentham too! But the law does not look upon it like that. Whoever killedthese men will assuredly be hanged if they are caught. Don't you thinkthat your friends are a little too zealous?"

She met his gaze unflinchingly. 

"If friends of mine have done these things, " she said, "they are at leastunknown to me!"

He drew a short choking breath of relief. Yet even now the mystery wasdeeper than ever! He began to think out loud. 

"A friend of yours it must have been, " he declared. "Barnes was murderedwhen in a few hours he would have parted with those letters to yourenemies; Bentham was murdered when he was on the point of discoveringthem! There is some one working for you, guarding you, who desires toremain unknown. I wonder!"

He stopped short. A sudden illumining idea flashed through his mind. Helooked at Madame de Melbain fixedly. 

"This man Duncan who has disappeared so suddenly, " he said thickly. "Whomdid you say--who was it that he reminded you of?"

Madame de Melbain lost at last her composure. She was white to the lips, her eyes seemed suddenly lit with a horrible dread. She pushed out herhands as though to thrust it from her. 

"He was killed!" she cried. "It was not he! He is dead! Don't dare tospeak of anything so horrible!"

Then, before they could realize that he was actually amongst them, he wasthere. They heard only a crashing of boughs, the parting of the hedge. Hewas there on his knees, with his arms around the terrified woman who hadsobbed out his name. Louise, too, swayed upon her feet, her fascinatedeyes fixed upon the newcomer. Wrayson understood, then, that in some waythis man had indeed come back from the dead. 

CHAPTER XXXI

RETURNED FROM THE TOMB

The intervention which a few seconds later abruptly terminated anemotional crisis was in itself a very commonplace one. Monsieur theproprietor deemed the moment advisable for solving a question which wasbeginning to distract his better half in the kitchen. He advanced towardsthem, all smiles and bows and gestures. 

"Monsieur would pardon his inquiring--would Monsieur and the ladies betaking _dejeuner?_ A fowl of excellence unusual was then beingroasted, the salad--Monsieur could see it growing! And Madame hadthought of an omelet! There was no cooler place in all France on a dayof heat so extraordinary as the table under the trees yonder. And asfor strawberries--well, Monsieur could see them grow for himself! orif it was _fraises de Bois_ that Madame preferred, the children hadbrought in baskets full only that morning, fresh and juicy, and of awonderful size. "

Wrayson interrupted him at last. 

"Let luncheon be served as you suggest, " he directed. "In the meantime--"

Monsieur Jules understood and withdrew with more bows and smiles. Thesignificance of his brief appearance upon the lawn was a thing of whichhe had not the least idea. Yet after his departure, the strain to acertain extent had passed away. Only Madame de Melbain's eyes seemedscarcely to leave the face of the man who stood still by her chair. 

"Alive!" she murmured, grasping his hand in hers. "You alive!"

Louise had taken his other hand. He was imprisoned between the two. 

"Yes!" he said, "I made what they called a wonderful recovery. I supposeit was almost a miracle. "

"But your death, " Louise declared, "was never contradicted. "

"A good deal of news went astray about that time, " he remarked grimly. "Iwas left, and forgotten. When I found what had been done, I let it go. Itseemed to me to be better. I went up to Rhodesia, and of course I had thedevil's luck. I've come back to Europe simply because I couldn't stand itany longer. I was not coming to England, and I had no idea of seeing you, Emilie! I travelled here on a little pilgrimage. "

"It was fate, " she murmured. 

"But since I am here, " he continued, "and since we have met again, I mustask you this. Your husband is trying to divorce you?"

"Yes!" she murmured. 

"And why?"

"Because he is a brute, " she answered quietly. "We have been separatedfor more than a year. I think that he wants to marry again. "

"And you permit this?" he asked. 

"No!" she answered, "I contest it. Up to now, the courts have been inmy favour. "

"Up to now! They must always be in your favour!" he declared vehemently. "What can they say against a saint like you?"

She smiled up at him tenderly, a little wistfully. 

"They would say a good deal, " she whispered, "if they could see youhere now. "

He drew abruptly away. 

"I am a thoughtless brute, " he declared. "It was for that that I decidedto remain dead. I will go away at once. "

Her fingers closed over his. She drew him a little nearer with gladrecklessness. 

"You shall not, " she murmured. "It is worth a little risk, this. "

Wrayson touched Louise on the arm and they turned away. He found her aseat in a quiet corner of the fruit garden, where a tall row ofhollyhocks shielded them from observation. She was very white, and in asemi-hysterical state. 

"I can't believe, " she said, "that that is really Duncan--Duncan himself. It is too wonderful!"

"There is no doubt about it being your brother, " he answered. "What Idon't quite understand is why he has kept away so long. "

"It is because of her, " she answered. "If they had been on the samecontinent, I believe that nothing could have kept them apart!"

"And now?" he asked. 

"I cannot tell, " she answered, "I, nor any one else! God made them forone another, I am very sure!"

He took her hand and held it tightly in his. 

"And you for me, dearest, " he whispered. "Shall I tell you why I amsure of it?"

She leaned back with half-closed eyes. Endurance has its limits, and themesmeric influence of the drowsy summer day was in her veins. 

"If you like, " she murmured, simply. .. . 

And only a few yards away, the man from the dead and the woman who hadloved him seemed to have drifted into a summer day-dream. The strangenessof this thing held them both--ordinary intercourse seemed impossible. What they spoke about they scarcely knew! There were days, golden days tobe whispered about and lived again; treasured minutes to be recalled, looks and words remembered. Of the future, of the actual present, save oftheir two selves, they scarcely spoke. It was an hour snatched fromParadise for her! She would not let it go lightly. She would not suffereven a cloud to pass across it!

In time, Monsieur Jules found himself constrained to announce that_dejeuner_ was served. He found it useless to try to attract theattention of either Madame de Melbain or Duncan, so he went in searchof Wrayson. 

"Monsieur is served, " he announced, looking blandly upwards at a passingcloud. "There remains the wine only. "

"Chablis of the best, and ice, and mineral water, " Wrayson ordered. "Come, Louise. "

She sighed a little as she rose and followed him along the narrow path, where the rose-bushes brushed against her skirt, and the air was fragrantwith lavender. It had been an interlude only, after all, though the manwhose hand she still held would never have admitted it. But--he did notknow! She prayed to Heaven that he never might. 

Luncheon, after all, with a waiter within hearing, and Monsieur Juleshovering round, banished in a great measure the curious sense ofunreality from which none of them were wholly free. And when coffee came, Madame leaned a little towards Duncan, and with her hand upon his armwhispered a question. 

"My letters, Duncan! What became of them?"

He sighed. 

"I was a little rash, perhaps, " he said, "but--they were all I had left. They were with me at Colenso, in an envelope, sealed and addressed, to beburnt unopened. When I was hit, I got a Red Cross man to cut them out ofmy coat and destroy them. "

Madame de Melbain looked at him for a moment, and her eyes were softwith unshed tears. Then she turned away, though her hand stillrested upon his. 

"Duncan, " she said quietly, "don't think that I mind. You did all thatyou could, and indeed I would rather that you cared so much. But theletters were not destroyed. "

For a moment he failed to realize the import of her words. 

"Not destroyed?" he repeated, a little vaguely. 

"No!" she answered. "They came into the hands of some one in London. Terrible things have happened in connexion with them. Duncan, if you willlisten to me quietly, I will tell you about it. Sit down, dear. "

She saw the gathering storm. The man's face was black with anger. He wasstill a little dazed however. 

"You mean--that the man to whom I trusted them--"

"He kept them for his own purpose, " she said softly. 

"Don't look like that, Duncan. He has paid his debt. He is dead!"

"And the letters?"

"We do not know. My husband's advisers are trying to get possession ofthem. That is why the courts have not yet pronounced their judgment. "

He had risen to his feet, but she drew him gently down again. 

"Remember, Duncan, that the man is dead! Be calm, and I will tell you allabout it. "

He looked at her wonderingly. 

"You are not angry with me?"

"Angry! Why should I be? I am only happy to know that you neverforgot--that you could not bear to destroy the only link that was leftbetween us. Do you know, I am almost sorry that I spoke to you aboutthis! We seem to have snatched an hour or two out of Paradise, and itis I who have stirred up the dark waters. Let us forget it for a fewmore minutes!"

He drew her away with him towards their seat under the trees. Wraysonlooked across at Louise with a smile. 

"You, too, " he said. "May we not forget a little longer?"

She smiled at him sadly, and shook her head. 

"No!" she answered. "With them it is different. I can scarcely yetrealize that I have a brother: think what it must be to Emilie to havethe man whom she loved come back from the grave. Listen!"

Outside they heard the sound of galloping horses. A moment later theBaron de Courcelles issued from the inn and crossed the lawn towardsMadame de Melbain. 

"Madame, " he said, "the man who was caught in the park last night is, without doubt, a spy from Mexonia! He can be charged with nothing moreserious than trespass, and in a few minutes he will be free. Should hereturn, this"--he glanced towards Duncan--"would be the end. I have acarriage waiting for you. "

Madame de Melbain rose at once. With a little gesture of excuse she drewDuncan on one side. 

"Wait here, " she begged, "until you hear from me. Baron de Courcelles ismy one faithful friend at Court. I am going to consult with him. "

"I shall see you again?" he asked. 

She hesitated. 

"Is it wise?" she murmured. "If my enemies knew that you were alive, that I had seen you here, what chance should I have, do you think, before the courts?"

He bent over her hands. 

"I have brought enough trouble upon you, " he said simply. "I will wait!Only I hope that there will be work for me to do!"

CHAPTER XXXII

AT THE HÔTEL SPLENDIDE

"I asked you, " the Baron remarked, helping himself to _hors d'oeuvres, _"to dine with me here, because I fancy that the little inn at St. Étarpeis being closely watched. Always when one has private matters to discuss, I believe in a certain amount of publicity. Here we are in a quietcorner, it is true, but we are surrounded by several hundreds of otherpeople. They are far too occupied with their own affairs to watch us. Itis the last place, for instance, where our friend from Mexonia woulddream of looking for us. "

The three men were seated at a small round table in the greatdining-room of the _Hôtel Splendide_ of Dinant-on-Sea. The season was atits height, and the room was full. On every side they were surrounded bychattering groups of English tourists and French holiday makers. Outsideon the promenade a band was playing, and a leisurely crowd was passingback and forth. 

"The lady whom we will continue, if you please, to call Madame deMelbain, " the Baron continued, "has desired me to take you two gentlemeninto our entire confidence. You are both aware that for eighteen monthsthe suit for divorce brought by that lady's husband has been before aspecial court. "

"One understands, " Wrayson remarked, "that the sympathies of all Europeare with--the lady. "

The Baron bowed. 

"Entirely. Her cause, too, is the popular one in Mexonia. It is theministry and the aristocracy who are on the other side. These are anxiousfor an alliance which will safeguard Mexonia from certain dangers towhich she is at present exposed. Madame de Melbain, as you are bothaware, comes from one of the oldest families of Europe, but it is afamily without any political significance. The betrothal was completedbefore Frederick stood so near to the throne. If his accession had seemedeven a likely thing at the time, it would not have been sanctioned. Ispeak as the staunch friend of the lady whose cause is so dear to us, butI wish you to grasp the facts. "

There was a brief pause whilst a fresh course was served by an apologeticand breathless waiter. The three men spoke together for a while on somechance subject. Then, when they were alone, the Baron continued. 

"The court, although powerful influences were at work, found itselfunable to pronounce the decree which those in authority so much desired. All that those who were behind the scenes could do was to keep the caseopen, hoping that while living apart from her husband some triflingindiscretion on the part of Madame would afford them a pretext for givingthe desired verdict. I need not say that, up to the present, no suchindiscretion has occurred. But all the time we have been on the brink ofa volcano!"

"The letters!" Duncan muttered. 

The Baron nodded. 

"About a year ago, " he said, "Madame de Melbain received a terrifyingletter from the miscreant into whose hands they had fallen. Madame verywisely made a confidant of me, and, with the Baroness de Sturm, I leftat once for London, and saw this man. I very soon persuaded myself thathe had the letters and that he knew their value. He asked a sum for themwhich it was utterly unable for us to pay. "

"Did he explain, " Duncan asked, "how they came into his hands?"

"He said that they were picked up on the battlefield of Colenso atfirst, " the Baron declared. "Afterwards he was brutally frank. You seeyour death was gazetted, a fact of which he was no doubt aware. Headmitted that they had been given to him to destroy. "

Duncan leaned across the table. 

"Baron, " he said, "who killed that man? He cheated me of my task, but Ishould like to know who it was. "

"So would a great many more of us, " the Baron answered. "The fact is, weare in the curious position of having an unknown friend. "

"An unknown friend?" Duncan repeated. 

The Baron nodded. 

"We paid that man two thousand a year, " he said, "but he was notsatisfied. He communicated secretly with the other side, and they agreedto buy the letters for ten thousand pounds. We knew the very night whenhe had arranged to hand them over to a man named Bentham in London. Butwe were powerless. We could not have found the half of ten thousandpounds. One thing only was tried, and that very nearly ended in disaster. An attempt was made to steal the letters. Mr. Wrayson will tell you aboutthat--presently. "

A _maître d'hôtel_ paused at their table to hope that messieurs were wellserved. In a season so busy it was not possible to give the attention toevery one they would like! Was there anything he could do? Messieurs weredrinking, he noticed, the best wine in the cellars! He trusted that theyapproved of it. The young lady there with the diamond collar and thewonderful eyes? He bent a little lower over the table. That wasMademoiselle Diane, of the Folies Bergères! And the gentleman? He hadregistered under another name, but he was well known as the Baron X----, a great capitalist in Paris!

The _maître d'hôtel_ passed on, well satisfied that he had interested thethree distinguished looking gentlemen who dined alone. Wrayson, as soonas he was out of hearing, leaned over the table. 

"It is on that night, " he said to Duncan, "that I come into touch withthe affairs of which our friend has spoken. The man Barnes had a flatcorresponding to mine on the floor above. I returned home about midnightand found a young lady, who was a complete stranger to me, engaged insearching my desk. I turned up the lights and demanded an explanation. She was apparently quite as much surprised to see me as I was to see her. It appeared that she had imagined herself in Barnes' flat. Whilst I wastalking to her, the telephone bell rang. Some unknown person asked me toconvey a message to Barnes. When I had finished she was gone. I sat downand tried to make head or tail of the affair. I couldn't. Barnes was adisreputable little bounder! This girl was a lady. What connexion couldthere be between the two? I fancied what might happen if she weresurprised by Barnes, and I determined not to go to bed until I heard hercome down. I fell asleep over my fire, and I woke with a start to findher once more upon the threshold of my room. She was fainting--almost onthe point of collapse! I gave her some brandy and helped her downstairs. At the door of the flat was a cab, and in it was the man Barnes, dead--murdered!"

The breath came through Duncan's teeth with a little hiss. One couldfancy that he was wishing that his had been the hand to strike the blow. The Baron glanced round casually. He called a waiter and complained ofthe slow service, sent for another bottle of wine, and lit a cigarette. 

"I think, " he said, "that we will pause for a moment or so. Mr. Wrayson's narrative is a little dramatic! Ah! Mademoiselle la danseusegoes! What a toilet!"

Mademoiselle favoured their table with her particular regard as shepassed out, and accepted with a delightful smile the fan which shedropped in passing, and which the Baron as speedily restored. He resumedhis seat, stroking his grey moustache. 

"A very handsome young lady, " he remarked. "I think that now we maycontinue. "

"The girl?" Duncan asked quickly. 

"Was your sister, " Wrayson answered. 

There was a moment's intense silence. Duncan was doing his best to lookunconcerned, but the hand which played with his wineglass shook. 

"How--was he murdered?"

"Strangled with a fine cord, " Wrayson answered. 

"In the cab?"

"There or inside the building! It is impossible to say. "

"And no one was ever tried for the murder?" "No one, " Wrayson answered. 

Duncan swallowed a glassful of wine. 

"But my sister, " he said, "was in his rooms--she might have seen him!"

"Your sister's name was never mentioned in the matter, " Wrayson said. "Iwas the only witness who knew anything about her--and--I said nothing. "

Duncan drew a little breath. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"An impulse, " Wrayson answered. "I felt that she could not have beenconcerned in such a deed, and I felt that if I told all that I knew, shewould have been suspected. So I said nothing. I saved her a good deal oftrouble and anxiety I dare say, and I do not believe that I interfered inany way with the course of justice. "

Duncan looked across the table and raised his glass. 

"I should like to shake hands with you, Mr. Wrayson, " he said, "only theBaron would have fits. You acted like a brick. I only hope that Louise isas grateful as she ought to be. "

"My silence, " Wrayson said, "was really an impulse. There have been timessince when I have wondered whether I was wise. There are people now atwork in London trying to solve the mystery of this murder. I acted uponthe supposition that no one had seen your sister leave the flat exceptmyself. I found afterwards that I was mistaken!"

The Baron leaned forward. 

"One moment, Mr. Wrayson, " he interrupted. "You have said that there arepeople in London who are trying to solve the mystery of Barnes' death. Who are they?"

"One is the man's brother, " Wrayson answered, "if possible, a morecontemptible little cur than the man himself was. His only interest isto discover the source of his brother's income. He wants money! Nothingbut money. The other is a much more dangerous person. His name isHeneage, and he is an acquaintance of my own, a barrister, and a man ofeducation. "

"Why does he interest himself in such an affair?" Duncan asked. 

"Because the solution of such matters is a hobby of his, " Wraysonanswered. "It was he who saw your sister and I come out from the flatthat morning. It was he who warned us both to leave England. "

The Baron leaned forward in his chair. 

"Forgive me, Mr. Wrayson, " he said, "but there is a--lady at your rightwho seems anxious to attract your attention. We are none of us anxious toadvertise our presence here. Is she, by any chance, a friend of yours?"

Wrayson looked quickly round. He understood at once the Baron's slightpause. The ladies of the French half-world are skilled enough, whennecessary, in concealing their profession: their English sister, if sheattempts it at all, attempts a hopeless task. Over-powdered, over-rouged, with hair at least two shades nearer copper coloured than last time hehad seen her, badly but showily dressed, it was his friend from theAlhambra whose welcoming smile Wrayson received with a thrill ofinterest. She was seated at a small table with a slightly less repulsiveedition of herself, and her smile changed at once into a gesture ofinvitation. Wrayson rose to his feet almost eagerly. 

"This is a coincidence, " he said under his breath. "She, too, holds ahand in the game!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

A HAND IN THE GAME

The diners at the _Hotel Splendide_ were a little surprised to see thetall, distinguished-looking Englishman leave his seat and accost withquiet deference the elder of the two women, whose entrance a few minutesbefore had occasioned a good many not very flattering comments. The ladywho called herself Blanche meant to make the most of her opportunity. 

"Fancy meeting you here, " she remarked. "Flo, this is a friend ofmine. Mrs. Harrigod! Gentleman's name doesn't matter, does it?" sheadded, laughing. 

Wrayson bowed, and murmured something inaudible. Blanche's friendregarded him with unconcealed and flattering approval. 

"Over here for a little flutter, I suppose?" she remarked. "It is so hotin town we had to get away somewhere. Are you alone with your friends?"

"Quite alone, " Wrayson answered. "We are only staying for a day or two. "

The lady nodded. 

"We shall stay for a week if we like it, " she said. "If not, we shall goon to Dieppe. Did you get my letter?"

"Letter!" Wrayson repeated. "No! Have you written to me?"

She nodded. 

"I wrote to you a week ago. "

"I have been staying near here" Wrayson said, "and my letters have notbeen forwarded. "

He bent a little lower over the table. The perfume of violet scent wasalmost unbearable, but he did not flinch. 

"You had some news for me?" he asked eagerly. 

"Yes!" she answered. "I'm not going to tell you now. We are going tosit outside after dinner. You must come to us there. No good havingsmart friends unless you make use of them, " she added, with a shrilllittle laugh. 

"I shall take some chairs and order coffee, " Wrayson said. "In themeantime--?"

"If you like to order us a bottle of champagne and tell the waiter to putit on your bill, we shan't be offended, " Blanche declared. "We were justwondering whether we could run to it. "

"You must do me the honour of being my guests for dinner also, "Wrayson declared, calling a waiter. "It was very good of you toremember to write. "

The friend murmured something about it being very kind of the gentleman. Blanche shrugged her shoulders. 

"Oh! I remember right enough, " she said. "It wasn't that. But there, waituntil I've told you about it. It's an odd story, and sometimes I wish I'dnever had anything to do with it. I get a cold shiver every time I thinkof that old man who took me to dine at Luigi's. Outside in three-quartersof an hour, then!"

"I will keep some chairs and order coffee, " Wrayson said, turning away. 

"And bring one of your friends, " Blanche added. "It won't do him anyharm. We shan't bite him!"

"I will bring them both, " Wrayson promised. 

He went back to his own table and people watched him curiously. 

"I believe, " he said quietly, as he sat down, "that if there is a personin the world who can put us on the track of those letters, it is the ladywith whom I have just been talking. "

The Baron looked across at the two women with new interest. 

"What on earth have they got to do with it, Wrayson?" he asked. 

"The fair one was a friend of Barnes', " Wrayson answered. "It was at herflat that he called the night he was murdered. "

"You are sure, " Duncan asked, "that the letters have not been found yetby the other side?"

"Quite sure, " the Baron answered. "We have agents in Mexonia, evenabout the King's person, and we should hear in an hour if they hadthe letters. "

"Presuming, then, " Duncan said thoughtfully, "that Barnes was murderedfor the sake of these letters--and as he was murdered on the very nighthe was going to hand them over to the other side, I don't see what elsewe can suppose, --the crime would appear to have been committed by someone on our side. "

"It certainly does seem so, " the Baron admitted. 

"And this man Bentham! He was the agent for--the King's people. He toowas murdered! Baron!"

"Well?"

"Who killed Barnes? He robbed me of my right, but I want to know. "

The Baron shook his head. 

"I have no idea, " he said gravely. "We have agents in London, of course, but no one who would go to such lengths. I do not know who killedBarnes, nor do I know who killed Bentham. "

There was a short silence. The Baron's words were impressively spoken. It was impossible to doubt their veracity. Yet both to Wrayson and toDuncan they had a serious import. The same thought was present in themind of all three of them--and each avoided the others' eyes. Wrayson, however, was not disposed to let the matter go without one moreeffort. The corners of his mouth tightened, and he looked the Baronsteadily in the face. 

"Baron, " he said, "I have told you that there is a man in London who hasset himself to solve the mystery of Barnes' death. The two people whom hewould naturally suspect are Miss Fitzmaurice and myself. There is strongpresumptive evidence against us, owing to my silence at the inquest, andat any moment we might either of us have to face this charge. Knowingthis, do I understand you to say that, if the necessity arose, you wouldbe absolutely unable to throw any light upon the matter?"

"Absolutely!" the Baron declared. "Both those murders are as complete anenigma to me as to you. "

"You have agents in London?"

"Agents, yes!" the Baron declared, "but they are in the nature ofdetectives only. They would not dream of going to such lengths, eitherwith instructions or without them. Neither, I am sure, would any one whowas employed to collect evidence upon the other side. "

There was no more to be said. Wrayson rose to his feet a little abruptly. 

"The air is stifling here, " he said. "Let us go outside and takeour coffee. "

They found seats on the veranda, looking out upon the promenade. TheBaron looked a little dubiously at the stream of people passing backwardsand forwards. 

"Are we not a little conspicuous?" he remarked. 

"Does it really matter?" Wrayson asked. "It is only for this evening. Ishall leave for London tomorrow, in any event. Besides, it is part of thebargain that we take coffee with these ladies. Here they are. "

Wrayson introduced his friends with perfect gravity. Chairs were found, and coffee and liqueurs ordered. Wrayson contrived to sit on the outside, and next to his copper-haired friend. 

"Now for our little talk, " he said. "Will you have a cigarette? You'llfind these all right. "

She threw a sidelong glance at him and sighed. What an exceedinglyearnest young man this was!

"Well, " she said, "I know you'll give me no peace till I've told you. There may be nothing in it. That's for you to find out. I think myselfthere is. It was last Thursday night in the promenade at the Alhambrathat I saw her!"

"Saw whom?" Wrayson interrupted. 

"I'm coming to that, " she declared. "Let me tell you my own way. I wastalking to a friend, and I overheard all that she said. She was quietlydressed, and she looked frightened; a poor, pale-faced little thing shewas anyway, and she was walking up and down like a stage-doll, peeringround corners and looking everywhere, as though she'd lost somebody. Presently she went up to one of the attendants, and I heard her ask himif he knew a Mr. Augustus Howard who came there often. The man shook hishead, and then she tried to describe him. It was a bit flattering, butan idea jumped into my head all of a sudden that it was Barnes she waslooking for. "

"By Jove!" Wrayson muttered, under his breath. "Did you speak to her?"

She nodded. 

"I waited till she was alone, and then I made her sit down with me anddescribe him all over again. By the time she'd finished, I was jolly wellsure that it was Barnes she was after. "

"Did you tell her?" Wrayson asked. 

"Not I!" she answered. "I didn't want a scene there, and besides, it'syour little show, not mine. I told her that I felt sure I recognized him, and that if she would be in the same place at nine o'clock a week fromthat night, I could send some one whom I thought would be able to tellher about her friend. That was last Thursday. You want to be just outsidethe refreshment-room at nine o'clock to-morrow night, and you can'tmistake her. She looks as though she'd blown in from an A B C shop. "

Wrayson possessed himself of her hand for a moment in an impulse ofapparent gallantry. Something which rustled pleasantly was instantly andsafely transferred to the metal purse which hung from her waistband. 

"You will allow me?" he murmured. 

"Rather, " she answered, with a little laugh. "What a stroke of luck itwas meeting you here! Flo and I were both stony. We hadn't a sovereignbetween us when we'd paid for our tickets. "

"Have you seen anything of Barnes' brother?" he asked. 

"Once or twice at the Alhambra, " she answered. 

"He was wearing his brother's clothes, but he looked pretty dicky. "

"You didn't mention this young woman to him, I suppose?" he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"Not I! You're the only person I've told. Hope it brings you luck. "

Wrayson rose to his feet. The Baron and Duncan followed his example. Theytook leave of the ladies and turned towards the promenade. 

"I'm going to London by the morning boat, " Wrayson announced. "I believeI'm on the track of those letters. "

They walked up and down for a few moments talking. As they passed thefront of the hotel, they heard a shrill peal of laughter. Blanche and herfriend were talking to a little group of men. The Baron smiled. 

"We have broken the ice for them, " he said, "but I am afraid that we arealready forgotten. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

AN ILL-ASSORTED COUPLE

Wrayson looked anxiously at his watch. It was already ten minutes pastnine, and although he was standing on the precise spot indicated, therewas no one about who in the least resembled the young woman of whom hewas in search. The overture to the ballet was being played, a good manypeople were strolling about, or seated at the small round tables, butthey were all of the usual class, the ladies ornate and obvious, and allhaving the air of _habitués_. In vain Wrayson scanned the faces of thepassers-by, and even the occupants of the back seats. There was no signof the young woman of whom he was in search. 

Presently he began to stroll somewhat aimlessly about, still taking noteof every one amongst the throng, and in a little while he caught sight ofa familiar figure, sitting alone at one of the small round tables. Heaccosted him at once. 

"How are you, Heneage?" he said quietly. "What are you doing in town atthis time of the year?"

Heneage started when he was addressed, and his manner, when he recognizedWrayson, lacked altogether its usual composure. 

"I'm all right, " he answered. "Beastly hot in town, though, isn't it? I'moff in a day or two. Where have you been to?"

"North of France, " Wrayson answered. "You look as though you wanteda change!"

"I'm going to Scotland directly I can get away. "

The two men looked at one another for a moment. Heneage was certainlylooking ill. There were dark lines under his eyes, and his face seemedthinner. Then, too, he was still in his morning clothes, his tie was illarranged, and his linen not unexceptionable. Wrayson was puzzled. Something had gone wrong with the man. 

"You see, " he said quietly, "I have been forced to disregard yourwarning. I shall be in England for some little time at any rate. May Iask, am I in any particular danger?"

Heneage shook his head. 

"Not from me, at any rate!"

Wrayson looked at him for a moment steadily. 

"Do you mean that, Heneage?" he asked. 

"Yes!"

"You are satisfied, then, that neither I nor the young lady hadanything to do with the death of Morris Barnes?" Heneage moved in hischair uneasily. 

"Yes!" he answered. "Don't talk to me about that damned business, " headded, with a little burst of half-suppressed passion. "I've done withit. Come and have a drink. "

Wrayson drew a sigh of relief. Perhaps, for the first time, he realizedhow great a weight this thing had been upon his spirits. He had fearedHeneage!--not this man, but the cold, capable Stephen Heneage of hisearlier acquaintance; feared him not only for his own sake, but hers. After all, his visit to the Alhambra had brought some good to him. 

Heneage had risen to his feet. 

"We'll go into the American bar, " he said. "Not here. The women fussround one so. I'm glad you've turned up, Wrayson. I've got the hump!"

The bar was crowded, but they found a quiet corner. Heneage ordered alarge brandy and soda, and drunk half of it at a gulp. 

"How's every one?" Wrayson asked. "I haven't been in the club yet. "

"All right, I believe. I haven't been in myself for a week, "Heneage answered. 

Wrayson looked at him in surprise. 

"Haven't been in the club for a week?" he repeated. "That's ratherunusual, isn't it?"

"Damn it all! I'm not obliged to go there, am I?" Heneageexclaimed testily. 

Wrayson looked at him in amazement. Heneage, as a rule, was one of themost deliberate and even-tempered of men. 

"Of course not, " he answered. "You won't mind telling me how the Colonelis, though, will you?"

"I believe he is very well, " Heneage answered, more calmly. "He doesn'tcome up to town so often this hot weather. Forgive me for being a bitimpatient, old fellow. I've got a fit of nerves, I think. "

"You want a change, " Wrayson said earnestly. "There's no doubtabout that. "

"I am going away very soon, " Heneage answered. "As soon as I can get off. I don't mind telling you, Wrayson, that I've had a shock, and it hasupset me. "

Wrayson nodded sympathetically. 

"All right, old chap, " he said. "I'm beastly sorry, but if you take myadvice, you'll get out of London as soon as you can. Go to Trouville orDinard, or some place where there's plenty of life. I shouldn't busymyself in the country, if I were you. By the bye, " he added, "there isone more question I should like to ask you, if you don't mind. "

Heneage called a waiter and ordered more drinks. Then he turned toWrayson. 

"Well, " he said, "go on!"

"About that little brute, Barnes' brother. Is he about still?"

Heneage's face darkened. He clenched his fist, but recovered himself witha visible effort. 

"Yes!" he answered shortly, "he is about. He is everywhere. The littlebrute haunts me! He dogs my footsteps, Wrayson. Sometimes I wonder that Idon't sweep him off the face of the earth. "

"But why?" Wrayson asked. "What does he want with you?"

"I will tell you, " Heneage answered. "When he first turned up, I wasinterested in his story, as you know. We commenced working at the thingtogether. You understand, Wrayson?"

"Perfectly!"

"Well--after a while it suited me--to drop it. Perhaps I told him so alittle abruptly. At any rate, he was disappointed. Now he has got an ideain his brain. He believes that I have discovered something which I willnot tell him. He follows me about. He pesters me to death. He is a slaveto that one idea--a hideous, almost unnatural craving to get his handson the source of his brother's money. I think that he will very soon bemad. To tell you the truth, I came in here to-night because I thought Ishould be safe from him. I don't believe he has five shillings to get inthe place. "

Wrayson lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment in silence. Then heturned towards his companion. 

"Heneage, " he said, "I don't want to annoy you, but you must rememberthat this matter means a good deal to me. I am forced to ask you aquestion, and you must answer it. Have you really found anything out? Youdon't often give a thing up without a reason. "

Heneage answered him with greater composure than he had expected, thoughperhaps to less satisfactory effect. 

"Look here, Wrayson, " he said, "you appreciate plain speaking, don't you?"

Wrayson nodded. Heneage continued:

"You can go to hell with your questions! You understand that? It'splain English. "

"Admirably simple, " Wrayson answered, "and perfectly satisfactory. "

"What do you mean?"

"It answers my question, " Wrayson declared quietly. 

Heneage shrugged his shoulders. 

"You can get what satisfaction you like out of it, " he said doggedly. 

"It isn't much, " Wrayson admitted. "I wish I could induce you to treat mea little more generously. "

Heneage looked at him with a curious gleam in his eyes. 

"Look here, " he said. "Take my advice. Drop the whole affair. You seewhat it's made of me. It'll do the same to you. I shan't tell youanything! You can swear to that. I've done with it, Wrayson, done withit! You understand that? Talk about something else, or leave me alone!"

Wrayson looked at the man whom he had once called his friend. 

"You're in a queer sort of mood, Heneage, " he said. 

"Let it go at that, " Heneage answered. "Every man has a right to hismoods, hasn't he? No right to inflict them upon his friends, you'd say!Perhaps not, but you know I'm a reasonable person as a rule. Don't--don't--"

He broke off abruptly in his sentence. His eyes were fixed upon a distantcorner of the room. Their expression was unfathomable, but Wraysonshuddered as he looked away and followed their direction. Then he, too, started. He recognized the miserable little figure whose presence a groupjust broken up left revealed. Heneage rose softly to his feet. 

"Let us go before he sees us, " he whispered hurriedly. "Look sharp!"

But they were too late. Already he was on his way towards them, shamblingrather than walking down the room, an unwholesome, unattractive, evenrepulsive figure. He seemed to have shrunken in size since his arrival inEngland, and his brother's clothes, always too large, hung about himloose and ungraceful. His tie was grimy; his shirt frayed; his trousersturned up, but still falling over his heels; his hat, too large for him, came almost to his ears. In the increased pallor and thinness of hisface, his dark eyes seemed to have come nearer together. He would havebeen a ludicrous object but for the intense earnestness of hisexpression. He came towards them with rapidly blinking eyes. He took nonotice of Heneage, but he insisted upon shaking hands with Wrayson. 

"Mr. Wrayson, " he said, "I am glad to see you again, sir. You alwaystreated me like a gentleman. Not like him, " he added, motioning with hishead towards Heneage. "He's a thief, he is!"

"Steady, " Wrayson interrupted, "you mustn't call people names like that. "

"Why not?" Barnes asked. "He is a thief. He knows it. He knows who robbedme of my money. And he won't tell. That's what I call being a thief. "

Wrayson glanced towards Heneage and was amazed at his demeanour. He hadshrunk back in his chair, and he was sitting with his hands in hispockets and his eyes fixed upon the table. Of the two, his miserablelittle accuser was the dominant figure. 

"He's very likely spending it now--my money!" Barnes continued. "Heream I living on crusts and four-penny dinners, and begging my way inhere, and some one else is spending my money. Never mind! It may be myturn yet! It may be only a matter of hours, " he added, leaning overtowards them and showing his yellow teeth, "and I may have the laugh onboth of you. "

Heneage looked up quickly. He was obviously discomposed. 

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

Sydney Barnes indulged in the graceless but expressive proceeding ofsticking his tongue in his cheek. After which he turned to Wrayson. 

"Mr. Wrayson, " he said, "lend me a quid. I've got the flat to sleep infor a few more weeks, but I haven't got money enough for a meal. I'll payyou back some day--perhaps before you expect it. "

Wrayson produced a sovereign and handed it over silently. 

"If I were you, " he said, "I'd spend my time looking for a situation, instead of hunting about for this supposed fortune of your brother's. "

Barnes took the sovereign with hot, trembling fingers, and deposited itcarefully in his waistcoat pocket. Then he smiled in a somewhatmysterious manner. 

"Mr. Wrayson, " he said, "perhaps I'm not so far off, after all. Otherpeople can find out what he knows, " he added, pointing at Heneage. "Heain't the only one who can see through a brick wall. Say, Mr. Wrayson, you've always treated me fair and square, " he added, leaning towards himand dropping his voice. "Can you tell me this? Did Morry ever goswaggering about calling himself by any other name--bit more tony, eh?"

Wrayson started. For a moment he did not reply. Thoughts were rushingthrough his brain. Was he forestalled in his search for this girl?Meanwhile, Barnes watched him with a cunning gleam in his deep-set eyes. 

"Such as Augustus Howard, eh? Real tony name that for Morry!"

Wrayson, with a sudden instinctive knowledge, brushed him on one side, and half standing up, gazed across the room at the corner from which hisquestioner had come. With her back against the wall, her cheap prettinessmarred by her red eyes, her ill-arranged hair, and ugly hat, sat, beyonda doubt, the girl for whom he had waited in the promenade. 

CHAPTER XXXV

HIS WIFE

Wrayson drew a little breath and looked back at Sydney Barnes. 

"You asked me a question, " he said. "I believe I have heard of yourbrother calling himself by some such name. "

Barnes grasped him by the arm. 

"Look here, " he said, "come and repeat that to the young lady over there. She's with me. It won't do you any harm. "

Wrayson rose to his feet, but before he could move he felt Heneage's handfall upon his arm. 

"Where are you going, Wrayson?" he asked. 

Barnes looked up at him anxiously. His pale face seemed twistedinto a scowl. 

"Don't you interfere!" he exclaimed. "You've done me enough harm, youhave. You let Mr. Wrayson pass. He's coming with me. "

Heneage took no more notice of him than he would of a yapping terrier. Helooked over his head into Wrayson's eyes. 

"Wrayson, " he said, "don't have anything more to do with this business. Take my advice. I know more than you do about it. If you go on, I swearto you that there is nothing but misery at the end. "

"I know more than you think I do, " Wrayson answered quietly. "I know moreindeed than you have any idea of. If the end were in hell I should nothold back. "

Heneage hesitated for a moment. He stood there with darkening face, anobstinate, almost a threatening figure. Passers-by looked with a gleam ofinterest at the oddly assorted trio, whose conversation was obviously farremoved from the ordinary chatter of the loungers about the place. One ortwo made an excuse to linger by--it seemed possible that there might bedevelopments. Heneage, however, disappointed them. He turned suddenlyupon his heel and left the room. Those who had the curiosity to followalong the corridor saw him, without glancing to the right or to the left, descend the stairs and walk out of the building. He had the air of a manwho abandons finally a hopeless task. 

The look of relief in Barnes' face as he saw him go was a ludicrousthing. He drew Wrayson at once towards the corner. 

"Queer thing about this girl, " he whispered in his ear. "She ain't likethe others about here. She just comes to make inquiries about a friendwho's given her the chuck, and whose name she says was Howard. I believeit's Morry she means. Just like him to take a toff's name!"

"Wait a moment before we speak to her, " Wrayson said. "How did youfind her out?"

"She spoke to me, " Barnes answered. "Asked me if my name was Howard, saidI was a bit like the man she was looking for. Then I palled up to her, and I'm pretty certain Morry was her man. I want her to go to the flatwith me and see his clothes and picture, but she's scared. Mr. Wrayson, you might do me a good turn. She'll come if you'd go too!"

"Do you know why I am here to-night?" Wrayson asked. 

"No! Why?"

"To meet that young woman of yours, " Wrayson answered. 

Barnes looked at him in amazement. 

"What do you mean?" he asked quickly. "You don't know her, do you?"

His sallow cheeks were paler than ever. His narrow eyes, furtively raisedto Wrayson's, were full of inquisitive fear. 

"No! I don't know her, " Wrayson answered, "but I rather fancy, all thesame, that she is the young person whom I came here to meet to-night. "

Barnes waited breathlessly for an explanation. He did not say a word, buthis whole attitude was an insistent interrogation point. 

"You remember, " Wrayson said, "that when you and I were pursuing theseinvestigations together, I made some inquiries of the woman at whose flatyour brother called on the night of his murder. I saw her again at Dinantyesterday, and she told me of this young person. She also evidentlybelieved that the man for whom she was inquiring was your brother. "

Barnes nodded. 

"She told me that she was to have met a gentleman to-night, " he said. "Here, we must go and speak to her now, or she'll think thatsomething's up. "

He performed something that was meant for an introduction. 

"Friend of mine, Miss, " he said, indicating Wrayson. "Knew my brotherwell, lived in the flat just below him, in fact. Perhaps you'd like toask him a few questions. "

"There is only one question I want answered, " the girl replied, withstraining eyes fixed upon Wrayson's face, and a little break in her tone. "Shall I see him again? If Augustus was really--his brother--where is he?What has happened to him?"

There was a moment's silence. Sydney Barnes had evidently said nothing asto his brother's tragic end. Wrayson could see, too, that the girl was onthe brink of hysterics, and needed careful handling. 

"We will tell you everything, " he said presently. "But first of allwe have to decide whether your Augustus Howard and Morris Barnes werethe same person. I think that the best way for you to decide thiswould be to come home to my flat. Mr. Barnes' is just above, and Idare say you can recognize some of his brother's belongings, if hereally was--your friend. "

She rose at once. She was perfectly willing to go. They left the placetogether and entered a four-wheeler. During the drive she scarcely openedher lips. She sat in a corner looking absently out of the window, andnervously clasping and unclasping her hands. She answered a remark ofSydney Barnes' without turning her head. 

"I always watch the people, " she said. "Wherever I am, I always lookout of the window. I have always hoped--that I might see Augustus againthat way. "

Wrayson, from his seat in the opposite corner of the cab, watched herwith growing sympathy. In her very conformity to type, she represented sonaturally a real and living unit of humanity. Her poor commonplaceprettiness was already on the wane, stamped out by the fear and troubleof the last few months. Yet inane though her features, lacking altogetherstrength or distinction, there was stamped into them something of thatdumb, dog-like fidelity to some object which redeemed them from utterinsignificance. Wrayson, as he watched her, found himself thinking morekindly of the dead man himself. In his vulgar, selfish way, he hadprobably been kind to her: he must have done something to have kindledthis flame of dogged, persevering affection. Already he scarcely doubtedthat Morris Barnes and Augustus Howard had been the same person. Within avery few minutes of her entering the flats there remained no doubt atall. With a low moan, like a dumb animal mortally hurt, she sank downupon the nearest chair, clasping the photograph which Sydney Barnes hadpassed her in her hands. 

For a few moments there was silence. Then she looked up--at Wrayson. Herlips moved but no words came. She began again. This time he was able tocatch the indistinct whisper. 

"Where is he?"

Wrayson took a seat by her side upon the sofa. 

"You do not read the newspapers?" he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"Not much. My eyes are not very good, and it tires me to read. "

"I am afraid, " he said gently, "that it will be bad news. "

A little sob caught in her throat. 

"Go on, " she faltered. 

"He is dead, " Wrayson said simply. 

She fainted quietly away. 

Wrayson hurried downstairs to his own flat for some brandy. When hereturned the girl was still unconscious. Her pocket was turned inside outand the front of her dress was disordered. Sydney Barnes was bendingclose over her. Wrayson pushed him roughly away. 

"You can wait, at least, until she is well, " he said contemptuously. 

Sydney Barnes was wholly unabashed. He watched Wrayson pour brandybetween the girl's lips, bathe her temples, and chafe her hands. All thetime he stood doggedly waiting close by. No considerations of decency orhumanity would weigh with him for one single second. The fever of hisgreat desire still ran like fire through his veins. He did not think ofthe girl as a human creature at all. Simply there was a pair of lipsthere which might point out to him the way to his Paradise. 

She opened her eyes at last. Sydney Barnes came a step nearer, butWrayson pushed him once more roughly away. 

"You are feeling better?" he asked kindly. 

She nodded, and struggled up into a sitting posture. 

"Tell me, " she said, "how did he die? It must have been quite sudden. Wasit an accident?--or--or--"

He saw the terror in her eyes, and he spoke quickly. All the time hefound himself wondering how it was that she was guessing at the truth. 

"We are afraid, " he said "that he was murdered. It is surprising that youdid not read about it in the papers. "

She shook her head. 

"I do not read much, " she said, "and the name was different. Who wasit--that killed him?"

"No one knows, " he answered. 

"When was it?" she asked. 

He told her the date. She repeated it tearfully. 

"He was down with me the day before, " she said. "He was terribly excitedall the time, and I know that he was a little afraid of somethinghappening to him. He had been threatened!"

"Do you know by whom?" Wrayson asked. 

She shook her head. 

"He never told me, " she answered. "He didn't tell me much. But he wasvery, very good to me. I was at the refreshment-room at London Bridgewhen I first met him. He used to come in and see me every day. Then hebegan to take me out, and at last he found me a little house down atPutney, and I was so happy. I had been so tired all my life, " she added, with a little sigh, "and down there I did nothing but rest and rest andwait for him to come. It was too good to last, of course, but I didn'tthink it would end like this!"

Quietly but very persistently Sydney Barnes insisted on being heard. 

"It's my turn now, " he said, standing by Wrayson's side. "Look here, Miss, I'm his brother. You can see that, can't you?"

"You are something like him, " she admitted, "only he was much, much nicerto look at than you. "

"Never mind that, " he continued eagerly. "I'm his brother, his nearestrelative. Everything he left behind belongs to me!"

"Not--quite everything, " she protested. 

"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. 

"You may be his brother, " she answered, "but I, " holding out her lefthand a little nervously, "I was his wife!"

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE MURDERED MAN'S EFFECTS

Both men had been totally unprepared for the girl's timid avowal. ToWrayson, however, after the first mild shock of surprise, it was of nospecial import. To Sydney Barnes, although he made a speedy effort tograpple with the situation, it came very much as a thunderclap. 

"You have your certificate?" he asked sharply. "You were married properlyin a church?"

She nodded. "We were married at Dulwich Parish Church, " she answered. "Itwas nearly a year ago. "

"Very well, " Sydney Barnes said. "It is lucky that I am here to lookafter your interests. We divide everything, you know. "

She seemed about to cry. 

"I want Augustus, " she murmured. "He was very good to me. "

"Look here, " he said, "Augustus always seemed to have plenty of oof, didn't he?"

She nodded. 

"He was very generous with it, too, " she declared. "He gave me lots andlots of beautiful things. "

His eyes travelled over her hands and neck, destitute of ornaments. 

"Where are they?" he asked sharply. 

"I've had to sell them, " she answered, "to get along at all, I hated to, but I couldn't starve. "

The young man's face darkened. 

"Come, " he said. "We'd better have no secrets from one another. You knowhow to get at his money, I suppose?"

She shook her head. 

"Indeed I don't know anything about it, " she declared. 

"You must know where it came from, " he persisted. 

"I don't, " she repeated. "Indeed I don't. He never told me and I neverasked him. I understood that he had made it in South Africa. "

Sydney Barnes wiped the perspiration from his forehead. 

"Look here, " he said in a voice which, notwithstanding his efforts tocontrol it, trembled a little, "this is a very serious matter for us. Youdon't want to go back to the refreshment bar again, do you?"

"I don't care what I do, " she answered dully. "I hated that, but I shallhate everything now that he is gone. "

"It's only for a day or two you'll feel like that, " he declared. "We'vegot a right, you and I, to whatever Morry left behind, and whateverhappens I mean to have my share. Look around you!"

It was not an inspiring spectacle. The room was dirty, and almost devoidof furniture. 

"All that I've had out of it so far, " he declared, "is free quartershere. The rent's paid up to the end of the year. I've had to sell thefurniture bit by bit to keep alive. It was a cheap lot, cheap and showy, and it fetched jolly little. Morry always did like to have things thatlooked worth more than he gave for them. Even his jewellery wassham--every bally bit of it. There wasn't a real pearl or a real diamondamongst the lot. But there's no doubt about the money. I've had thebank-book. He was worth a cool two thousand a year was Morry--that'sfive hundred each quarter day, you understand, and somewhere or otherthere must be the bonds or securities from which this money came. Henever kept them here. I'll swear to that. Therefore they must besomewhere that you ought to know about. "

She nodded wearily. 

"Very likely, " she said. "I have a parcel he gave me to take care of. "

The effect of her simple words on Barnes was almost magical. The dullcolour streamed into his sallow cheeks, he shook all over withexcitement. His voice, when he spoke, was almost hysterical. He had beenso near to despair. This indeed had been almost his last hope. 

"A parcel!" he gasped. "A parcel! What sort of a parcel? Did he say thatit was important?"

"It's just a long envelope tied up with red tape and sealed, " sheanswered. "Yes! he made a great fuss about leaving it with me. "

"Tell us all about it, " he demanded greedily. "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!Be quick!"

"It must have been almost the very day it happened, " she said, with alittle shudder. "He came down in the afternoon and he seemed a bit queer, as though he had something on his mind. He took out the envelope once ortwice and looked at it. Once he said to me, 'Agnes, ' he said, 'there aremen in London who, if they knew that I carried this with me, would killme for it. I was frightened, and I begged him to leave it somewhere. Ithink he said that he had to have it always with him, because he couldn'tthink of a safe hiding-place for it. Just as he was going, though, hecame back and took it out of his pocket once more. "

"He left it with you?" Barnes exclaimed. "You have it safe?"

She nodded. 

"I was going to tell you. 'Look here, Agnes, ' he said, 'I'm nervousto-night. I don't want to carry this about with me. I shall want itto-morrow and I'll come down for it. To-night's a dangerous night forme to be carrying it about. ' Those were just about his last words. Hegave me the packet and I begged him to be careful. Then he kissed meand off he went, smoking a cigar, and as cheerful as though he weregoing to a wedding. "

She began to cry again, but Barnes broke in upon her grief. 

"Didn't he tell you anything more about it?" he demanded. 

"He told me--if anything happened to him, " she sobbed, "to open it. "

"We must do so, " he declared. "We must do so at once. There must be aquarter's dividends overdue. We can get the money to-morrow, andthen--oh! my God!" he exclaimed, as though the very anticipation made himfaint. "Where is the packet?"

"At the bottom of my tin trunk in my rooms, " she answered. "I had toleave the house. I couldn't pay the rent any longer. "

"Where are the rooms?" he demanded. "We'll go there now. "

"In Labrador Street, " she answered. "It's a poor part, but I've only afew shillings in the world. "

"We'll have a cab, " he declared, rising. "Mr. Wrayson will lend us themoney, perhaps?"

"I will come with you, " Wrayson said quietly. 

"We needn't bother you to do that, " Sydney Barnes declared, with asuspicious glance. 

The young woman looked towards him appealingly. He nodded reassuringly. 

"I think, " he said, "that it will be better for me to come. I amconcerned in this business after all, you know. "

"I don't see how, " Barnes declared sullenly. "_If_ this young lady is mysister-in-law, surely she and I can settle up our own affairs. "

Wrayson stood with his back to the door, facing them. 

"I hope, " he said, "that you will not, either of you, be disappointed inwhat you find in that packet. But I think it is only right to warn you. Ihave reason to believe that you will not find any securities or bondsthere at all! I believe that you will find that packet to consist ofmerely a bundle of old letters and a photograph!"

Barnes spat upon the floor. He was shaking with fright and anger. 

"I don't believe it, " he declared. "What can you know about it?"

Wrayson shrugged his shoulders. 

"Look here, " he said, "the matter is easily settled. We will put thisyoung lady in a cab and she shall bring the packet to my flat below. Youand she shall open it, and if you find securities there I have no more tosay, except to wish you both luck. If, on the other hand, you find theletters, it will be a different matter. "

The girl had risen to her feet. 

"I would rather go alone, " she said. "If you will pay my cab, I willbring the packet straight back. "

Wrayson and Barnes waited in the former's flat. Barnes drank two brandyand sodas, and walked restlessly up and down the room. Wrayson was busyat the telephone, and carried on a conversation for some moments inFrench. Directly he had finished, Barnes turned upon him. 

"Whom were you talking to?" he demanded. 

"A friend of yours, " he answered. "I have asked her to come round for afew minutes. "

"A friend of mine?"

"The Baroness!"

The colour burned once more in his cheeks. He looked down at his attirewith dissatisfaction. 

"I didn't want to see her again just yet, " he muttered. Wrayson smiled. 

"She won't look at your clothes, " he remarked, "and I rather wanther here. "

Barnes was suddenly suspicious. 

"What for?" he demanded. "What has she got to do with the affair? I won'thave strangers present. "

"My young friend, " Wrayson said, "I may just as well warn you that Ithink you are going to be disappointed. I am almost certain that I knowthe contents of that packet. You will find that it consists, as I toldyou before, not of securities at all, but simply a few old letters. "

Barnes' eyes narrowed. 

"Whatever they are, " he said, "they meant a couple of thousand a year toMorry, and they were worth his life to somebody! How do you account forthat, eh?"

"You want the truth?" Wrayson asked. 

"Yes!"

"Your brother was a blackmailer!"

The breath came through Barnes' teeth with a little hiss. He realizedhis position almost at once. He was trapped. 

He walked up to Wrayson's side. His voice shook, but he was indeadly earnest. 

"Look here, " he said, "the contents of that packet, whatever they may be, are mine--mine and hers! You have nothing to do with the matter at all. Iwill not have you in the room when they are opened. "

Wrayson shrugged his shoulders. 

"The packet will be opened here, " he said, "and I shall certainlybe present. "

Barnes ground his teeth. 

"If you touch one of those papers or letters or whatever they may be, youshall be prosecuted for theft, " he declared. "I swear it!"

Wrayson smiled. 

"I will run the risk, " he declared. "Ah! Baroness, this is kind of you, "he added, throwing open the door and ushering her in. "There is a youngfriend of yours here who is dying to renew his acquaintance with you. "

She smiled delightfully at Sydney Barnes, and threw back her cloak. She had just come in from the opera, and diamonds were flashingfrom her neck and bosom. Her gown was exquisite, the touch of herfingers an enchantment. It was impossible for him to resist thespell of her presence. 

"You have been very unkind, " she declared. "You have not been to see mefor a very long time. I do not think that I shall forgive you. What doyou say, Mr. Wrayson? Do you think that he deserves it?"

Wrayson smiled as he threw open the door once more. He felt that the nextfew minutes might prove interesting. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE WIDOW'S ULTIMATUM

Sydney Barnes stepped quickly forward. If Wrayson had permitted it, hewould have snatched the packet from the girl's fingers. Wrayson, however, saw his intent and intervened. He stepped forward and led her to hiswriting table. 

"I want you to sit down here quietly and open the envelope, " he said, switching on the electric lamp. "That is what he told you to do, isn'tit? There may be a message for you inside. "

She looked round a little fearfully. The presence of the Baronessevidently discomposed her. 

"I thought, " she said, "that we were going to be alone, that there wouldhave been no one here but him and you. "

"The lady is a friend of mine, " Wrayson said, "and it is very likely thatshe may be interested in the contents of this envelope. "

She untied the string with trembling fingers. Wrayson handed her apaper-knife and she cut open the top of the envelope. Then she looked upat him appealingly. 

"I--I don't want to look inside, " she half sobbed. 

Wrayson took up the envelope and shook out its contents before her. Therewas a letter addressed simply to Agnes, and a small packet wrapped inbrown oilcloth and secured with dark-green ribbon. Sydney Barnes' handstole out, but Wrayson was too quick for him. He changed his position, so as to interpose his person between the packet and any one in the room. 

"Read the letter, " he told the girl. "It is addressed to you. "

She handed it to him. Her eyes were blinded with tears. 

"Read it for me, please, " she said. 

He tore open the envelope and read the few lines scrawled upon a halfsheet of notepaper. He read them very softly into her ear, but the wordswere audible enough to all of them. 

"MY DEAR AGNES, --I have just discovered that there are some people on mytrack who mean mischief. I have a secret they want to rob me of. I seemto be followed about everywhere I go. What they want is the little packetin this envelope. I'm leaving it with you because I daren't carry itabout with me. I've had two narrow escapes already. 

"Now you'll never read this letter unless anything happens to me. I'vemade up my mind to sell this packet for what I can get for it, and takeyou with me out of the country. It'll be a matter of ten thousand quid, and I only wish I had my fingers on it now and was well out of thecountry. But this is where the rub comes in. If anything happens to mebefore I can bring this off, I'm hanged if I know what to tell you to dowith the packet. It's worth its weight in banknotes to more persons thanone, but there's a beastly risk in having anything to do with it. I thinkyou'd better burn it! There's money in it, but I don't see how you couldhandle it. Burn it, Agnes. It's too risky a business for you! I onlyhope that in a week or so I shall burn this letter myself, and you and Iwill be on our way to America. 

"So long, Nessie, "from your loving husband. 

"P. S. --By the bye, my real name is Morris Barnes!"

There was an instant's pause as Wrayson finished reading. Then there camea long-drawn-out whisper from Sydney Barnes. He was close to the girl, and his eyes were riveted upon the little packet. 

"Ten--thousand--pounds! Ah! Five thousand each! Give me the packet, sister-in-law!"

She stretched out her hand as though to obey. Wrayson checked her. 

"Remember, " he said, "what your husband told you. You were to burn thatpacket. He was right. Your husband was a blackmailer, Mrs. Barnes, and hepaid the penalty of his infamous career with his life. I shall not alloweither you or your brother-in-law to follow in his footsteps!"

She flashed an indignant glance upon him. 

"Who are you calling names?" she demanded. "He was my husband and he wasgood to me!"

"I beg your pardon and his, " Wrayson said. "I was wrong to use such aword. But I want you to understand that to attempt to make money by thecontents of that packet is a crime! Your husband paid the penalty. Heknew what he was doing when he commanded you to burn it. "

She looked towards Sydney Barnes. 

"What do you say?" she asked. 

The words leaped from his mouth. He was half beside himself. 

"I say let us open the packet and look it through ourselves before wedecide. What the devil business is it of anybody else's. He was mybrother and your husband. These people weren't even his friends. They'veno right to poke their noses into our affairs. You tell them so;sister-in-law. Give me the packet. Come away with me somewhere where wecan look it through quietly. I'm fair and straight. It shall be halves, Iswear. I say, sister-in-law Agnes, you don't want to go back to therefreshment bar, do you?"

"No!" she moaned. "No! no!"

"Nor do I want to go back to the gutter, " he declared fiercely. "But money isn't to be had for the picking up. Ten thousand poundsMorris expected to get for that packet. It's hard if we can't makehalf of that. "

She looked up at Wrayson as though for advice. 

"Mrs. Barnes, " he said gravely, "I can tell you what is in that packet. You can see for yourself, then, whether it is anything by means of whichyou can make money. It consists of the letters of a very famous woman tothe man whom she loved. They were stolen from him on the battlefield. Ido not wish to pain you, but the thief was Morris Barnes. The friends ofthe lady who wrote them paid your brother two thousand pounds a year. Herenemies offered him--ten thousand pounds down. There is the secret ofMorris Barnes' wealth. "

Sydney Barnes leaned over the back of her chair. His hot whisper seemedto burn her cheek. 

"Keep the packet, sister-in-law. Don't part!"

"Your brother-in-law, " Wrayson remarked, "is evidently disposed tocontinue your husband's operations. Remember you are not at liberty todo as he asks. Your husband's words are plain. He orders you to burnthe packet. "

"How do I know that you are telling me the truth?" she asked abruptly. 

"Undo the packet, " he suggested. "A glance inside should show you. "

For some reason or other she seemed dissatisfied. She pointed towardsthe Baroness. 

"What is she doing here?" she asked. 

"She is a friend of the woman who wrote those letters, " Wrayson answered. "I want her to see them destroyed. "

There was silence for several moments. The girl's fingers closed upon thepacket. She turned round and faced them all. She faced them all, but sheaddressed more particularly Wrayson. 

"You are wondering why I hesitate, " she said slowly. "Augustus saiddestroy the packet, and I suppose I ought to do it. "

"By God, you shan't!" Sydney Barnes broke in fiercely. "Morry didn't knowthat I should be here to look after things. "

She waited until he had finished, but she seemed to take very little, ifany, notice of his intervention. 

"It isn't, " she continued, "that I'm afraid to go back to the bar. I'llhave to go to work some where, I suppose, but it isn't that. I want toknow, " she leaned a little forward, --"I want to know who it is that hasrobbed me of my husband. I don't care what he was to other people! He wasvery good to me, and I loved him. I should like to see the person whokilled him hanged!"

Wrayson, for a moment, was discomposed. 

"But that, " he said, "has nothing to do with obeying your husband'sdirections about that packet. "

She looked at him with tired eyes and changeless expression. 

"Hasn't it?" she asked. "I am not so sure. You have explained about theseletters. It is quite certain that my husband was killed by either thefriends or the enemies of the woman who wrote these letters. I think thatif I take this packet to the police it will help them to find themurderer!"

Her new attitude was a perplexing one. Wrayson glanced at the Baronessas though for counsel. She stepped forward and laid her hand upon thegirl's shoulder. 

"There is one thing which you must not forget, Mrs. Barnes, " she saidquietly. "Your husband knew that he was running a great risk in keepingthese letters and making a living out of them. His letter to you showsthat he was perfectly aware of it. Of course, it is a very terrible, avery inexcusable thing that he should have been killed. But he knewperfectly well that he was in danger. Can't you sympathize a little withthe poor woman whose life he made so miserable? Let her have her lettersback. You will not find her ungrateful!"

The girl turned slowly round and faced the Baroness. They might indeedhave represented the opposite poles in femininity. From the tips of herperfectly manicured fingers to the crown of her admirably coiffured hair, the Baroness stood for all that was elegant and refined in the innermostcircles of her sex. Agnes would have looked more in place behind therefreshment bar from which Morris Barnes had brought her. Her dress ofcheap shiny silk was ill fitting and hopeless, her hat with its fadedflowers and crushed shape an atrocity, boots and gloves, and brooch ofartificial gems--all were shocking. Little was left of her pale-facedprettiness. The tragedy which had stolen into her life had changed allthat. Yet she faced the Baroness without flinching. She seemed sustainedby the suppressed emotion of the moment. 

"He was my man, " she said fiercely, "and no one had any right to take himaway from me. He was my husband, and he was brutally murdered. You tellme that I must give up the letters for the sake of the woman who wrotethem! What do I care about her! Is she as unhappy as I am, I wonder? Iwill not give up the letters, " she added, clasping them in her hand, "except--on one condition. "

"If it is a reasonable one, " the Baroness said, smiling, "there will beno difficulty. "

Agnes faced her a little defiantly. 

"It depends upon what you call reasonable, " she said. "Find out for mewho it was that killed my husband, you or any one of you, and you shallhave the letters. "

Sydney Barnes smiled, and left off nervously tugging at his moustache. Ifthis was not exactly according to his own ideas, it was, at any rate, astep in the right direction. Wrayson was evidently perplexed. TheBaroness adopted a persuasive attitude. 

"My dear girl, " she said, "we don't any of us know who killed yourhusband. After all, what does it matter? It is terribly sad, of course, but he can't be brought back to life again. You have yourself to thinkof, and how you are to live in the future. Give me that packet, I willdestroy it before your eyes, and I promise you that you shall have nomore anxiety about your future. "

The girl rose to her feet. The packet was already transferred to thebosom of her dress. 

"I have told you my terms, " she said. "Some of you know all aboutit, I dare say! Tell me the truth and you shall have the packet, anyone of you. "

Wrayson leaned forward. 

"The truth is simple, " he said earnestly. "We do not know. I can answerfor myself. I think that I can answer for the others. "

"Then the packet shall help me to find out, " she declared. 

The Baroness shook her head. 

"It will not do, my dear girl, " she said quietly. "The packet isnot yours. "

The girl faced her defiantly. 

"Who says that it is not mine?" she demanded. 

"I do, " the Baroness replied. 

"And I!" Wrayson echoed. 

"And I say that it is hers--hers and mine, " Sydney Barnes declared. "Sheshall do what she likes with it. She shall not be made to give it up. "

"Mrs. Barnes, " the Baroness declared briskly, "you must try to bereasonable. We will buy the packet from you. "

Sydney Barnes nodded his head approvingly. 

"That, " he said, "is what I call talking common sense. "

"We will give you a thousand pounds for it, " the Baroness continued. 

"It's not enough, not near enough, " Barnes called out hastily. "Don't youlisten to them, Agnes. "

"I shall not, " she answered. "Ten thousand pounds would not buy it. Ihave said my last word. I am going now. In three days' time I shallreturn. I will give up the letters then in exchange for the name of myhusband's murderer. If I do not get that, I shall go to the police!"

She rose and walked out of the room. They all followed her. The Baronesswhispered in Wrayson's ear, but he shook his head. 

"It is impossible, " he said firmly. "We cannot take them from herby force. "

The Baroness shrugged her shoulders. She caught the girl up upon thestairs and they descended together. Wrayson and Sydney Barnes followed, the latter biting his nails nervously and maintaining a gloomy silence. At the entrance, Wrayson whistled for a cab and handed Agnes in. SydneyBarnes attempted to follow her. 

"I will see my sister-in-law home, " he declared; but Wrayson's hand fellupon his arm. 

"No!" he said. "Mrs. Barnes can take care of herself. She is not to beinterfered with. "

She nodded back at him from the cab. 

"I don't want him, " she said. "I don't want any one. In three days' timeI will return. "

"And until then you will not part with the letters?" Wrayson said. 

"Until then, " she answered, "I promise. "

The cab drove off. Sydney Barnes turned upon Wrayson, white and venomous. 

"Where do I come in here?" he demanded fiercely. 

"I sincerely trust, " Wrayson answered suavely, "that you are not comingin at all. But you, too, can return in three days. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII

INEFFECTUAL WOOING

"At last!" Wrayson said to himself, almost under his breath. "Shall wehave a hansom, Louise, or do you care for a walk?"

"A walk, by all means, " she answered hurriedly. 

"It is not far, is it?"

"A mile--a little more perhaps, " he answered. 

"You are sure that you are not tired?"

"Tired only of sitting still, " she answered. "We had a delightfulcrossing. This way, isn't it?"

They left the Grosvenor Hotel, where Louise, with Madame de Melbain, hadarrived about an hour ago, and turned towards Battersea. Louise began totalk, nervously, and with a very obvious desire to keep the conversationto indifferent subjects. Wrayson humoured her for some time. They spokeof the journey, suddenly determined upon by Madame de Melbain on receiptof his telegram, of the beauty of St. Étarpe, of the wonderfulreappearance of her brother. 

"I can scarcely realize even now, " she said, "that he is really alive. Heis so altered. He seems a different person altogether. "

"He has gone through a good deal, " Wrayson remarked. 

She sighed. 

"Poor Duncan!" she murmured. 

"He is very much to be pitied, " Wrayson said seriously. "I, at any rate, can feel for him. "

He turned towards her as he spoke, and his words were charged withmeaning. She began quickly to speak of something else, but heinterrupted her. 

"Louise, " he said, "is London so far from St. Étarpe?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"I think that you know very well, " he answered. "I am sure that you do. At St. Étarpe you were content to accept what, believe me, is quiteinevitable. Here--well, you have been doing all you can to avoid me, haven't you?"

"Perhaps, " she admitted. "St. Étarpe was an interlude. I told you so. Youought to have understood that. "

They entered the Park, and Wrayson was silent for a few minutes. He ledthe way towards an empty seat. 

"Let us sit down, " he said, "and talk this out. "

She hesitated. 

"I think--" she began, but he interrupted her ruthlessly. 

"If you prefer it, I will come to the Baroness with you, " he declared. 

She shrugged her shoulders and sat down. 

"Very well, " she said, "but I warn you that I am in a bad temper. I amhot and tired and dusty. We shall probably quarrel. "

He looked at her critically. She was a little pale, perhaps, but therewas nothing else to indicate that she had just arrived from a journey. Her dress of dull black glace silk was cool and spotless, her hat andveil were immaculate. Always she had the air of having just come from thehands of an experienced maid. From the tips of her patent shoes to thefall of her veil, she was orderly and correct. 

"It takes two, " he said, "to quarrel. I shall not quarrel with you. Allthat I ask from you is a realization of the fact that we are engaged tobe married. "

She withdrew the hand which he had calmly possessed himself of. 

"We are nothing of the sort, " she declared. 

He looked puzzled. 

"Perhaps, " he remarked, "I forgot to mention the matter last time I sawyou, but I quite thought that you would take it for granted. In case Iwas forgetful, please let me impress the fact upon you now. We are goingto be married, and very shortly. In fact, the sooner the better. "

Of her own free will she laid her hand upon his. He fancied that behindher veil the tears had gathered in her eyes. 

"Dear friend, " she said softly, "I cannot marry you! I shall nevermarry any one. Will you please believe that? It will make it so mucheasier for me. "

He was a little taken aback. She had changed her methods suddenly, and hehad had no time to adapt himself to them. 

"Don't hate me, please, " she murmured. "Indeed, it would make me veryhappy if we could be friends. "

He laughed a little unnaturally, and turned in his seat until he wasfacing her. 

"Would you mind lifting your veil for a moment, Louise?" he asked her. 

She obeyed him with fingers which trembled a little. He saw then that thetears had indeed been in her eyes. Her lips quivered. She looked at himsadly, but very wistfully. 

"Thank you!" he said. "Now would you mind asking yourself whetherfriendship between us is possible! Remember St. Étarpe, and ask yourselfthat! Remember our seat amongst the roses--remember what you will of thatlong golden day. "

She covered her face with her hands. 

"Ah, no!" he went on. "You know yourself that only one thing is possible. I cannot force you into my arms, Louise. If you care to take up my lifeand break it in two, you can do it. But think what it means! I am notrich, but I am rich enough to take you where you will, to live with youin any country you desire. I don't know what your scruples are--I shallnever ask you again. But, dear, you must not! You must not send me away. "

She was silent. She had dropped her veil and her head had sunk a little. 

"If I believed that there was anybody else, " he continued, "I would goaway and leave you alone. If I doubted for a single moment that I couldmake you happy, I would not trouble you any more. But you belong to me, Louise! You have taken up your place in my life, in my heart! I cannotlive without you! I do not think that you can live without me! Youmustn't try, dear! You mustn't!"

He held her unresisting hand, but her face was hidden from him. 

"What it is that you fancy comes between us I cannot tell, " he continued, more gravely. "Only let me tell you this. We are no longer in any dangerfrom Stephen Heneage. He has abandoned his quest altogether. He has toldme so with his own lips. "

"You are sure of that?" she asked softly. 

"Absolutely, " he answered. 

She hesitated for a moment. He remained purposely silent. He was anxiousto try and comprehend the drift of her thoughts. 

"Do you know why?" she asked. "Did he find the task too difficult, or didhe relinquish it from any other motive?"

"I am not sure, " Wrayson answered. "I met him the night before last. Hewas very much altered. He had the appearance of a man altogetherunnerved. Perhaps it was my fancy, but I got the idea--"

"Well?" she demanded eagerly. 

"That he had come across something in the course of his investigationswhich had given him a shock, " he said. "He seemed all broken up. Ofcourse, it may have been something else altogether. At any rate, I havehis word for it. He has ceased his investigations altogether, and brokenwith Sydney Barnes. "

The afternoon was warm, but she shivered as she rose a little abruptly toher feet. He laid his hand upon her arm. 

"Not without my answer, " he begged. 

She shook her head sadly. 

"My very dear friend, " she said sadly, "you must always be. That is all!"

He took his place by her side. 

"Your very dear friend, " he repeated. "Well, it is a relationship I don'tknow much about. I haven't had many friendships amongst your sex. Tell meexactly what my privileges would be. "

"You will learn that, " she said, "in time. "

He shook his head. 

"I think not, " he declared. "Friendship, to be frank with you, would notsatisfy me in the least. "

"Then I must lose you altogether, " she murmured, in a low tone. 

"I don't think so, " he affirmed coolly. "I consider that you belong to mealready. You are only postponing the time when I shall claim you. "

She made no remark, and behind her veil her face told him little. Amoment later they issued from the Park and stood on the pavement beforethe Baroness' flat. She held out her hand without a word. 

"I think, " he said, "that I should like to come in and see the Baroness. "

"Not now, " she begged. "We shall meet again at dinner-time. "

"Where?" he asked eagerly. 

"Madame desired me to ask you to join us at the Grosvenor, " she answered, "at half-past eight. "

"I shall be delighted, " he answered, promptly. "You nearly forgotto tell me. "

She shook her head. 

"No! I didn't, " she said. "I should not have let you go away withoutgiving you her message. "

"And you will let me bring you home afterwards?"

"We shall be delighted, " she answered. "I shall be with Amy, of course. "

He smiled as he raised his hat and let her pass in. 

"The Baroness, " he said, "is always kind. "

He stood for a moment on the pavement. Then he glanced at his watch andhailed a cab. 

"The Sheridan Club, " he told the man. He had decided to appeal tothe Colonel. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE COLONEL'S MISSION

Wrayson was greeted enthusiastically, as he entered the clubbilliard-room, by a little circle of friends, unbroken except for theabsence of Stephen Heneage. The Colonel came across and laid his handaffectionately on his arm. 

"How goes it, Herbert?" he asked. "The seabreezes haven't tannedyou much. "

"I'm all right, " Wrayson declared. "Had a capital time. "

"You'll dine here to-night, Herbert?"

Wrayson shook his head. 

"I meant to, " he declared, "but another engagement's turned up. No! Idon't want to play pool, Mason. Can't stop. Colonel, do me a favour. "

The Colonel, who was always ready to do any one a favour, signified hiswillingness promptly enough. But even then Wrayson hesitated. 

"I want to talk to you for a few minutes, " he said, "without all thesefellows round. Should you mind coming down into the smoking-room?"

The Colonel rose promptly from his seat. 

"Not a bit in the world, " he declared. "We'll go into thesmoking-room. Scarcely a soul there. Much cooler, too. Bring yourdrink. See you boys later. "

They found two easy-chairs in the smoking-room, of which they were thesole occupants. The Colonel cut off the end of his cigar and madehimself comfortable. 

"Now, my young friend, " he said, "proceed. "

Wrayson did not beat about the bush. 

"It's about your daughter Louise, Colonel, " he said. "She won'tmarry me!"

The Colonel pinched his cigar reflectively. 

"She always was a most peculiar girl, " he affirmed. "Does she giveany reasons?"

"That's just what she won't do, " Wrayson explained. "That's just why I'vecome to you. I--I--Colonel, I'm fond of her. I never expected to feellike it about any woman. "

The Colonel nodded sympathetically. 

"And although it may sound conceited to say so, " Wrayson continued, "Ibelieve--no! I'm sure that she's fond of me. She's admitted it. There!"

The Colonel smiled understandingly. 

"Well. " he said, "then where's the trouble? You don't want my consent. You know that. "

"Louise won't marry me, " Wrayson repeated. "That's the trouble. She won'texplain her attitude. She simply declares that marriage for her is animpossibility. "

The Colonel sighed. 

"I'm afraid, " he murmured, regretfully, "that my daughter is a fool. "

"She is anything but that, " Wrayson declared. "She has some scruple. Whatit is I can't imagine. Of course, at first I thought it was because wewere, both of us, involved in that Morris Barnes affair. But I know nowthat it isn't that. Heneage, who threatened me, and indirectly her, haschucked the whole business. Such danger as there was is over. I--"

"Interrupting you for one moment, " the Colonel said quietly, "what hasbecome of Heneage?"

"He's in a very queer way, " Wrayson answered. "You know he started on hotto solve this Morris Barnes business. He warned us both to get out of thecountry. Well, I saw him last night, and he was a perfect wreck. Helooked like a man just recovering from a bout of dissipation, orsomething of the sort. "

"Did you speak to him?" the Colonel asked. 

"I was with him some time, " Wrayson answered. "His manner was just aschanged as his appearance. "

The Colonel was looking, for him, quite grave. His cigar had gone out, and he forgot to relight it. 

"Dear me, " he said, "I am sorry to hear this. Did he allude to the MorrisBarnes affair at all?"

"He did, " Wrayson answered. "He gave me to understand, in fact, that hehad discovered a little more than he wanted to. "

The Colonel stretched out his hand for a match, and relit his cigar. 

"You believe, then, " he said, "that Heneage has succeeded in solving themystery of Barnes' murder, and is keeping the knowledge to himself?"

"That was the conclusion I came to, " Wrayson admitted. 

The Colonel smoked for a moment or two in thoughtful silence. 

"Well, " he said, "it isn't like Heneage. I always looked upon him as aman without nerves, a man who would carry through any purpose he sethimself to, without going to pieces about it. Shows how difficult it isto understand the most obvious of us. "

Wrayson nodded. 

"But after all, " he said, "it wasn't to talk about Heneage that Ibrought you down here. What I want to know, Colonel, is if you can helpme at all with Louise. "

The Colonel's forehead was furrowed with perplexity. 

"My dear Herbert, " he declared, "there is no man in the world I wouldsooner have for a son-in-law. But what can I do? Louise wouldn't listento me in any case. I haven't any authority or any influence over her. Isay it to my sorrow, but it's the truth. If it were my little girl downat home, now, it would be a different matter. But Louise has taken herlife into her own hands. She has not spoken to me for years. Shecertainly would not listen to my advice. "

"Then if you cannot help me directly, Colonel, " Wrayson continued, "canyou help me indirectly? I have asked you a question something like thisbefore, but I want to repeat it. I have told you that Louise refuses tomarry me. She has something on her mind, some scruple, some fear. Can youform any idea as to what it may be?"

The Colonel was silent for an unusually long time. He was leaning back inhis chair, looking up through the cloud of blue tobacco smoke to theceiling. In reflection his features seemed to have assumed a graver andsomewhat weary expression. 

"Yes!" he said at last, "I think that I can. "

Wrayson felt his heart jump. His eyes were brighter. An influx of newlife seemed to have come to him. He leaned forward eagerly. 

"You will tell me what it is, Colonel?" he begged. 

The Colonel looked at him with a queer little smile. 

"I am not sure that I can do that, Herbert, " he said. "I am not surethat it would help you if I did. And you are asking me rather more thanyou know. "

Wrayson felt a little chill of discouragement. 

"Colonel, " he said, "I am in your hands. But I love your daughter, and Iswear that I would make her happy. "

The Colonel looked at his watch. 

"Do you know where Louise is?" he asked quietly. 

"Number 17, Frederic Mansions, Battersea, " Wrayson answered. 

The Colonel rose to his feet. 

"I will go down and see her, " he said simply. "You had better wait herefor me. I will come straight back. "

"Colonel, you're a brick, " Wrayson declared, walking with himtowards the door. 

"I'll do my best, Herbert, " he answered quietly, "but I can't promise. Ican't promise anything. "

Wrayson watched him leave the club and step into a hansom. He walked alittle more slowly than usual, his head was a little bent, and he passeda club acquaintance in the hall without his customary greeting. Wraysonretraced his steps and ascended towards the billiard-room, with his firstenthusiasm a little damped. Was his errand, he wondered, so grievouslydistasteful to his old friend, or was the Colonel losing at last themagnificent elasticity and vigour which had kept him so long independentof the years?

There were others besides Wrayson who noticed a certain alteration in theColonel when he re-entered the billiard-room an hour or so later. Hisusual greeting was unspoken, he sank a little heavily into a chair, andhe called for a drink without waiting for some one to share it with him. They gathered round him sympathetically. 

"Feeling the heat a bit, Colonel?"

"Anything wrong downstairs?"

The Colonel recovered himself promptly. He beamed upon them allaffectionately, and set down an empty tumbler with a little sigh ofsatisfaction. 

"I'm all right, boys, " he declared. "I couldn't find a cab--had to walkfurther than I meant, and I wanted a drink badly. Wrayson, come overhere. I want to talk to you. "

Wrayson sat down by his side. 

"I've done the best I could, " the Colonel said. "Things may not come allright for you quite at once, but within a week I fancy it'll be allsquared up. I've found out why she refused to marry you, and you can takemy word for it that within a week the cause will be removed. "

"You're a brick, Colonel, " Wrayson declared heartily. "There's only onething more I'd love to have you to tell me. "

"I'm afraid--" the Colonel began. 

"That you and Louise were reconciled, " Wrayson declared. "Colonel, therecan't be anything between you two, of all the people in the world, therecan't be anything sufficient to keep you and her, father and daughter, completely apart. "

"You are quite right, Wrayson, " the Colonel assented, a little morecheerfully. "Well, you may find that all will come right very soon now. By the by, I've been talking to the Baroness. I want you to let me be atyour rooms to-morrow night. "

Wrayson hesitated for a moment. 

"You know how we stand?" he asked. 

"Exactly, " the Colonel answered. "I only wish that I had known before. You will have no objection to my coming, I suppose?"

"None at all, " Wrayson declared. "But, Colonel! there is one morequestion that I must ask you. Did Louise speak to you about her brother?"

The Colonel nodded. 

"She blamed me, of course, " he said slowly, "because I had never toldher. It was his own desire, and I think that he was right. I havetelegraphed for him to come over. He will be here to-night or to-morrow. "

Wrayson left the club, feeling almost light-hearted. It was the old storyover again--the Colonel to the rescue!

CHAPTER XL

BLACKMAIL

Sydney Barnes staggered into his apartment with a little exclamationof relief which was almost a groan. He slammed the door and sank intoan easy-chair. With both his hands he was grasping it so that hisfingers were hot and wet with perspiration. At last he had obtainedhis soul's desire!

He sat there for several minutes without moving. The blinds were closedrawn and the room was in darkness. Gradually he began to be afraid. Herose, and with trembling fingers struck a match. On the corner of thetable--fortunately he knew exactly where to find it--was a candle. He litit, and holding it over his head, peered fearfully around. Convinced atlast that he was alone, he set it down again, wiped the perspiration fromhis forehead, and opening a cupboard in the chiffonnier, produced abottle and a glass. 

He poured out some spirits and drank it. Then, after rummaging forseveral moments in his coat pocket, he produced several crumpledcigarettes of a cheap variety. One of these he proceeded to smoke, whilst, with trembling fingers, he undid the packet which he had beencarrying, and began a painstaking study of its contents. A delicateperfume stole out into the room from those closely pressed sheets, soeagerly clutched in his yellow-stained fingers. A little bunch of crushedviolets slipped to the floor unheeded. Ghoul-like he bent over the pagesof delicate writing, the intimate, passionate cry of a soul seeking forits mate. They were no ordinary love-letters. Mostly they were beyond thecomprehension of the creature who spelt them out word for word, seekingall the time to appraise their exact monetary value to himself. But forwhat he had heard he would have found them disappointing. As it was, hegloated over them. Two thousand pounds a year his clever brother hadearned by merely possessing them! He looked at them almost reverently. Then he suddenly remembered what else his brother had earned by theirpossession, and he shivered. A moment later the electric bell outsidepealed, and there came a soft knocking at the door. 

A little cry--half stifled--broke from his lips. With numbed andtrembling fingers he began tying up the letters. The perspiration hadbroken out upon his forehead. Some one to see him! Who could it be? Hewas quite determined not to go to the door. He would let no one in. Againthe bell! Soon they would get tired of ringing and go away. He was quitesafe so long as he remained quiet. Quite safe, he told himselffeverishly. Then his pulses seemed to stop beating. There was a rush ofblood to his head. He clutched at the sides of his chair, but to rise wasa sheer impossibility. 

The thing which was terrifying him was a small thing in itself--theturning of a latch-key in the door. Before him on the table was hisown--he knew of no other. Yet some one was opening, had opened his frontdoor! He sprang to his feet at last with something which was almost ashriek. The door of the room in which he was, was slowly being pushedopen. By the dim candlelight he could distinguish the figure of hisvisitor standing upon the threshold and peering into the room. 

His impulse was, without doubt, one of relief. The figure was the figureof a complete stranger. Nor was there anything the least threateningabout his appearance. He saw a tall, white-haired gentleman, carefullydressed with military exactitude, regarding him with a benevolent andapologetic smile. 

"I really must apologize, " he said, "for such an unceremonious entrance. I felt sure that you were in, but I am a trifle deaf, and I could not besure whether or not the bell was ringing. So I ventured to use my ownlatch-key, with, as you are doubtless observing, complete success. "

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Barnes asked, finding hisvoice at last. 

"My name is Colonel Fitzmaurice, " was the courteous reply. "You willallow me to sit down? I have the pleasure of conversing, I believe, withMr. Sydney Barnes?"

"That's my name, " Barnes answered. "What do you want with me?"

Despite his visitor's urbanity, he was still a little nervous. TheColonel had a somewhat purposeful air, and he had seated himself directlyin front of the door. 

"I want, " the Colonel said calmly, "that packet which you have juststolen from Mrs. Morris Barnes, and which you have in your pocket there!"

Barnes rose at once, trembling, to his feet. His bead-like eyes werebright and venomous. He was terrified, but he had the courage of despair. 

"I have stolen nothing, " he declared, "I don't know what you're talkingabout. I won't listen to you. You have no right to force your way into myflat. Colonel or no colonel, I won't have it. I'll send for the police. "

The Colonel smiled. 

"No, "' he said, "don't do that. Besides, I know what I'm talking about. Imean the packet which I think I can see sticking out of your coat pocket. You have just stolen that from Mrs. Barnes' tin trunk, you know. "

"I have stolen nothing, " the young man declared, "nothing at all. I amnot a thief. I am not afraid of the police. "

The Colonel smiled tolerantly. 

"That is good, " he said. "I hate cowards. But I am going to make you verymuch afraid of me--unless you are wise and give me that packet. "

Barnes breathed thickly for a moment. Coward he knew that he was to themarrow of his bones, but other of the evil passions were stirring in himthen. His narrow eyes were alight with greed. He had the animal courageof vermin hard pressed. 

"The packet is mine, " he said fiercely. "It's nothing to do with you. Getout of my room. "

He rose to his feet. The Colonel awaited him with equable countenance. Hemade, however, no advance. 

"Young man, " the Colonel said quietly, "do you know what happened toyour brother?"

Sydney Barnes stood still and shivered. He could say nothing. His tongueseemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. 

"Your brother was another of your breed, " the Colonel continued. "Ablackmailer! A low-living, evil-minded brute. Do you know how he came bythose letters?"

"I don't know and I don't care, " Barnes answered with a weak attempt atbluster. "They're mine now, and I'm going to stick to them. "

The Colonel shook his head. 

"He broke his trust to a dying man, " he said softly, --"to a man who layon the veldt at Colenso with three great wounds in his body, and hislife's blood staining the ground. He had carried those letters intoaction with him, because they were precious to him. His last thought wasthat they should be destroyed. Your brother swore to do this. He brokehis word. He turned blackmailer. "

"You're very fond of that word, " Barnes muttered. "How do you know somuch?"

"The soldier was my son, " the Colonel answered, "and he did not die. Yousee I have a right to those letters. Will you give them to me?"

Give them up! Give up all his hopes of affluence, his dreams of an easylife, of the cheap luxuries and riches which formed the Heaven of hisdesire! No! He was not coward enough for that. He did not believe thatthis mild-looking old gentleman would use force. Besides, he could not bevery strong. He ought to be able to push him over and escape!

"No!" he answered bluntly, "I won't!"

The Colonel looked thoughtful. 

"It is a pity, " he said quietly. "I am sorry to hear you say that. Yourbrother, when I asked him, made the same reply. "

Barnes felt himself suddenly grow hot and then cold. The perspirationstood out upon his forehead. 

"I called upon your brother a few days before his death, " the Colonelcontinued calmly. "I explained my claim to the letters and I asked himfor them. He too refused! Do you remember, by the by, what happened toyour brother?"

Sydney Barnes did not answer, but his cheeks were like chalk. His mouthwas a little open, disclosing his yellow teeth. He stared at the Colonelwith frightened, fascinated eyes. 

"I can see, " the Colonel continued, "that you remember. Young man, " headded, with a curious alteration in his tone, "be wiser than yourbrother! Give me the packet. "

"You killed him, " the young man gasped. "It was you who killed Morris. "

The Colonel nodded gravely. 

"He had his chance, " he said, "even as you have it. "

There was a dead silence. The Colonel was waiting. Sydney Barnes wasbreathing hard. He was alone, then, with a murderer. He tried to speak, but found a difficulty in using his voice. It was a situation which mighthave abashed a bolder ruffian. 

The Colonel rose to his feet. 

"I am sorry to hurry you, " he said, "but we are already late for ourappointment with Wrayson and his friends. "

Sydney Barnes snatched up the packet and retreated behind the table. TheColonel leaned forward and blew out the candle. 

"I can see better in the dark, " he remarked calmly. "You are a veryfoolish young man!"

CHAPTER XLI

THE COLONEL SPEAKS

Wrayson glanced at the clock for the twentieth time. 

"I am afraid, " he said gravely, "that Mr. Sydney Barnes has been one toomany for us. "

"Do you think, " Louise asked, "that he has persuaded the girl to give himthe packet?"

"It looks like it, " Wrayson confessed. 

Louise frowned. 

"Of course, " she said, "I think that you were mad to let her go before. She had the letters here in the room. You would have been perfectlyjustified in taking them from her. "

"I suppose so, " Wrayson assented, doubtfully. "Somehow she seemed to getthe upper hand of us towards the end. I think she suspected that some ofus knew more than we cared to tell her about--her husband's death. "

Louise shivered a little and remained silent. Wrayson walked to thewindow and back. 

"To tell you the truth, " he said, "I expected some one else hereto-night who has failed to turn up. "

"Who is that?" the Baroness asked. 

Wrayson hesitated for a moment and glanced towards Louise. 

"Colonel Fitzmaurice, " he said. 

Louise seemed to turn suddenly rigid. She looked at him steadfastly for amoment without speaking. 

"My father, " she murmured at last. 

Wrayson nodded. 

"Yes!" he said. 

"But--what has he to do with this?" Louise asked, with her eyes fixedanxiously, almost fearfully, upon his. 

"I went to him for advice, " Wrayson said quietly. "He has been alwaysvery kind, and I thought it possible that he might be able to help us. Hepromised to be here at the same hour as the others. Listen! There is thebell at last. "

The Colonel entered the room. Louise half rose to her feet. Wraysonhastened to meet him. 

"Herbert, " he said, with an affectionate smile, "forgive me for being alittle late. Baroness, I am delighted to see you--and Louise. "

The Baroness held out both her hands, which the Colonel raised gallantlyto his lips. Louise he greeted with a fatherly and unembarrassed smile. 

"I must apologize to all of you, " he said, "but perhaps this will be mybest excuse. "

He took the packet from his breast pocket and handed it over to theBaroness. The room seemed filled with exclamations. The Colonel beamedupon them all. 

"Quite simple, " he declared. "I have just taken them from Mr. SydneyBarnes upstairs. He, in his turn, took them from--"

The door was suddenly opened. Mrs. Morris Barnes rushed into the room andgazed wildly around. 

"Where is he?" she exclaimed. "He has robbed me. The little beast! He gotinto my rooms while I was out. "

The Colonel led her gallantly to a chair. 

"Calm yourself, my dear young lady, " he said. 

"Where is he?" she cried. "Has he been here?"

The Colonel shook his head. 

"He is in his room upstairs, but, " he said, "I should not advise you togo to him. "

"He has my packet--Augustus' packet, " she cried, springing up. 

The Colonel laid his hand upon her arm. 

"No!" he said, "that packet has been restored to its rightful owner. "

She rose to her feet, trembling with anger. The Colonel motioned her toresume her seat. 

"Come, " he said, "so far as you are concerned, you have nothing tocomplain of. You offered, I believe, to give it up yourself on onecondition. "

She looked at him with sudden eagerness. 

"Well?" she cried, impatiently. 

"That condition, " he said, "shall be complied with. "

She looked into his face with strange intentness. 

"You mean, " she said slowly, "that I shall know who it was that killedmy husband?"

"Yes!" the Colonel answered. 

A sudden cry rang through the room. Louise was on her feet. She camestaggering towards them, her hands outstretched. 

"No!" she screamed, "no! Father, you are mad! Send the woman away!"

He smiled at her deprecatingly. 

"My dear Louise!" he exclaimed, "our word has been passed to this youngwoman. Besides, " he added, "circumstances which have occurred within thelast hour with our young friend upstairs would probably render anexplanation imperative! I am sorry for your sake, my dear young lady, " hecontinued, turning to Mrs. Barnes, "to have to tell you this, but if youinsist upon knowing, it was I who killed your husband. "

Louise fell back into her chair and covered her face with her hands. TheBaroness looked shocked but not surprised. Wrayson, dumb and unnerved, had staggered back, and was leaning against the table. Mrs. Barnes hadalready taken a step towards the door. She was very pale, but her eyeswere ablaze. Incredulity struggled with her passionate desire forvengeance. 

"You!" she exclaimed. "What should you want to kill him for?"

The Colonel sighed regretfully. 

"My dear young lady, " he said, "it is very painful for me to have to beso explicit, but the situation demands it. I killed him because he wasunfit to live--because he was a blackmailer of women, an unclean liver, a foul thing upon the face of the earth. "

"It's a damned lie!" the girl hissed. "He was good to me, and you shallswing for it!"

The Colonel looked genuinely distressed. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "that you are prejudiced. If he was, as you say, kind to you, it was for his own pleasure. Believe me, I made a carefulstudy of his character before I decided that he must go. "

She looked at him with fierce curiosity. 

"Are you a god, " she demanded, "that you should have power of life ordeath? Who are you to set yourself up as a judge?"

"Pray do not believe, " he begged, "that I arrogate to myself any suchposition. Only, unfortunately, as regards your late husband's characterthere could be no mistake, and concerning such men as he I have verystrong convictions. "

Wrayson, who had recovered himself a little, laid his hand upon theColonel's shoulder. 

"Colonel, " he said hoarsely, "you're not serious! You can't be! Becareful. This woman means mischief. She will take you at your word. "

"How else should she take me?" the Colonel asked calmly. "I suppose herprejudice in favour of this man was natural, but all I can say is that, under similar circumstances, I should act to-day precisely as I did onthe night when I found him about to sell a woman's honour, for money tominister to the degraded pleasures of his life. "

The woman leaned towards him, venomous and passionate. 

"You're a nice one to preach, you are, " she cried hysterically, "you, with a man's blood upon your hands! You, a murderer! Degraded indeed!What were his poor sins compared with yours?"

The Colonel shook his head sadly. 

"I am afraid, my dear young lady, " he said, "that I should never be ableto convert you to my point of view. You are naturally prejudiced, andwhen I consider that I have failed to convince my own daughter"--heglanced towards Louise--"of the soundness of my views, it goes withoutsaying that I should find you also unsympathetic. You are anxious, I see, to leave us. Permit me!"

He held open the door for her with grave courtesy, but Wrayson pushed himaside. He had recovered himself to some extent, but he still felt asthough he were moving in some horrible dream. 

"Colonel!" he exclaimed hoarsely, "you know what this means! You knowwhere she will go!"

"If he don't, let me tell him, " she interrupted. "To the nearest policestation! That's where I'm off. "

Wrayson glanced quickly at the Colonel, who seemed in no way discomposed. 

"Naturally, " he assented. "No one, my dear young lady, will interferewith you in your desire to carry out your painfully imperfect sense ofjustice. Pray pass out!"

She hesitated for a moment. Her poor little brain was struggling, perhaps, for the last time, to adapt itself to his point of view--tounderstand why, at a moment so critical, he should treat her with theeasy composure and tolerant good-nature of one who gives to a spoiltchild its own way. Then she saw signs of further interference onWrayson's part, and she delayed no longer. 

The Colonel closed the door after her, and stood for a moment with hisback against it, for Wrayson had shown signs of a desire to follow thewoman whose egress he had just permitted. He looked into their faces, white with horror--full of dread of what was to come, and he smiledreassuringly. 

"Amy, " he said, turning to the Baroness, "surely you and Wrayson here arepossessed of some grains of common sense. Louise, I know, is too easilyswayed by sentiment. But you, Wrayson! Surely I can rely on you!"

"For anything, " Wrayson answered, with trembling lips. "But what can Ido? What is there to be done?"

The Colonel smiled gently. 

"Simply to listen intelligently--sympathetically if you can, " hedeclared. "I want to make my position clear to you if I can. You heardwhat that poor young woman called me? Probably you would have used thesame word yourself. A murderer!"

"Yes!" Wrayson muttered. "I heard!"

"When I came back from the Soudan twelve years ago, I had beeninstrumental in killing some thousands of brave men, I dare say I hadkilled a score or so with my own hand. Was I a murderer then?"

"No!" Wrayson answered. "It was a different thing. "

"Then killing is not necessarily murder, " the Colonel remarked. "Good!Now take the case of a man like Morris Barnes. He belonged to the classof humanity which you can call by no other name than that of vermin. Whatever he touched he defiled. He was without a single good instinct, asingle passable quality. Wherever he lived, he bred contamination. Whoever touched him was the worse for it. His influence upon the worldwas an unchanging one for evil. Put aside sentiment for one moment, falsesentiment I should say, and ask yourself what possible sin can there bein taking the life of such a one. If he had gone on four legs instead oftwo, his breed would have been exterminated centuries ago. "

"We are not the judges, " Wrayson began, weakly enough. 

"We are, sir, " the Colonel thundered. "For what else have we been givenbrains, the moral sense, the knowledge of good or evil? There are thoseamongst us who become decadents, whose presence amongst us breedscorruption, whose dirty little lives are like the trail of a foul insectacross the page of life. I hold it a just and moral thing to rid theworld of such a creature. The sanctity of human life is the canting cryof the falsely sentimental. Human life is sacred or not, according toits achievements. Such a one as Morris Barnes I would brush away like apoisonous fly. "

"Bentham!" Wrayson faltered. 

"I killed him, sir!" the Colonel answered, "and others of his kidneybefore him. Louise knew it. I argued with her as I am doing with you, butit was useless. Nevertheless, I have lived as seemed good to me. "

"There is the law, " Wrayson said, with a horrified glance towards Louise. He understood now. 

The Colonel bowed his head. 

"I am prepared, " the Colonel answered, "to pay the penalty of allreformers. "

There was a ring at the bell. Wrayson threw open the door. A small boystood there. He held a piece of paper in his hand. 

"The lidy said, " he declared, "that the white-headed gentleman would giveme 'arf a crown for this 'ere!"

Wrayson gave him the money, and stepped back into the room. He gavethe paper to the Colonel, who read it calmly, first to himself andthen aloud. 

 * * * * *

"I leave you to your conshens. He may have been bad, but he wasgood to me!

"AGNES B. "

 * * * * *

The Colonel's eyes grew very soft. 

"Poor little woman, " he said to himself. "Wrayson, you'll look after her. You'll see she doesn't come to grief!"

There was the sound of a heavy fall in the room above. The Colonel's faceassumed an air of intense irritation. 

"It's that infernal window pole, " he declared. "I had doubts about it allthe time. "

Wrayson looked at him in horror. 

"What do you mean?" he demanded. 

"Perhaps you had better go up and see, " the Colonel answered, taking uphis hat. "A very commonplace tragedy after all! I don't quite see whatelse he could have done. He was penniless, half mad with disappointment;he'd been smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much cheap liquor, and he was in danger of arrest for selling the landlord's furniture. Noother end for him, I am afraid. "

Wrayson threw open the door. 

"Don't hurry, " the Colonel declared. "You'll probably find that he hashanged himself, but he must have been dead for some time. "

Wrayson tore up the stairs. The Colonel watched him for a moment. Then, with a little sigh, he began to descend. 

"False sentiment, " he murmured to himself sadly. "The world's full ofit. "

CHAPTER XLII

LOVE REMAINS

Wrayson rode slowly up the great avenue, and paused at the bend to seefor the first time at close quarters the house, which from the valleybelow had seemed little more than a speck of white set in a deep bower ofgreen. Seen at close quarters its size amazed him. With its cluster ofoutbuildings, it occupied nearly the whole of the plateau, which was likea jutting tableland out from the side of the mountain. It was of twostories only, and encircled with a great veranda supported by emboweredpillars. Free at last from the densely growing trees, Wrayson, for thefirst time during his long climb, caught an uninterrupted view of themagnificent panorama below. A land of hills, of black forests and shiningrivers; a land uncultivated but rich in promise, magnificent in itsprimitivism. It was a wonderful dwelling this, of which the owner, springing down from the veranda, was now on his way to meet his guest. 

The two men shook hands with unaffected heartiness. Duncan Fitzmaurice, in his white linen riding clothes, seemed taller than ever, a littlegaunt and thin, too, from a recent attack of fever. There was no doubtabout the pleasure with which he received his guest. 

"Where is Louise?" he asked, looking behind down the valley. 

"Coming up in the wagons, " Wrayson answered. "She has been riding allday and was tired. "

A Kaffir boy came out with a tray and glasses. Wrayson helped himself toa whisky and soda, and lit a cigar. 

"I'll get my pony and ride back with you to meet them, " Duncan said. 

Wrayson detained him. 

"One moment, " he said, "I have something to say to you first. "

Duncan glanced at him a little anxiously. Wrayson answered the look. 

"Nothing--disturbing, " he said. "You learnt the end of everything frommy letters?"

"I think so, " Duncan answered. 

"The verdict on your father's death was absolutely unanimous, " Wraysonsaid. "He was seen to stagger on the platform just as the train came in, and he seemed to make every effort to save himself. He was killed quiteinstantaneously. I do not think that any one had a suspicion that it wasnot entirely accidental. "

Duncan nodded. 

"And the other affair?"

"You mean the death of Sydney Barnes? No one has ever doubted that hecommitted suicide. Everything seemed to point to it. There is only oneman who knew about Morris Barnes and probably guesses the rest. His namewas Heneage, and he was your father's friend. He did not speak when hewas alive, so he is not likely to now. There is the young woman, ofcourse, Mrs. Morris Barnes. She has married again and gone to Canada. Louise looked after her. "

Duncan took up his riding-whip from the table. 

"Now tell me, " he said, "what it is that you have to say to me. "

"Do you read the papers?" Wrayson asked abruptly. 

"Only so far as they treat of matters connected with this country, "Duncan answered. 

"You have not read, then, of the Mexonian divorce?"

The man's eyes were lit with fire. The handle of the riding-whip snappedin his hands. 

"They have never granted it!" he cried. 

"Not in its first form, " Wrayson answered hastily. "The whole suit fellto the ground for want of evidence. "

"It is abandoned, then?" Duncan demanded. 

"On the contrary, the courts have granted the decree, " Wrayson answered, "but on political grounds only. Every material charge against the Queenwas withdrawn, and the divorce became a matter of arrangement. "

"She is free from that brute, then, " Duncan said quietly. "I am glad. "

Wrayson glanced down towards the valley. A couple of wagons and severalKaffir boys with led horses were just entering the valley. 

"Yes!" he said, "she is free!"

Something in his intonation, some change in his face, gripped hold ofDuncan. He caught his visitor by the shoulder roughly. 

"What the devil do you mean?" he demanded, "What difference does it make?She would never dare--to--"

"You can never tell, " Wrayson said, with a little sigh, "what a womanwill dare to do. Tell me the truth, Duncan. You care for her still?"

"God knows it!" he answered fiercely. "There has never been anotherwoman. There never could be. "

"Jump on your pony, then, and ride down and meet them. Gently, man!Don't break your neck. " . .. 

Later on they sat out upon the veranda. The swift darkness was fallingalready upon the land, the colour was fading fast from the gorgeousfragments of piled-up clouds in the western sky. Almost as they watched, the outline faded away from the distant mountains, the rolling woods losttheir shape. 

"It's a wonderful country, yours, Duncan, " Wrayson said. 

"It is God's own country, " Duncan answered quietly. "What we shall makeof it, He only knows! It is the country of eternal mysteries. "

He pointed northwards. 

"Think, " he said, "beneath those forests are the ruins of cities, magnificent in civilization and art before a stone of Babylon was built, when Nineveh was unknown. What a heritage! What a splendid heritage, ifonly we can prove ourselves worthy of it!"

"Why not?" Wrayson asked quietly. "Our day of decline is not yet. Eventhe historians admit that. "

"It is the money-grabbers of the world who belittle empire, " Duncananswered. "It is from the money-grabbers of the Transvaal that we havemost to fear. Only those can know what Africa is, what it might mean tous, who shake the dust of civilization from their feet, and creep alittle way into its heart. It is here in the quiet places that one beginsto understand. One has the sense of coming into a virgin country, strong, fresh, and wonderful. Think of the race who might be bred here! Theywould rejuvenate the world!"

"And yet, " the woman at his side murmured, the woman who had been aqueen, "it is not a virgin country after all. A little furthernorthwards and the forests have in their keeping the secrets of ages. Shall we ever possess them, I wonder!"

In the darkness she felt his arms about her. Louise and her husband hadwandered away. 

"One thing at least remains, changeless and eternal as history itself, "he murmured, as their lips met. "Thank God for it!"