The Opal Serpent

 By

 Fergus Hume

 AUTHOR OF

 "THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB, " "THE RAINBOW FEATHER, " "A COIN OF EDWARD VII. , " "THE PAGAN'S CUP, " "THE SECRET PASSAGE, " "THE RED WINDOW, " "THE MANDARIN'S FAN, " ETC. 

 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

 COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY. 

 _Issued July, 1905. _

[Illustration: "LOOK! LOOK!" CRIED SYLVIA, GASPING--"THE MOUTH!"]

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

 I. DON QUIXOTE IN LONDON 7

 II. DEBORAH JUNK, DUENNA 19

 III. DULCINEA OF GWYNNE STREET 32

 IV. THE UNFORESEEN 44

 V. TROUBLE 56

 VI. A NOISE IN THE NIGHT 68

 VII. A TERRIBLE NIGHT 80

 VIII. THE VERDICT OF THE JURY 91

 IX. CASTLES IN THE AIR 103

 X. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 115

 XI. A CUCKOO IN THE NEST 126

 XII. THE NEW LIFE 137

 XIII. THE DETECTIVE'S VIEWS 148

 XIV. MR. HAY'S LITTLE DINNER 161

 XV. A NEW CLUE 172

 XVI. SYLVIA'S THEORY 185

 XVII. HURD'S INFORMATION 196

XVIII. AT CHRISTCHURCH, HANTS 208

 XIX. CAPTAIN JESSOP 219

 XX. PART OF THE TRUTH 228

 XXI. MISS QIAN'S PARTY 241

 XXII. FURTHER EVIDENCE 254

XXIII. WHAT PASH SAID 266

 XXIV. MRS. KRILL AT BAY 278

 XXV. A CRUEL WOMAN 291

 XXVI. A FINAL EXPLANATION 306

CHAPTER I

DON QUIXOTE IN LONDON

Simon Beecot was a country gentleman with a small income, a small estateand a mind considerably smaller than either. He dwelt at Wargrove inEssex and spent his idle hours--of which he possessed a daily andnightly twenty-four--in snarling at his faded wife and in snappingbetween whiles at his son. Mrs. Beecot, having been bullied into old agelong before her time, accepted sour looks and hard words as necessary toGod's providence, but Paul, a fiery youth, resented useless nagging. Heowned more brain-power than his progenitor, and to this favoring ofNature paterfamilias naturally objected. Paul also desired fame, whichwas likewise a crime in the fire-side tyrant's eyes. 

As there were no other children Paul was heir to the Beecot acres, therefore their present proprietor suggested that his son should waitwith idle hands for the falling in of the heritage. In plain words, Mr. Beecot, coming of a long line of middle-class loafers, wished his son tobe a loafer also. Again, when Mrs. Beecot retired to a tearful rest, herbully found Paul a useful person on whom to expend his spleen. Shouldthis whipping-boy leave, Mr. Beecot would have to forego this enjoyment, as servants object to being sworn at without cause. For years Mr. Beecot indulged in bouts of bad temper, till Paul, finding twenty-fivetoo dignified an age to tolerate abuse, announced his intention ofstorming London as a scribbler. 

The parents objected in detail. Mrs. Beecot, after her kind, dissolvedin tears, and made reference to young birds leaving the nest, while herhusband, puffed out like a frog, and redder than the wattles of aturkey-cock, exhausted himself in well-chosen expressions. Paulincreased the use of these by fixing a day for his departure. The femaleBeecot retired to bed with the assistance of a maid, burnt feathers andsal volatile, and the male, as a last and clinching argument, figuratively buttoned up his pockets. 

"Not one shilling will you get from me, " said Beecot senior, with thegraceful addition of vigorous adjectives. 

"I don't ask for money, " said Paul, keeping his temper, for after allthe turkey-cock was his father. "I have saved fifty pounds. Not out ofmy pocket-money, " he added hastily, seeing further objections on theway. "I earned it by writing short stories. "

"The confounded mercantile instinct, " snorted paterfamilias, only heused stronger words. "Your mother's uncle was in trade. Thank Heavennone of my people ever used hands or brains. The Beecots lived likegentlemen. "

"I should say like cabbages from your description, father. "

"No insolence, sir. How dare you disgrace your family? Writing talesindeed! Rubbish I expect" (here several adjectives). "And you took moneyI'll be bound, eh! eh!"

"I have just informed you that I took all I could get, " said Beecotjunior, quietly. "I'll live in Town on my savings. When I make a nameand a fortune I'll return. "

"Never! never!" gobbled the turkey-cock. "If you descend to the gutteryou can wallow there. I'll cut you out of my will. "

"Very good, sir, that's settled. Let us change the subject. "

But the old gentleman was too high-spirited to leave well alone. Hedemanded to know if Paul knew to whom he was talking, inquired if he hadread the Bible touching the duties of children to their parents, instanced the fact that Paul's dear mother would probably pine away anddie, and ended with a pathetic reference to losing the prop of his oldage. Paul listened respectfully and held to his own opinion. In defenceof the same he replied in detail, --

"I am aware that I talk to my father, sir, " said he, with spirit; "younever allow me to forget that fact. If another man spoke to me as you doI should probably break his head. I _have_ read the Bible, and findtherein that parents owe a duty to their children, which certainly doesnot include being abused like a pick-pocket. My mother will not pineaway if you will leave her alone for at least three hours a day. And asto my being the prop of your old age, your vigor of language assures methat you are strong enough to stand alone. "

Paterfamilias, never bearded before, hastily drank a glass of port--thetwo were enjoying the usual pleasant family meal when the conversationtook place--and said--but it is useless to detail his remarks. They wereall sound and no sense. In justice to himself, and out of pity for hisfather, Paul cut short the scene by leaving the room with hisdetermination unchanged. Mr. Beecot thereupon retired to bed, andlectured his wife on the enormity of having brought a parricide into theworld. Having been countered for once in his life with common-sense, hefelt that he could not put the matter too strongly to a woman, who wastoo weak to resent his bullying. 

Early next day the cause of the commotion, not having swerved ahair's-breadth from the path he had marked out, took leave of hismother, and a formal farewell of the gentleman who described himself asthe best of fathers. Beecot senior, turkey-cock and tyrant, was moresubdued now that he found bluster would not carry his point. But thewave of common-sense came too late. Paul departed bag and baggage, andhis sire swore to the empty air. Even Mrs. Beecot was not available, asshe had fainted. 

Once Paul was fairly out of the house paterfamilias announced that theglory of Israel had departed, removed his son's photograph from thedrawing-room, and considered which of the relatives he had quarrelledwith he should adopt. Privately, he thought he had been a trifle hard onthe lad, and but for his obstinacy--which he called firmness--he wouldhave recalled the prodigal. But that enterprising adventurer was beyondhearing, and had left no address behind him. Beecot, the bully, was nota bad old boy if only he had been firmly dealt with, so he acknowledgedthat Paul had a fine spirit of his own, inherited from himself, andprophesied incorrectly. "He'll come back when the fifty pounds isexhausted, " said he in a kind of dejected rage, "and when he does--" Aclenched fist shaken at nothing terminated the speech and showed thatthe leopard could not change his spots. 

So Paul Beecot repaired to London, and after the orthodox fashion beganto cultivate the Muses on a little oatmeal by renting a Bloomsburygarret. There he wrote reams on all subjects and in all styles, and forsix months assiduously haunted publishers' doors with varying fortunes. Sometimes he came away with a cheque, but more often with a bulkymanuscript bulging his pocket. When tired of setting down imaginarywoes he had time to think of his own; but being a cheerful youth, withan indomitable spirit, he banished trouble by interesting himself in thecheap world. By this is meant the world which costs no money toview--the world of the street. Here he witnessed the drama of humanityfrom morning till night, and from sunset till dawn, and on the wholewitnessed very good acting. The poorer parts in the human comedy wereparticularly well played, and starving folks were quite dramatic intheir demands for food. Note-book in hand, Paul witnessed spectacularshows in the West End, grotesque farces in the Strand, melodrama inWhitechapel and tragedy on Waterloo Bridge at midnight. Indeed, he quitespoiled the effect of a sensation scene by tugging at the skirts of astarving heroine who wished to take a river journey into the next world. But for the most part, he remained a spectator and plagiarised from reallife. 

Shortly, the great manager of the Universal Theatre enlisted Paul as anactor, and he assumed the double _rôle_ of an unappreciated author and asighing lover. In the first capacity he had in his desk ten shortstories, a couple of novels, three dramas and a sheaf of doubtfulverses. These failed to appeal to editor, manager or publisher, andtheir author found himself reduced to his last five-pound note. Then thefoolish, ardent lad must needs fall in love. Who his divinity was, whatshe was, and why she should be divinised, can be gathered from aconversation her worshipper held with an old school-fellow. 

It was in Oxford Street at five o'clock on a June afternoon that Paulmet Grexon Hay. Turning the corner of the street leading to hisBloomsbury attic, the author was tapped on the shoulder by a resplendentBond Street being. That is, the said being wore a perfectly-fittingfrock-coat, a silk hat, trousers with the regulation fold back andfront, an orchid buttonhole, grey gloves, boots that glittered, andcarried a gold-topped cane. The fact that Paul wheeled without wincingshowed that he was not yet in debt. Your Grub Street old-time authorwould have leaped his own length at the touch. But Paul, with a cleanconscience, turned slowly, and gazed without recognition into theclean-shaven, calm, cold face that confronted his inquiring eyes. 

"Beecot!" said the newcomer, taking rapid stock of Paul's shabby sergesuit and worn looks. "I thought I was right. "

The voice, if not the face, awoke old memories. 

"Hay--Grexon Hay!" cried the struggling genius. "Well, I am glad to seeyou, " and he shook hands with the frank grip of an honest man. 

"And I you. " Hay drew his friend up the side street and out of the humantide which deluged the pavement. "But you seem--"

"It's a long story, " interrupted Paul flushing. "Come to my castle andI'll tell you all about it, old boy. You'll stay to supper, won't you?See here"--Paul displayed a parcel--"a pound of sausages. You loved 'emat school, and I'm a superfine cook. "

Grexon Hay always used expression and word to hide his feelings. Butwith Paul--whom he had always considered a generous ass at Torringtonschool--a trifle of self-betrayal didn't matter much. Beecot was toodense, and, it may be added, too honest to turn any opportunity toadvantage. "It's a most surprising thing, " said Hay, in his calm way, "really a most surprising thing, that a Torrington public school boy, myfriend, and the son of wealthy parents, should be buying sausages. "

"Come now, " said Paul, with great spirit and towing Hay homeward, "Ihaven't asked you for money. "

"If you do you shall have it, " said Hay, but the offer was not sogenerous a one as would appear. That was Hay all over. He always saidwhat he did not mean, and knew well that Beecot's uneasy pride shied atloans however small. 

Paul, the unsophisticated, took the shadow of generosity for itssubstance, and his dark face lighted up. "You're a brick, Hay, " hedeclared, "but I don't want money. No!"--this in reply to an eloquentglance from the well-to-do--"I have sufficient for my needs, andbesides, " with a look at the resplendent dress of the fashion-platedandy, "I don't glitter in the West End. "

"Which hints that those who do, are rich, " said Grexon, with an arcticsmile. "Wrong, Beecot. I'm poor. Only paupers can afford to dress well. "

"In that case I must be a millionaire, " laughed Beecot, glancingdownward at his well-worn garb. "But mount these stairs; we have much tosay to one another. "

"Much that is pleasant, " said the courtly Grexon. 

Paul shrugged his square shoulders and stepped heavenward. "On yourpart, I hope, " he sang back; "certainly not on mine. Come to PovertyCastle, " and the fashionable visitor found his host lighting the fire inan apartment such as he had read about but had never seen. 

It was quite the proper garret for starving genius--small, bleak, bare, but scrupulously clean. The floor was partially covered with scraps ofold carpet, faded and worn; the walls were entirely papered withpictures from illustrated journals. One window, revealing endless rowsof dingy chimney-pots, was draped with shabby rep curtains of a dullred. In one corner, behind an Indian screen, stood a narrow campbedstead, covered with a gaudy Eastern shawl, and also a large tin bath, with a can of water beside it. Against the wall leaned a clumsy dealbookcase filled with volumes well-thumbed and in old bindings. On oneside of the tiny fireplace was a horse-hair sofa, rendered less slipperyby an expensive fur rug thrown over its bareness; on the other was acupboard, whence Beecot rapidly produced crockery, knives, forks, acruet, napkins and other table accessories, all of the cheapestdescription. A deal table in the centre of the room, an antique mahoganydesk, heaped high with papers, under the window, completed thefurnishing of Poverty Castle. And it was up four flights of stairs likethat celebrated attic in Thackeray's poem. 

"As near heaven as I am likely to get, " rattled on Beecot, deftly fryingthe sausages, after placing his visitor on the sofa. "The grub will soonbe ready. I'm a first-class cook, bless you, old chap. Housemaid too. Clean, eh?" He waved the fork proudly round the ill-furnished room. "I'ddismiss myself if it wasn't. "

"But--but, " stammered Hay, much amazed, and surveying things through aneye-glass. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to get my foot on the first rung of Fame's ladder. "

"But I don't quite see--"

"Read Balzac's life and you will. His people gave him an attic and astarvation allowance in the hope of disgusting him. Bar the allowance, my pater has done the same. Here's the attic, and here's mystarvation"--Paul gaily popped the frizzling sausages on a chipped hotplate--"and here's your aspiring servant hoping to be novelist, dramatist, and what not--to say nothing of why not? Mustard, there youare. Wait a bit. I'll brew you tea or cocoa. "

"I never take those things with meals, Beecot. "

"Your kit assures me of that. Champagne's more in your line. I say, Grexon, what are you doing now?"

"What other West-End men do, " said Grexon, attacking a sausage. 

"That means nothing. Well, you never did work at Torrington, so how canI expect the leopard to change his saucy spots. "

Hay laughed, and, during the meal, explained his position. "On leavingschool I was adopted by a rich uncle, " he said. "When he went the way ofall flesh he left me a thousand a year, which is enough to live on withstrict economy. I have rooms in Alexander Street, Camden Hill, a circleof friends, and a good appetite, as you will perceive. With these I getthrough life very comfortably. "

"Ha!" said Paul, darting a keen glance at his visitor, "you have thestrong digestion necessary to happiness. Have you the hard heart also?If I remember at school--"

"Oh, hang school!" said Grexon, flushing all over his cold face. "Inever think of school. I was glad when I got away from it. But we weregreat friends at school, Paul. "

"Something after the style of Steerforth and David Copperfield, " wasPaul's reply as he pushed back his plate; "you were my hero, and I wasyour slave. But the other boys--" He looked again. 

"They hated me, because they did not understand me, as you did. "

"If that is so, Grexon, why did you let me slip out of your life? It isten years since we parted. I was fifteen and you twenty. "

"Which now makes us twenty-five and thirty respectively, " said Hay, dryly; "you left school before I did. "

"Yes; I had scarlet fever, and was taken home to be nursed. I never wentback, and since then I have never met an old Torrington boy--"

"Have you not?" asked Hay, eagerly. 

"No. My parents took me abroad, and I sampled a German university. Ireturned to idle about my father's place, till I grew sick of doingnothing, and, having ambitions, I came to try my luck in town. " Helooked round and laughed. "You see my luck. "

"Well, " said Hay, lighting a dainty cigarette produced from a gold case, "my uncle, who died, sent me to Oxford and then I travelled. I am now onmy own, as I told you, and haven't a relative in the world. "

"Why don't you marry?" asked Paul, with a flush. 

Hay, wary man-about-town as he was, noted the flush, and guessed itscause. He could put two and two together as well as most people. 

"I might ask you the same question, " said he. 

The two friends looked at one another, and each thought of thedifference in his companion since the old school-days. Hay wasclean-shaven, fair-haired, and calm, almost icy, in manner. His eyeswere blue and cold. No one could tell what was passing in his mind fromthe expression of his face. As a matter of fact he usually wore a mask, but at the present moment, better feelings having the upper hand, themask had slipped a trifle. But as a rule he kept command of expression, and words, and actions. An admirable example of self-control was GrexonHay. 

On the other hand, Beecot was slight, tall and dark, with an eagermanner and a face which revealed his thoughts. His complexion was swart;he had large black eyes, a sensitive mouth, and a small moustachesmartly twisted upward. He carried his head well, and looked rathermilitary in appearance, probably because many of his forebears had beenArmy men. While Hay was smartly dressed in a Bond Street kit, Paul worea well-cut, shabby blue serge. He looked perfectly well-bred, but hisclothes were woefully threadbare. 

From these and the garret and the lean meal of sausages Hay drew hisconclusions and put them into words. 

"Your father has cut you off, " said he, calmly, "and yet you propose tomarry. "

"How do you know both things?"

"I keep my eyes open, Paul. I see this attic and your clothes. I sawalso the flush on your face when you asked me why I did not marry. Youare in love?"

"I am, " said Beecot, becoming scarlet, and throwing back his head. "Itis clever of you to guess it. Prophesy more. "

Hay smiled in a cold way. "I prophesy that if you marry on nothing youwill be miserable. But of course, " he looked sharply at his open-facedfriend, "the lady may be rich. "

"She is the daughter of a second-hand bookseller called Norman, and Ibelieve he combines selling books with pawnbroking. "

"Hum, " said Hay, "he might make money out of the last occupation. Is hea Jew by any chance?"

"No. He is a miserable-looking, one-eyed Christian, with the manner of afrightened rabbit. "

"One-eyed and frightened, " repeated Hay, musingly, but without change ofexpression; "desirable father-in-law. And the daughter?"

"Sylvia. She is an angel, a white lily, a--"

"Of course, " said Grexon, cutting short these rhapsodies. "And what doyou intend to marry on?"

Beecot fished a shabby blue velvet case out of his pocket. "On my lastfive pounds and this, " he said, opening the case. 

Hay looked at the contents of the case, and saw a rather large broochmade in the form of a jewelled serpent. "Opals, diamonds and gold, " hesaid slowly, then looked up eagerly. "Sell it to me. "

CHAPTER II

DEBORAH JUNK, DUENNA

Number forty-five Gwynne Street was a second-hand bookshop, and much ofthe stock was almost as old as the building itself. A weather-stainedboard of faded blue bore in tarnished gold lettering the name of itsowner, and under this were two broad windows divided by a squat door, open on week-days from eight in the morning until eight at night. Withinthe shop was dark and had a musty odor. 

On either side of the quaint old house was a butcher's and a baker's, flaunting places of business, raw in their newness. Between thefirst-named establishment and the bookshop a low, narrow passage led toa small backyard and to a flight of slimy steps, down which clients whodid not wish to be seen could arrive at a kind of cellar to transactbusiness with Mr. Norman. 

This individual combined two distinct trades. On the ground floor hesold second-hand books; in the cellar he bought jewels and gave money onthe same to needy people. In the shop, pale youths, untidy, abstractedold men, spectacled girls, and all varieties of the pundit caste were tobe seen poring over ancient volumes or exchanging words with theproprietor. But to the cellar came fast young men, aged spendthrifts, women of no reputation and some who were very respectable indeed. Theseusually came at night, and in the cellar transactions would take placewhich involved much money exchanging hands. In the daytime Mr. Normanwas an innocent bookseller, but after seven he retired to the cellar andbecame as genuine a pawnbroker as could be found in London. Touchingbooks he was easy enough to deal with, but a Shylock as regards jewelsand money lent. With his bookish clients he passed for a dull shopkeeperwho knew little about literature; but in the underground establishmenthe was spoken of, by those who came to pawn, as a usurer of the worst. In an underhand way he did a deal of business. 

Aaron Norman--such was the name over the shop--looked like a man with apast--a miserable past, for in his one melancholy eye and twitching, nervous mouth could be read sorrow and apprehension. His face was pale, and he had an odd habit of glancing over his left shoulder, as though heexpected to be tapped thereon by a police officer. Sixty years hadrounded his shoulders and weakened his back, so that his one eye wasalmost constantly on the ground. Suffering had scored marks on hisforehead and weary lines round his thin-lipped mouth. When he spoke hedid so in a low, hesitating voice, and when he looked up, which wasseldom, his eye revealed a hunted look like that of a wearied beastfearful lest it should be dragged from its lair. 

It was this strange-looking man that Paul Beecot encountered in thedoorway of the Gwynne Street shop the day after his meeting with Hay. Many a visit had Paul paid to that shop, and not always to buy books. Norman knew him very well, and, recognizing him in a fleeting look as hepassed through the doorway, smiled weakly. Behind the counter stood BartTawsey, the lean underling, who was much sharper with buyers than washis master, but after a disappointed glance in his direction Pauladdressed himself to the bookseller. "I wish to see you particularly, "he said, with his eager air. 

"I am going out on important business, " said Norman, "but if you willnot be very long--"

"It's about a brooch I wish to pawn. "

The old man's mouth became hard and his eyes sharper. "I can't attend tothat now, Mr. Beecot, " he said, and his voice rang out louder thanusual. "After seven. "

"It's only six now, " said Paul, looking over his shoulder at a churchclock which could be seen clearly in the pale summer twilight. "I can'twait. "

"Well, then, as you are an old customer--of books, " said Aaron, withemphasis, "I'll stretch a point. You can go below at a quarter to seven, and I'll come round through the outside passage to see you. Meantime, Imust go about my business, " and he went away with his head hanging andhis solitary eye searching the ground as usual. 

Paul, in spite of his supposed hurry, was not ill-pleased that Aaron hadgone out and that there was an idle hour before him. He stepped lightlyinto the shop, and, under the flaring gas--which was lighted, so darkwas the interior of the shop in spite of the luminous gloaming--heencountered the smile of Barty. Paul, who was sensitive and proudlyreticent, grew red. He knew well enough that his apparent admiration ofSylvia Norman had attracted the notice of Bart and of the red-armedwench, Deborah Junk, who was the factotum of the household. Not that heminded, for both these servants were devoted to Sylvia, and knowing thatshe returned the feelings of Paul said nothing about the position toAaron. Beecot could not afford to make enemies of the pair, and had nowish to do so. They were coarse-grained and common, but loyal and kindlyof heart. 

"Got any new books, Bart?" asked Beecot, coming forward with rovingeyes, for he hoped to see Sylvia glide out of the darkness to bless hishungry eyes. 

"No, sir. We never get new books, " replied Bart, smartly. "Leastwaysthere's a batch of second-hand novels published last year. But blessyou, Mr. Beecot, there ain't nothing new about them 'cept the bindings. "

"You are severe, Bart. I hope to be a novelist myself. "

"We need one, sir. For the most part them as write now ain't novelists, if that means telling anything as is new. But I must go upstairs, sir. Miss Sylvia said I was to tell her when you came. "

"Oh, yes--er--er--that is--she wants to see a photograph of my old home. I promised to show it to her. " Paul took a parcel out of his pocket. "Can't I go up?"

"No, sir. 'Twouldn't be wise. The old man may come back, and if he knewas you'd been in his house, " Bart jerked his head towards the ceiling, "he'd take a fit. "

"Why? He doesn't think I'm after the silver?"

"Lor' bless you no, sir. It ain't that. What's valuable--silver and goldand jewels and such like--is down there. " Bart nodded towards the floor. "But Mr. Norman don't like people coming into his private rooms. He'snever let in anyone for years. "

"Perhaps he fears to lose the fairest jewel he has. "

Bart was what the Scotch call "quick in the uptake. " "He don't think somuch of her as he ought to, sir, " said he, gloomily. "But I know heloves her, and wants to make her a great heiress. When he goes to theworms Miss Sylvia will have a pretty penny. I only hope, " added Bart, looking slyly at Paul, "that he who has her to wife won't squander whatthe old man has worked for. "

Beecot colored still more at this direct hint, and would have replied, but at this moment a large, red-faced, ponderous woman dashed into theshop from a side door. "There, " said she, clapping her hands in achildish way, "I know'd his vice, an' I ses to Miss Sylvia, as issittin' doing needlework, which she do do lovely, I ses 'That's him, 'and she ses, with a lovely color, 'Oh, Deborah, jus' see, fur m'eart'sabeating too loud for me t'ear 'is vice. ' So I ses--"

Here she became breathless and clapped her hands again, so as to preventinterruption. But Paul did interrupt her, knowing from experience thatwhen once set going Deborah would go on until pulled up. "Can't I go upto Miss Norman?" he asked. 

"You may murder me, and slay me, and trample on my corp, " said Deborah, solemnly, "but go up you can't. Master would send me to walk the streetsif I dared to let you, innocent as you are, go up them stairs. "

Paul knew long ago how prejudiced the old man was in this respect. During all the six months he had known Sylvia he had never beenpermitted to mount the stairs in question. It was strange that Aaronshould be so particular on this point, but connecting it with hisdowncast eye and frightened air, Paul concluded, though without muchreason, that the old man had something to conceal. More, that he wasfrightened of someone. However, he did not argue the point, butsuggested a meeting-place. "Can't I see her in the cellar?" he asked. "Mr. Norman said I could go down to wait for him. "

"Sir, " said Deborah, plunging forward a step, like a stumbling 'bushorse, "don't tell me as you want to pawn. "

"Well, I do, " replied Paul, softly, "but you needn't tell everyone. "

"It's only Bart, " cried Deborah, casting a fierce look in the directionof the slim, sharp-faced young man, "and if he was to talk I'd take histongue out. That I would. I'm a-training him to be my husband, as Idon't hold with the ready-made article, and married he shall be, byparsing and clark if he's a good boy and don't talk of what don't matterto him. "

"I ain't goin' to chatter, " said Bart, with a wink. "Lor' bless you, sir, I've seen gentlemen as noble as yourself pawning things downthere"--he nodded again towards the floor--"ah, and ladies too, but--"

"Hold your tongue, " cried Deborah, pitching herself across the floorlike a ship in distress. "Your a-talking now of what you ain't a rightto be a-talkin' of, drat you. Come this way, Mr. Beecot, to the placewhere old Nick have his home, for that he is when seven strikes. "

"You shouldn't speak of your master in that way, " protested Paul. 

"Oh, shouldn't I, " snorted the maid, with a snort surprisingly loud. "And who have a better right, sir? I've been here twenty year as servantand nuss and friend and 'umble well-wisher to Miss Sylvia, coming a slipof a girl at ten, which makes me thirty, I don't deny; not that it's tooold to marry Bart, though he's but twenty, and makes up in wickednessfor twice that age. I know master, and when the sun's up there ain't abetter man living, but turn on the gas and he's an old Nick. Bart, attend to your business and don't open them long ears of yours too wide. I won't have a listening husband, I can tell you. This way, sir. Mindthe steps. "

By this time Deborah had convoyed Paul to a dark corner behind thecounter and jerked back a trap door. Here he saw a flight of woodensteps which led downwards into darkness. But Miss Junk snatched up alantern on the top step, and having lighted it dropped down, holding itabove her red and touzelled head. Far below her voice was heard cryingto Beecot to "Come on"; therefore he followed as quickly as he could, and soon found himself in the cellar. All around was dark, but Deborahlighted a couple of flaring gas-jets, and then turned, with her armsakimbo, on the visitor. 

"Now then, sir, you and me must have a talk, confidential like, " saidshe in her breathless way. "It's pawning is it? By which I knows thatyou ain't brought that overbearing pa of yours to his knees. "

Paul sat down in a clumsy mahogany chair, which stood near a plain dealtable, and stared at the handmaiden. "I never told you about my father, "he said, exhibiting surprise. 

"Oh, no, of course not"--Miss Junk tossed her head--"me being a babe an'a suckling, not fit to be told anything. But you told Miss Sylvia andshe told me, as she tells everything to her Debby, God bless her for apretty flower!" She pointed a coarse, red finger at Paul. "If you were agay deceiver, Mr. Beecot, I'd trample on your corp this very minute if Iwas to die at Old Bailey for the doing of it. "

Seeing Deborah was breathless again, Paul seized his chance. "There isno reason you shouldn't know all about me, and--"

"No, indeed, I should think not, begging your pardon, sir. But when youcomes here six months back, I ses to Miss Sylvia, I ses, 'He's makingeyes at you, my lily, ' and she ses to me, she says, 'Oh, Debby, I lovehim, that I do. ' And then I ses, ses I, 'My pretty, he looks a gent bornand bred, but that's the wust kind, so we'll find out if he's a liarbefore you loses your dear heart to him. '"

"But I'm not a liar--" began Paul, only to be cut short again. 

"As well I knows, " burst out Miss Junk, her arms akimbo again. "Do youthink, sir, as I'd ha' let you come loving my pretty one and me notknowing if you was Judas or Jezebel? Not me, if I never drank my nightlydrop of beer again. What you told Miss Sylvia of your frantic pa andyour loving ma she told me. Pumping _you_ may call it, " shouted Deborah, emphasising again with the red finger, "but everything you told in yourlover way she told her old silly Debby. I ses to Bart, if you loves me, Bart, go down to Wargrove, wherever it may be--if in England, which Idoubt--and if he--meaning you--don't tell the truth, out he goes if Ihave the chucking of him myself and a police-court summings over it. SoBart goes to Wargrove, and he find out that you speaks true, which meansthat you're a gent, sir, if ever there was one, in spite of your franticpa, so I hopes as you'll marry my flower, and make her happy--blessyou, " and Deborah spread a large pair of mottled arms over Paul's head. 

"It's all true, " said he, good-naturedly; "my father and I don't get onwell together, and I came to make a name in London. But for all youknow, Deborah, I may be a scamp. "

"That you are not, " she burst out. "Why, Bart's been follerin' youeverywhere, and he and me, which is to be his lawful wife and master, knows all about you and that there place in Bloomsbury, and where you goand where you don't go. And let me tell you, sir, " again she lifted herfinger threateningly, "if you wasn't what you oughter be, never wouldyou see my pretty one again. No, not if I had to wash the floor in yourblue blood--for blue it is, if what Bart learned was true of them stonefiggers in the church, " and she gasped. 

Paul was silent for a few minutes, looking at the floor. He wonderedthat he had not guessed all this. Often it had seemed strange to himthat so faithful and devoted a couple of retainers as Bart and DeborahJunk should favor his wooing of Sylvia and keep it from their master, seeing that they knew nothing about him. But from the woman'sstory--which he saw no reason to disbelieve--the two had not resteduntil they had been convinced of his respectability and of the truth ofhis story. Thus they had permitted the wooing to continue, and Paulprivately applauded them for their tact in so making sure of him withoutcommitting themselves to open speech. "All the same, " he said aloud, andfollowing his own thoughts, "it's strange that you should wish her tomarry me. "

Miss Junk made a queer answer. "I'm glad enough to see her marry anyonerespectable, let alone a gent, as you truly are, with stone figgers inchurches and a handsome face, though rather dark for my liking. Mr. Beecot, twenty year ago, a slip of ten, I come to nuss the baby as wasmy loving angel upstairs, and her ma had just passed away to jine themas lives overhead playing harps. All these years I've never heard ayoung step on them stairs, save Miss Sylvia's and Bart's, him havingcome five years ago, and a brat he was. And would you believe it, Mr. Beecot, I know no more of the old man than you do. He's queer, and he'swrong altogether, and that frightened of being alone in the dark as youcould make him a corp with a turnip lantern. "

"What is he afraid of?"

"Ah, " said Deborah, significantly, "what indeed? It may be police and itmay be ghosts, but, ghosts or police, he never ses what he oughter sayif he's a respectable man, which I sadly fear he ain't. "

"He may have his reasons to--"

Miss Junk tossed her head and snorted again loudly. "Oh, yes--he has hisreasons, " she admitted, "and Old Bailey ones they are, I dessay. Butthere's somethin' 'anging over his head. Don't ask me what it is, furnever shall you know, by reason of my being ignorant. But whatever itis, Mr. Beecot, it's something wicked, and shall I see my own pretty introuble?"

"How do you know there will be trouble?" interrupted Paul, anxiously. 

"I've heard him pray, " said Miss Junk, mysteriously--"yes, you may look, for there ain't no prayer in the crafty eye of him--but pray he do, andasks to be kept from danger--"

"Danger?"

"Danger's the word, for I won't deceive you, no, not if you paid mebetter wages than the old man do give and he's as near as the paring ofan inion. So I ses to Bart, if there's danger and trouble and OldBaileys about, the sooner Miss Sylvia have some dear man to give her adecent name and pertect her the more happy old Deborah will be. So Ilooked and looked for what you might call a fairy prince as I've heardtell of in pantomimes, and when you comes she loses her heart to you. SoI ses, find out, Bart, what he is, and--"

"Yes, yes, I see. Well, Deborah, you can depend upon my looking afteryour pretty mistress. If I were only reconciled with my father I wouldspeak to Mr. Norman. "

"Don't, sir--don't!" cried the woman, fiercely, and making a clutch atPaul's arm; "he'll turn you out, he will, not being anxious fur anyoneto have my flower, though love her as he oughter do, he don't, no, "cried Deborah, "nor her ma before her, who died with a starvin' 'eart. But you run away with my sweetest and make her your own, though her paswears thunderbolts as you may say. Take her from this place ofwickedness and police-courts. " And Deborah looked round the cellar witha shudder. Suddenly she started and held up her finger, nodding towardsa narrow door at the side of the cellar. "Master's footstep, " she saidin a harsh whisper. "I'd know it in a thousand--just like a thief's, ain't it?--stealing as you might say. Don't tell him you've seen me. "

"But Sylvia, " cried Paul, catching her dress as she passed him. 

"Her you'll see, if I die for it, " said Deborah, and whirled up thewooden steps in a silent manner surprising in so noisy a woman. Paulheard the trap-door drop with a stealthy creak. 

As a key grated in the lock of the outside door he glanced round theplace to which he had penetrated for the first time. It was of the samesize as the shop overhead, but the walls were of stone, green with slimeand feathery with a kind of ghastly white fungus. Overhead, from thewooden roof, which formed the floor of the shop, hung innumerablespider's webs thick with dust. The floor was of large flags cracked inmany places, and between the chinks in moist corners sprouted sparse, colorless grass. In the centre was a deal table, scored with queer marksand splotched with ink. Over this flared two gas-jets, which whistledshrilly. Against the wall, which was below the street, were three greenpainted safes fast locked: but the opposite wall had in it the narrowdoor aforesaid, and a wide grated window, the bars of which were rusty, though strong. The atmosphere of the place was cold and musty andsuggestive of a charnel house. Certainly a strange place in which totransact business, but everything about Aaron Norman was strange. 

And he looked strange himself as he stepped in at the open door. Beyond, Paul could see the shallow flight of damp steps leading to the yard andthe passage which gave admission from the street. Norman locked the doorand came forward. He was as white as a sheet, and his face was thicklybeaded with perspiration. His mouth twitched more than usual, and hishands moved nervously. Twice as he advanced towards Paul, who rose toreceive him, did he cast the odd look over his shoulder. Beecotfancifully saw in him a man who had committed some crime and was fearfullest it should be discovered, or lest the avenger should suddenlyappear. Deborah's confidential talk had not been without its effects onthe young man, and Paul beheld in Aaron a being of mystery. How such aman came to have such a daughter as Sylvia, Paul could not guess. 

"Here you are, Mr. Beecot, " said Aaron, rubbing his hands as though thecold of the cellar struck to his bones. "Well?"

"I want to pawn a brooch, " said Beecot, slipping his hand into hisbreast pocket. 

"Wait, " said Norman, throwing up his lean hand. "Let me tell you that Ihave taken a fancy to you, and I have watched you all the many times youhave been here. Didn't you guess?"

"No, " said Paul, wondering if he was about to speak of Sylvia, andconcluding that he guessed what was in the wind. 

"Well then, I have, " said the pawnbroker, "and I think it's a pity ayoung man should pawn anything. Have you no money?" he asked. 

Paul reddened. "Very little, " he said. 

"Little as it may be, live on that and don't pawn, " said Aaron. "I speakagainst my own interests, but I like you, and perhaps I can lend you afew shillings. "

"I take money from no one, thank you all the same, " said Beecot, throwing back his head, "but if you can lend me something on thisbrooch, " and he pulled out the case from his pocket. "A friend of minewould have bought it, but as it belongs to my mother I prefer to pawn itso that I may get it again when I am rich. "

"Well, well, " said Aaron, abruptly, and resuming his downcast looks, "Ishall do what I can. Let me see it. "

He stretched out his hand and took the case. Slowly opening it under thegas, he inspected its contents. Suddenly he gave a cry of alarm, and thecase fell to the floor. "The Opal Serpent!--The Opal Serpent!" he cried, growing purple in the face, "keep off!--keep off!" He beat the air withhis lean hands. "Oh--the Opal!" and he fell face downward on the slimyfloor in a fit or a faint, but certainly unconscious. 

CHAPTER III

DULCINEA OF GWYNNE STREET

Near the Temple Station of the Metropolitan Railway is a small gardenwhich contains a certain number of fairly-sized trees, a roundband-stand, and a few flower-beds intersected by asphalt paths. Herethose who are engaged in various offices round about come to enjoy _rusin urbes_, to listen to the gay music, and, in many cases, to eat ascanty mid-day meal. Old women come to sun themselves, loafers sit onthe seats to rest, workmen smoke and children play. On a bright day theplace is pretty, and those who frequent it feel as though they wereenjoying a country holiday though but a stone's throw from the Thames. And lovers meet here also, so it was quite in keeping that Paul Beecotshould wait by the bronze statues of the Herculaneum wrestlers for thecoming of Sylvia. 

On the previous day he had departed hastily, after committing the oldman to Deborah's care. At first he had lingered to see Aaron revive, butwhen the unconscious man came to his senses and opened his eyes hefainted again when his gaze fell on Paul. Deborah, therefore, in herrough, practical way, suggested that as Beecot was "upsetting him" hehad better go. It was in a state of perplexity that Paul had gone away, but he was cheered on his homeward way by a hasty assurance given byMiss Junk that Sylvia would meet him in the gardens, "near them niggerswithout clothes, " said Deborah. 

It was strange that the sight of the brooch should have produced such aneffect on Aaron, and his fainting confirmed Paul's suspicions that theold man had not a clean conscience. But what the serpent brooch had todo with the matter Beecot could not conjecture. It was certainly an oddpiece of jewellery, and not particularly pretty, but that the merestglimpse of it should make Norman faint was puzzling in the extreme. 

"Apparently it is associated with something disagreeable in the man'smind, " soliloquised Paul, pacing the pavement and keeping a sharplook-out for Sylvia, "perhaps with death, else the effect would scarcelyhave been so powerful as to produce a fainting fit. Yet Aaron can't knowmy mother. Hum! I wonder what it means. "

While he was trying to solve the mystery a light touch on his arm madehim wheel round, and he beheld Sylvia smiling at him. While he waslooking along the Embankment for her coming she had slipped down NorfolkStreet and through the gardens, to where the wrestlers clutched at emptyair. In her low voice, which was the sweetest of all sounds to Paul, sheexplained this, looking into his dark eyes meanwhile. "But I can't staylong, " finished Sylvia. "My father is still ill, and he wants me toreturn and nurse him. "

"Has he explained why he fainted?" asked Paul, anxiously. 

"No; he refuses to speak on the matter. Why did he faint, Paul?"

The young man looked puzzled. "Upon my word I don't know, " he said. "Just as I was showing him a brooch I wished to pawn he went off. "

"What kind of a brooch?" asked the girl, also perplexed. 

Paul took the case out of his breast pocket, where it had been since theprevious day. "My mother sent it to me, " he explained; "you see sheguesses that I am hard up, and, thanks to my father, she can't send memoney. This piece of jewellery she has had for many years, but as it israther old-fashioned she never wears it. So she sent it to me, hopingthat I might get ten pounds or so on it. A friend of mine wished to buyit, but I was anxious to get it back again, so that I might return it tomy mother. Therefore I thought your father might lend me money on it. "

Sylvia examined the brooch with great attention. It was evidently ofIndian workmanship, delicately chased, and thickly set with jewels. Theserpent, which was apparently wriggling across the stout gold pin of thebrooch, had its broad back studded with opals, large in the centre ofthe body and small at head and tail. These were set round with tinydiamonds, and the head was of chased gold with a ruby tongue. Sylviaadmired the workmanship and the jewels, and turned the brooch over. Onthe flat smooth gold underneath she found the initial "R" scratched witha pin. This she showed to Paul. "I expect your mother made this mark toidentify the brooch, " she said. 

"My mother's name is Anne, " replied Paul, looking more puzzled thanever, "Anne Beecot. Why should she mark this with an initial which hasnothing to do with her name?"

"Perhaps it is a present, " suggested Sylvia. 

Paul snapped the case to, and replaced it in his pocket. "Perhaps itis, " he said. "However, when I next write to my mother I'll ask herwhere she got the brooch. She has had it for many years, " he addedmusingly, "for I remember playing with it when a small boy. "

"Don't tell your mother that my father fainted. "

"Why not? Does it matter?"

Sylvia folded her slender hands and looked straight in front of her. For some time they had been seated on a bench in a retired part of thegardens, and the laughter of playing children, the music of the bandplaying the merriest airs from the last musical comedy, came faintly totheir ears. "I think it does matter, " said the girl, seriously; "forsome reason my father wants to keep himself as quiet as possible. Hetalks of going away. "

"Going away. Oh, Sylvia, and you never told me. "

"He only spoke of going away when I came to see how he was thismorning, " she replied. "I wonder if his fainting has anything to do withthis determination. He never talked of going away before. "

Paul wondered also. It seemed strange that after so unusual an event theold man should turn restless and wish to leave a place where he hadlived for over twenty years. "I'll come and have an explanation, " saidPaul, after a pause. 

"I think that will be best, dear. Father said that he would like to seeyou again, and told Bart to bring you in if he saw you. "

"I'll call to-day--this afternoon, and perhaps your father will explain. And now, Sylvia, that is enough about other people and other things. Letus talk of ourselves. "

Sylvia turned her face with a fond smile. She was a delicate and daintylittle lady, with large grey eyes and soft brown hair. Her complexionwas transparent, and she had little color in her cheeks. With her ovalface, her thin nose and charming mouth she looked very pretty and sweet. But it was her expression that Paul loved. That was a trifle sad, butwhen she smiled her looks changed as an overcast sky changes when thesun bursts through the clouds. Her figure was perfect, her hands andfeet showed marks of breeding, and although her grey dress was asdemure as any worn by a Quakeress, she looked bright and merry in thesunshine of her lover's presence. Everything about Sylvia was dainty andneat and exquisitely clean: but she was hopelessly out of the fashion. It was this odd independence in her dress which constituted anothercharm in Paul's eyes. 

The place was too public to indulge in love-making, and it was verytantalising to sit near this vision of beauty without gaining thedelight of a kiss. Paul feasted his eyes, and held Sylvia's grey-glovedhand under cover of her dress. Further he could not go. 

"But if you put up your sunshade, " he suggested artfully. 

"Paul!" That was all Sylvia said, but it suggested a whole volume ofrebuke. Brought up in seclusion, like the princess in an enchantedcastle, the girl was exceedingly shy. Paul's ardent looks and eagerwooing startled her at times, and he thought disconsolately that hischivalrous love-making was coarse and common when he gazed on thedelicate, dainty, shrinking maid he adored. 

"You should not have stepped out of your missal, Sylvia, " he said sadly. 

"Whatever do you mean, dearest?"

"I mean that you are a saint--an angel--a thing to be adored andworshipped. You are exactly like one of those lovely creations one seesin mass-books of the Middle Ages. I fear, Sylvia, " Paul sighed, "thatyou are too dainty and holy for this work-a-day world. "

"What nonsense, Paul! I'm a poor girl without position or friends, living in a poor street. You are the first person who ever thought mepretty. "

"You are not pretty, " said the ardent Beecot, "you are divine--you areBeatrice--you are Elizabeth of Thuringia--you are everything that islovely and adorable. "

"And you are a silly boy, " replied Sylvia, blushing, but loving thispoetic talk all the same. "Do you want to put me in a glass case when wemarry? If you do, I sha'n't become Mrs. Beecot. I want to see the worldand to enjoy myself. "

"Then other men will admire you and I shall grow jealous. "

"Can you be jealous--Paul?"

"Horribly! You don't know half my bad qualities. I am poor and needy, and ambitious and jealous, and--"

"There--there. I won't hear you run yourself down. You are the best boyin the world. "

"Poor world, if I am that, " he laughed, and squeezed the little hand. "Oh, my love, do you really think of me?"

"Always! Always! You know I do. Why, ever since I saw you enter the shopsix months ago I have always loved you. I told Debby, and Debby saidthat I could. "

"Supposing Debby had said that you couldn't. "

"Oh, she would never have said that. Why, Paul, she saw you. "

The young man laughed and colored. "Do I carry my character in my face?"he asked. "Sylvia, don't think too well of me. "

"That is impossible, " she declared. "You are my fairy prince. "

"Well, I certainly have found an enchanted princess sleeping in ajealously-guarded castle. What would your father say did he know?"

Sylvia looked startled. "I am afraid of my father, " she replied, indirectly. "Yes--he is so strange. Sometimes he seems to love me, andat other times to hate me. We have nothing in common. I love books andart, and gaiety and dresses. But father only cares for jewels. He has alot down in the cellar. I have never seen them, you know, " added Sylvia, looking at her lover, "nor have Deborah or Bart. But they are there. Bart and Deborah say so. "

"Has your father ever said so?"

"No. He won't speak of his business in the cellar. When the shop isclosed at seven he sends Bart away home and locks Deborah and I in thehouse. That is, " she explained anxiously, lest Paul should think herfather a tyrant, "he locks the door which leads to the shop. We can walkover all the house. But there we stop till next morning, when fatherunlocks the door at seven and Bart takes down the shutters. We havelived like that for years. On Sunday evenings, however, father does notgo to the cellar, but takes me to church. He has supper with meupstairs, and then locks the door at ten. "

"But he sleeps upstairs?"

"No. He sleeps in the cellar. "

"Impossible. There is no accommodation for sleeping there. "

Sylvia explained. "There is another cellar--a smaller one--off the largeplace he has the safes in. The door is in a dark corner almost under thestreet line. This smaller cellar is fitted up as a bedroom, and myfather has slept there all his life. I suppose he is afraid of hisjewels being stolen. I don't think it is good for his health, " added thegirl, wisely, "for often in the morning he looks ill and his handsshake. "

"Sylvia, does your father drink alcohol?"

"Oh, no, Paul! He is a teetotaller, and is very angry at those who drinkto excess. Why, once Bart came to the shop a little drunk, and fatherwould have discharged him but for Deborah. "

Paul said nothing, but thought the more. Often it had struck him thatNorman was a drunkard, though his face showed no signs of indulgence, for it always preserved its paleness. But the man's hands shook, and hisskin often was drawn and tight, with that shiny look suggestive ofindulgence. "He either drinks or smokes opium, " thought Paul on hearingSylvia's denial. But he said nothing to her of this. 

"I must go home now, " she said, rising. 

"Oh, no, not yet, " he implored. 

"Well, then, I'll stay for a few minutes longer, because I havesomething to say, " she remarked, and sat down again. "Paul, do you thinkit is quite honorable for you and I to be engaged without the consent ofmy father?"

"Well, " hesitated Beecot, "I don't think it is as it should be. Were Iwell off I should not fear to tell your father everything; but as I am apauper he would forbid my seeing you did he learn that I had raised myeyes to you. But if you like I'll speak, though it may mean our partingfor ever. "

"Paul, " she laid a firm, small hand on his arm, "not all the fathers inthe world will keep me from you. Often I have intended to tell all, butmy father is so strange. Sometimes he goes whole days without speakingto me, and at times he speaks harshly, though I do nothing to deserverebuke. I am afraid of my father, " said the girl, with a shiver. "I saidso before, and I say so again. He is a strange man, and I don'tunderstand him at all. I wish I could marry you and go away altogether. "

"Well, let us marry if you like, though we will be poor. "

"No, " said Sylvia, sorrowfully; "after all, strange and harsh though myfather is, he is still my father, and at times he is kind. I must staywith him to the end. "

"What end?"

Sylvia shook her head still more sorrowfully. "Who knows? Paul, myfather is afraid of dying suddenly. "

"By violence?" asked Beecot, thinking of Deborah's talk. 

"I can't say. But every day after six he goes to church and prays allalone. Deborah told me, as often she has seen him leave the church. Thenhe is afraid of every stranger who enters the shop. I don't understandit, " cried the girl, passionately. "I don't like it. I wish you wouldmarry me and take me away, Paul; but, oh, how selfish I am!"

"My own, I wish I could. But the money--"

"Oh, never mind the money. I must get away from that house. If it wasnot for Deborah I would be still more afraid. I often think my father ismad. But there, " Sylvia rose and shook out her skirts, "I have no rightto talk so, and only do so to you, that you may know what I feel. I'llspeak to my father myself and say we are engaged. If he forbids ourmarriage I shall run away with you, Paul, " said poor Sylvia, the tearsin her eyes. "I am a bad girl to talk in this way. After all, he is myfather. "

Beecot had an ardent desire to take her in his arms and kiss away thosetears, but the publicity of the meeting-place denied him the power toconsole her in that efficacious fashion. All he could do was to assureher of his love, and then they walked out of the gardens towards theStrand. "I'll speak to your father myself, " said Paul; "we must end thisnecessary silence. After all, I am a gentleman, and I see no reason whyyour father should object. "

"I know you are everything that is good and true, " said Sylvia, dryingher eyes. "If you were not Debby would not have let me become engaged toyou, " she finished childishly. 

"Debby made inquiries about me, " said Paul, laughing, to cheer her. "Yes! she sent Bart to Wargrove and found out all about me and myfamily and my respected father. She wished to be certain that I was aproper lover for her darling. "

"I am your darling now, " whispered Sylvia, squeezing his arm, "and youare the most charming lover in the world. "

Paul was so enchanted with this speech that he would have defied publicopinion by embracing her there and then, but Sylvia walked away rapidlydown Gwynne Street and shook her head with a pursed-up mouth when Paultook a few steps after her. Recognizing that it would be wise not tofollow her to the shop lest the suspicious old man should be lookingout, Beecot went on his homeward way. 

When he drew near his Bloomsbury garret he met Grexon Hay, who wassauntering along swinging his cane. "I was just looking for you, " hesaid, greeting Paul in his usual self-contained manner; "it worries meto think you are so hard-up, though I'm not a fellow given to sentimentas a rule. Let me lend you a fiver. "

Paul shook his head. "Thank you all the same. "

"Well, then, sell me the brooch. "

Beecot suddenly looked squarely at Hay, who met his gaze calmly. "Do youknow anything of that brooch?" he asked. 

"What do you mean? It is a brooch of Indian workmanship. That is all Iknow. I want to give a lady a present, and if you will sell it to meI'll take it, to help you, thus killing two birds at one shot. "

"I don't want to sell it, " said Paul, looking round. His eyes fell on arespectable man across the road, who appeared to be a workman, as he hada bag of tools on his shoulder. He was looking into a shop window, butalso--as Paul suddenly thought--seemed to be observing him and Hay. However, the incident was not worth noticing, so he continued hisspeech to Grexon. "I tried to pawn it with Aaron Norman, " he said. 

"Well, what did you get on it?" asked Hay, with a yawn. 

"Nothing. The old man fainted when I showed him the brooch. That is whyI asked you if you know anything strange about the article. "

Hay shook his head, but looked curiously at Beecot. "Do you knowanything yourself?" he asked; "you seem to have something on your mindabout that brooch. "

"There is something queer about it, " said Paul. "Why should Aaron Normanfaint when he saw it?"

Hay yawned again. "You had better ask your one-eyed friend--I think yousaid he was one-eyed. "

"He is, and a frightened sort of man. But there's nothing about thatopal serpent to make him faint. "

"Perhaps he did so because it is in the shape of a serpent, " suggestedGrexon; "a constitutional failing, perhaps. Some people hate cats andother fluttering birds. Your one-eyed friend may have a loathing ofsnakes and can't bear to see the representation of one. "

"It might be that, " said Beecot, after a pause. "Aaron is a strange sortof chap. A man with a past, I should say. "

"You make me curious, " said Grexon, laughing in a bored manner. "I thinkI'll go to the shop myself and have a look at him. "

"Come with me when I next go, " said Paul. "I had intended to call thisafternoon; but I won't, until I hear from my mother. "

"What about?"

"I want to learn how she came into possession of the brooch. "

"Pooh, nonsense, " said Hay, contemptuously, "you think too much aboutthe thing. Who cares if a pawnbroker faints? Why I wish to go to theshop, is, because I am anxious to see your lady-love. Well, when you dowant me to go, send for me; you have my address. 'Day, old man, " and thegorgeous being sauntered away, with apparently not a care in the worldto render him anxious. 

Paul was anxious, however. The more he thought of the episode of thebrooch the stranger it seemed, and Sylvia's talk of her father's queerhabits did not make Paul wonder the less. However, he resolved to writeto his mother, and was just mounting his stairs to do so when he heard a"Beg pardon, sir, " and beheld the working man, bag of tools, pipe andall. 

"Beg pardon, sir, " said the man, civilly, "but that gentleman you wasa-talking to. Know his name, sir?"

"What the devil's that to you?" asked Paul, angrily. 

"Nothing, sir, only he owes me a little bill. "

"Go and ask him for it then. "

"I don't know his address, sir. "

"Oh, be hanged!" Paul went on, when the man spoke again. 

"He's what I call a man on the market, sir. Have a care, " and hedeparted quickly. 

Paul stared. What did the working man mean, and was he a working man?

CHAPTER IV

THE UNFORESEEN

Paul did not go near the Gwynne Street shop for the next few days, muchas he wanted to do so. Being deeply in love he could hardly bear to beaway from Sylvia even for a few hours: but in spite of this he remainedaway for two reasons. The first of these was that he awaited a reply tohis letter written to Mrs. Beecot, as he wished to be able to tell AaronNorman where the brooch had been obtained. He thought by doing this toingratiate himself with the old man, and perhaps, if thus confidential, might learn, for the satisfaction of his curiosity, why the sight of thebrooch had produced such an effect on the pawnbroker. 

The other reason was that, not having been able to sell the brooch, orrather pawn it since he did not wish to lose it altogether, funds wererunning low, and now he had but a few shillings left. A call at theoffice of a penny weekly had resulted in the return of three stories asbeing too long and not the sort required. But the editor, in a hastyinterview, admitted that he liked Paul's work and would give him threepounds for a tale written on certain lines likely to be popular with thepublic. Paul did not care to set forth another person's ideas, especially as these were old and very sensational; but as he requiredmoney he set to work and labored to produce what would bring him in thecash. He made several attempts before he reached the editor's level, which was low rather than high, and succeeded in getting the taleaccepted. With three golden pounds in his pocket and exultation in hisheart--for every success seemed to bring him nearer to Sylvia--Paulreturned to his aerial castle and found waiting for him the expectedletter. 

It was written in a low-spirited sort of way, characteristic of Mrs. Beecot, but with a true motherly heart. After two pages of lamentationover his absence, and a description of how the head of the householdmanaged to bear up against the affliction of his son's absence, Mrs. Beecot proceeded to explain about the brooch. 

"Why do you ask me about the opal brooch, my dear boy?" wrote Mrs. Beecot in her scratchy handwriting. "All I know is that your fatherbought it out of a pawnbroker's shop in Stowley, which is some town inthe Midlands. Your father was travelling there and saw the brooch bychance. As I always thought opals unlucky he was anxious to make me seethe folly of such a superstition, so he bought the brooch and took itaway with him. Afterwards, I believe, he received a letter from thepawnbroker, saying that his assistant had sold the brooch by mistake, that the time for redeeming it had not run out when your father boughtit. The pawnbroker asked that the brooch might be returned, and wantedto pay back the money. But you know what your father is. He refused atonce to give back the brooch, and insisted on my wearing it. I had a badfall while wearing it, and then was thrown out of that high dog-cartyour father would insist on driving. I am sure the brooch or the stonesis unlucky, and, as after a time your father forgot all about it, I letit lie in my jewel-case. For years I had not worn it, and as I think itis unlucky, and as you need money, my darling boy, I hope you will sellit. There is no need to pawn it as you say. I never want to see thebrooch again. But regarding your health, etc. , etc. "

So Mrs. Beecot wrote in her verbose style, and with some errors ofgrammar. Paul saw in her simple tale fresh evidence of his father'styranny, since he made his wife wear gems she detested and wassuperstitiously set against possessing them. The dog-cart episode Paulremembered very well. Mr. Beecot, in his amiable way, had no patiencewith his wife's nerves, and never lost an opportunity of placing her inunpleasant positions, whereby she might be, what he called, hardened. Paul sighed to think of his mother's position as he folded up theletter. She had a bad time with the truculent husband she had married. "And I can't believe she became his wife of her own free will, " thoughtPaul; "probably the governor bullied her into it in his own sweet way. "

However, there was nothing in the letter to explain Norman's faint. Itwas certainly strange that the pawnbroker, from whom the brooch had beenoriginally purchased, should have demanded it back; and the excuse givenseems rather a weak one. However, Paul did not waste time in thinkingover this, but resolved to tell Aaron what his mother had said. 

He had received two letters from Sylvia, mentioning, amongst otherthings, that her father, now quite well, was asking after Paul, andurging him to come and see him. "My father appears to have a fancy foryou, " wrote Sylvia, "so if you are very nice--as nice as you canbe--perhaps he won't be very angry if you tell him we are engaged. "There was much more to the same effect, which Paul thought good advice, and he intended to adopt the same. It was necessary that he should tellAaron of his love if things were to be conducted in a straightforwardand honorable manner. And Paul had no desire to conduct them otherwise. 

Having made up his mind to see Aaron again, Paul bethought himself ofGrexon Hay. That gentleman had never appeared again at the Bloomsburygarret, and had never even written. But Paul was anxious that Hay--whomhe regarded as a clever man-of-the-world--should see the old man, and, as our trans-Atlantic cousins say, "size him up. " Norman's manner andqueer life puzzled Paul not a little, and not being very worldly himselfhe was anxious to have the advice of his old school friend, who seemeddesirous of doing him a good turn, witness his desire to buy the broochso that Paul might be supplied with money. So Beecot wrote to Grexon Hayat his Camden Hill chamber and told him he intended to go to GwynneStreet on a certain day at a certain time. To this Grexon responded bysaying that he was at Paul's service and would come especially as hewanted to see Dulcinea of Gwynne Street. 

Paul laughed at the phrase. "I suppose Grexon thinks I am veryQuixotic, " he thought, "coming to London to tilt with the windmills ofthe Press. But Don Quixote was wise in spite of his apparent madness, and Grexon will recognize my wisdom when he sees my Dulcinea, bless her!Humph! I wonder if Hay could pacify my father and make him look morekindly on my ambitions. Grexon is a clever fellow, a thoroughly goodchap, so--"

Here Paul paused to think. The incident of the working man and thewarning he had given about Hay recurred to his mind. Also the phrase"Man on the Market" stuck in his memory. Why should Grexon Hay be calledso, and what did the phrase mean? Paul had never heard it before. Moreover, from certain indications Beecot did not think that theindividual with the bag of tools was a working man. He rather appearedto be a person got up to play the part. The fellow watching them bothand accosting Paul alone certainly seemed a doubtful character. Beecotregretted that he had been so short with the man, else he might havelearned why he had acted in this way. The story of the little bill wasabsurd, for if Grexon owed the man money the man himself would certainlyhave known the name and address of his creditor. Altogether, theincident puzzled Paul almost as much as that of Aaron's fainting, and heresolved to question Grexon. But it never crossed his mind that Hay wasanything else but what he appeared to be--a man-about-town with asufficient income to live upon comfortably. Had Paul doubted he wouldnever have asked Grexon to go with him to Gwynne Street. However, he haddone so, and the appointment was made, so there was no more to be said. 

The man-about-town duly made his appearance to the very minute. "Ialways keep appointments, " he explained when Paul congratulated him onhis punctuality; "there's nothing annoys me so much as to be keptwaiting, so I invariably practise what I preach. Well, Paul, and how isDulcinea of Gwynne Street?"

"She is very well, " replied Paul, who was still a young enough lover toblush, "but I have not seen her since we last met. I waited for a letterfrom my mother about the brooch, so that I might explain to Aaron howshe got it. The old man has been asking after me. "

"Oh, confound the brooch!" said Grexon in his cool manner. "I don't wantto hear about it. Let us talk of Dulcinea. "

"Rather let us talk of yourself, " said Paul. 

"Not an interesting subject, " replied Hay, rising as Paul opened hisgarret door for departure, "you know all about me. "

"No! I don't know why you are called a man-on-the-market. "

Hay flushed and turned sharply. "What do you mean?" he asked in aparticularly quiet tone. 

"I don't know what I _do_ mean, " said Paul. "Do you remember thatworking man with the bag of tools who was across the road when we lastconversed?"

"No, " said Hay, staring, "I never notice creatures of that class. Why?"

"Because he asked me who you were and where you lived. It seems you owehim some money. "

"That is very probable, " said Hay, equably. "I owe most people money, and if this man has a debt against me he would certainly know all aboutme as to address and name. "

"So I thought, " replied Paul, "but the queer thing is that he told me totake care, and called you a man-on-the-market. What does it mean? Inever heard the phrase before. "

"I have, " said Hay, proceeding calmly down the somewhat steep stairs; "aman-on-the-market means one who wants to marry and is eligible for anyheiress who comes along with a sufficient rent-roll. But why should afellow like that talk the shibboleth of Society?"

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say. Perhaps the man guessed Iintended to take you to see Sylvia, and warned me against you, as itseems from his phrase that you wish to marry. "

"Ah! Then your Dulcinea is an heiress?" said Hay, fixing his eye-glasscarefully; "if so, you needn't fear me. I am almost engaged and won't beon the market any longer. What confounded cheek this fellow addressingyou in that way and talking of me as he did. I suppose, " he added witha cold laugh, "it is not necessary for me to defend myself. "

"What rubbish, " replied Beecot, good-naturedly. "All the same, it isstrange the man should have spoken to me as he did. I told him to go tothe devil. "

"And go to the devil he assuredly will if I meet him, " was the dryreply. "I'll break his head for not minding his own business. I think Ican explain, and will do so as soon as you take that telegram the lad isholding out for you. "

Grexon was quicker-sighted than Paul, for the moment they arrived at thebottom of the stairs and were about to emerge into the street he saw themessenger. "Do you know if any gent of that name lives here, guvnor?"asked the boy, holding out the buff-colored envelope. 

Beecot, to his surprise, saw his own name. "Who can be wiring to me?" hesaid, taking the telegram. "Wait, boy, there may be an answer, " and heskimmed through the lines. "Don't sell the brooch, but send it back, "read Paul, puzzled, "your father angry. --MOTHER. " He paused, and lookedat the boy. "Got a form?" he asked. 

The lad produced one and a stumpy pencil. With these materials Beecotwrote a reply saying the brooch would be returned on the morrow. Whenthe boy went away with the answer Paul felt in his breast pocket andtook out the old blue case. "I've a good mind to send it now, " he saidaloud. 

"What's that?" asked Hay, who was yawning at the door. "No bad news Ihope?"

"It's about that brooch again. "

Hay laughed. "Upon my word it seems to you what the Monster was toFrankenstein, " said he. "Send it back--to Mrs. Beecot, I presume--andhave done with it. " He cast a glance at the case. "I see you have itwith you, " he ended, lightly. 

"Yes, " said Paul, and replacing the case in his pocket went down thestreet with his friend. Then he determined to ask his opinion, andrelated the gist of Mrs. Beecot's letter. "And now the mater wires tohave it back, " he said. "I expect my father has found out that she hassent it to me, and is furious. "

"Well, send it back and have done with it, " said Hay, impatiently; "youare in danger of becoming a bore with that brooch, Beecot. I'll lend youmoney if you like. "

"No, thanks, I have three pounds honestly earned. However, we'll speakno more of the brooch. I'll send it back this very day. Tell me, " helinked his arm within that of his friend, "tell me of that man. "

"That man--of the working creature, " said Hay, absently. "Pooh, the manwas no more a working man than I am. "

"Well, I thought myself he was a bit of a fraud. "

"Detectives never do make up well, " said Grexon, calmly. 

Paul stopped as they turned into Oxford Street. "What? Was the man adetective?"

"I think so, from your description of his conversation. The fact is I'min love with a lady who is married. We have behaved quite well, and noone can say a word against us. But her husband is a beast and wants adivorce. I have suspected for some time that he is having mewatched. Thanks to you, Paul, I am now sure. So perhaps you willunderstand why the man warned you against me and talked of my being aman-on-the-market. "

"I see, " said Paul, hesitating; "but don't get into trouble, Hay. "

"Oh, I'm all right. And I don't intend to do anything dishonorable, ifthat is what you mean. It's the husband's fault, not mine. By the way, can you describe the fellow?"

"Yes. He had red hair and a red beard--rather a ruddy face, and walkedwith a limp. "

"All put on, " said Hay, contemptuously; "probably the limp was affected, the beard false, the hair a wig, and the face rouged--very clumsyindeed. I daresay he'll appear pale and gentlemanly the next time hewatches me. I know the tricks of these fellows. "

The two friends talked for some time about this episode, and thenbranched off into other subjects. Hay described the married lady headored, and Paul rebuked him for entertaining such a passion. "It's notright, Hay, " said he, positively; "you can't respect a woman who runsaway from her husband. "

"She hasn't run away yet, Sir Galahad, " laughed Grexon. "By Jove, youare an innocent!"

"If that means respecting the institution of marriage and adoring womenas angels I hope I'll remain an innocent. "

"Oh, women are angels, of course, " said Hay as they walked down GwynneStreet; "it's a stock phrase in love-making. But there are angels of twosorts. Dulcinea is--"

"Here we are, " interrupted Paul, quickly. Somehow it irritated him tohear this hardened sinner speak of Sylvia, and he began to think thatGrexon Hay had deteriorated. Not that he was considered to beparticularly good at Torrington school. In fact, Paul remembered that hehad been thoroughly disliked. However, he had no time to go into thematter, for at this moment Aaron appeared at the door of the shop. Hestepped out on to the pavement as Paul approached. "Come in, " he said, "I want to see you--privately, " he added, casting a frightened look atHay. 

"In that case I'll leave you, " said Grexon, disengaging his arm fromPaul. "Dulcinea must wait for another occasion. Go in and do yourbusiness. I'll wait without. "

Paul thanked his friend by a look and went into the shop with the oldman. "That brooch, " said Aaron, in a timid whisper, "have you got it?Give it to me--quick--quick. "

There was no one in the shop as Bart had apparently gone out on anerrand. The door leading to the stairs, down which Sylvia had so oftendescended, was closed, and no one was about to overhear theirconversation. "I have the brooch, " said Paul, "but--"

"Give it to me--give it, " panted Aaron. "I'll buy it--at a large price. Ask what you want. "

"Why are you so eager to get it?" demanded Beecot, astonished. 

"That's my business, " said Norman, in a suddenly imperious manner. "Iwant it. The stones take my fancy, " he ended weakly. 

"Was that why you fainted?" asked Paul, suspiciously. 

"No. " The man grew white and leaned against the counter, breathingheavily. "Where did you get the brooch?" he asked, trying to keephimself calm, but with a visible effort. 

"I got it from my mother, and she received it from my father--"

"Beecot--Beecot, " said the old man, fingering his lips, much agitated. "I know no one of that name save yourself, and you are not a spy--ascoundrel--a--a--" He caught the eyes of Paul fixed on him in amazement, and suddenly changed his tone. "Excuse me, but the brooch reminds me oftrouble. "

"You have seen it before?"

"Yes--that is no--don't ask me. " He clutched at his throat as though hefelt choked. "I can't talk of it. I daren't. How did your father getit?"

More and more astonished, Paul explained. Aaron listened with his oneeye very bright, and made uneasy motions with his lean hands as theyoung man spoke. When Beecot ended he bit his nails. "Yes, yes, " hemurmured to himself, "it would be asked for back. But it sha'n't goback. I want it. Sell it to me, Mr. Beecot. "

"I'm sorry I can't, " replied Paul, good-naturedly. "But my mother wiredthat it was to be returned. My father has discovered that she sent it tome and is not pleased. "

"Did you tell your mother you had shown it to me?"

"No. There was no need. "

"God bless you!" breathed the man, pulling out a crimson handkerchief. "Of course there was no need, " he tittered nervously. "It doesn't do totalk of pawning things--not respectable, eh--eh. " He wiped his face andpassed his tongue over his white lips. "Well, you won't sell it to me?"

"I can't. But I'll ask my mother if she will. "

"No, no! Don't do that--say nothing--say nothing. I don't want thebrooch. I never saw the brooch--what brooch--pooh--pooh, don't talk tome of the brooch, " and so he babbled on. 

"Mr. Norman, " said Beecot, gravely, "what is the story connected withthe brooch?"

Aaron flung up his hands and backed towards the counter. "No, no. Don'task me. What do you mean? I know no story of a brooch--what brooch--Inever saw one--I never--ah"--he broke off in relief as two pale-faced, spectacled girls entered the shop--"customers. What is it, ladies? Howcan I serve you?" And he bustled away behind the counter, giving all hisattention to the customers, yet not without a sidelong look in thedirection of the perplexed Paul. 

That young gentleman, finding it impossible to get further speech withAaron, and suspecting from his manner that all was not right, left theshop. He determined to take the brooch to Wargrove himself, and to askhis mother about it. Then he could learn why she wanted it back--if notfrom her, then from his father. This knowledge might explain themystery. 

"Did you sell the brooch?" asked Grexon as they walked up Gwynne Street. 

"No. I have to send it back to my mother, and--"

"Hold on!" cried Hay, stumbling. "Orange-peel--ah--"

His stumble knocked Paul into the middle of the road. A motor car wascoming down swiftly. Before Hay could realize what had taken place Paulwas under the wheels of the machine. 

CHAPTER V

TROUBLE

"Oh, Debby, " wept Sylvia, "he will die--he will die. "

"Not he, my precious pet, " said the handmaiden, fondling the girl's softhands within her own hard ones. "Them sort of young men have as manylives as tom cats. Bless you, my flower, he'll be up and ready, waitingat the altar, before the fashions change--and that's quick enough, "added Deborah, rubbing her snub nose. "For they're allays an-alteringand a-turning and a-changing of 'em. "

The two were in the sitting-room over the bookshop. It was alow-ceilinged apartment, long and narrow, with windows back and front, as it extended the whole depth of the house. The back windows looked outon the dingy little yard, but these Norman had filled in with stainedglass of a dark color, so that no one could see clearly out of them. Whyhe had done so was a mystery to Sylvia, though Deborah suspected the oldman did not want anyone to see the many people who came to the backsteps after seven. From the front windows could be seen the street andthe opposite houses, and on the sills of the windows Sylvia cultivated afew cheap flowers, which were her delight. The room was furnished withall manner of odds and ends, flotsam and jetsam of innumerable salesattended by Aaron. There were Japanese screens, Empire sofas, mahoganychairs, Persian praying mats, Louis Quatorz tables, Arabic tiles, Worcester china, an antique piano that might have come out of the ark, and many other things of epochs which had passed away. Sylvia herselfbloomed like a fair flower amidst this wreckage of former times. 

But the flower drooped at this moment and seemed in danger of dying forlack of sunshine. That, indeed, had been taken away by the removal ofthe young lover. Bart, who had witnessed the accident, returned hastilyto tell Sylvia, and so great had the shock of the dreadful news been, that she had fainted, whereupon the foolish shopman had been severelydealt with by Deborah. When Sylvia recovered, however, she insisted uponseeing Bart again, and then learned that Paul had been taken to CharingCross Hospital. 

"They drawed him from under the wheels, miss, as white as a vellumbinding as ain't bin used. That gent as he was a-walking arm-in-armwith, slipped and knocked Mr. Beecot spinning under the steam engine. "So did Bart describe the latest triumph of civilisation. "He was thatsorry, in a cold-blooded way, as I never saw. He helped to git Mr. Beecot into a cab and druve off. Then I come to tell you. "

"And a nice way you've told it, " grunted Deborah, driving him to thedoor. "Get back to the shop, you threadpaper of a man. My husband shallnever be such a fool. The engagement's off. "

"Oh, Debby!" whimpered Bart, who, strange to say, was fondly attached tothe stout servant. But that may have been habit. 

"Get along with you, " she said, and banged the door in his face. "Anddon't tell master, " she bawled after him, "else he'll be fainting again, drat him for a lily-livered duck!"

So Aaron never knew that the man who possessed the brooch had been runover by a motor or was in the hospital. Sylvia and Deborah both triedto look as cheerful as possible, and schemed how to see the lover whohad thus been laid low. Deborah boldly announced that she was takingSylvia to buy her a new dress--that is, to choose it, for the cost wasto be paid out of the servant's wages--and went with her one afternoonto the hospital. They heard that Paul's arm was broken, and that he hadbeen slightly hurt about the head. But there was no danger of his dying, and although they were not allowed to see him the two women returnedgreatly cheered. But Sylvia frequently gave way to low spirits, thinkingthat at any moment the good symptoms might give way to bad ones. Deborahalways cheered her, and went daily to get news. Always she returned tosay, "He's a-goin' on nicely, and has that color as he might be asunset. " So Sylvia was bright until her next fit of low spirits came. 

Meanwhile, their attention was taken up by the odd behavior of Aaron. The old man suddenly announced that he was about to sell the shop andretire, and displayed a feverish haste in getting rid of his stock, evenat a low price. Whether he sold the jewels so cheap as the books no oneever knew; but certainly the pundit caste did well out of the sale. Within the week the shop below was denuded, and there were nothing butbare shelves, much to the disgust of Bart, who, like Othello, found hisoccupation gone. The next day the furniture was to be sold, and whenDeborah was comforting Sylvia at the week's end the fiat had alreadygone forth. Whither he intended to transfer his household the old mandid not say, and this, in particular, was the cause of Sylvia's grief. She dreaded lest she should see her lover no more. This she said toDeborah. 

"See him you shall, and this very day, " cried the maiden, cheerfully. "Why, there's that dress. I can't make up my mind whether to havemagenter or liliac, both being suited to my complexion. Not that it'scream of the valley smother in rosebuds as yours is, my angel, but adress I must have, and your pa can't deny my taking you to choose. "

"But, Debby, it seems wrong to deceive father in this way. "

"It do, " admitted Debby, "and it is. We'll speak this very night--youand me in duets, as you might say, my pretty. He sha'n't say as we'vegone to hide behind a hedge. "

"But we have, Debby, for six months, " said Sylvia. 

"Because I'm a hardened and bold creature, " said Deborah, fiercely, "sodon't say it's you as held your tongue, for that you didn't, myhoneycomb. Many and many a time have you said to me, ses you, 'Oh, dotell my par, ' and many a time have I said to you, ses I, 'No, myprecious, not for Joseph, ' whoever he may be, drat him!"

"Now, Debby, you're taking all the blame on yourself!"

"And who have the broader shoulders, you or me, my flower?" asked Debby, fondly. "I'm as wicked as Bart, and that's saying much, for the way hebolts his food is dreadful to think of. Never will I have a corkidilefor a husband. But here, " cried Deborah, beginning to bustle, "it's thedress I'm thinking of. Magenter or lilacs in full boom. What do youthink, my honey-pot?"

So the end of Deborah's shameless diplomacy was, that the two went, notto the inferior draper's where Debby bought her extraordinarygarments--though they went there later in a Jesuitical manner--but tothe hospital, where to her joy Sylvia was allowed to see Paul. He lookedthin and pale, but was quite himself and very cheerful. "My darling, " hesaid, kissing Sylvia's hand, while Debby sat bolt upright near the bed, with a large handbag, and played propriety by glaring. "Now I shall getwell quickly. The sight of you is better than all medicine. "

"I should think so, " sniffed Debby, graciously. "Where's your orchards, with sich a color. "

"You mean orchids, Debby, " laughed Sylvia, who blushed a rosy red. 

"It's them things with lady slippers a size too large for your foot I'ma-thinking of, pet, and small it is enough for glarse boots as the fairystory do tell. But I'm a-taking up the precious time of billing andcooing, so I'll shut my mouth and my ears while you let loose youraffections, my sweet ones, if you'll excuse the liberty, sir, me beingas fond of my lovey there as you is your own self. "

"No, I can't admit that, " said Paul, kissing Sylvia's hand again andholding it while he talked. "Darling, how good of you to come and seeme. "

"It may be for the last time, Paul, " said Sylvia, trying to keep backher tears, "but you'll give me your address, and I'll write. "

"Oh, Sylvia, what is it?"

"My father has sold the books and is selling the house. We are goingaway. Where to I don't know. "

"Tumbucktook would suit him, " snapped Debby, suddenly; "he's trying toget into some rabbit-hole. Why, I don't know. "

"I do, " said Paul, lying back thoughtfully. He guessed that Aaron wasmoving because of the brooch, though why he should do so was a mystery. "Sylvia, " he asked, "did your father see my accident?"

"No, Paul. He was busy in the shop. Bart saw it, but Debby said hewasn't to tell father. "

"Because of the fainting, " explained Debby; "the man ain't strong, though Sampson he may think himself--ah, and Goliath, too, for all Icare. But why ask, Mr. Beecot?"

Paul did not reply to her, but asked Sylvia another question. "Do youremember that opal brooch I showed you?"

"The serpent. Yes?"

"Well, it's lost. "

"Lost, Paul?"

The young man nodded mournfully. "I'm very vexed about it, " he said in alow tone; "my mother wanted it back. I was going to send it that veryday, but when I met with the accident it got lost somehow. It wasn't inmy pocket when my clothes were examined, though I asked for it as soonas I became conscious. My friend also couldn't tell me. "

"Him as caused the smashes, " said Deborah, with several sniffs. "A nicepretty friend, I do say, sir. "

"It wasn't his fault, Deborah. Mr. Hay stumbled on a piece of orangepeel and jostled against me. I was taken by surprise, and fell into themiddle of the road just as the motor came along. Mr. Hay was more thansorry and has come to see me every day with books and fruit and allmanner of things. "

"The least he could do, " snapped the servant, "knocking folks intoorspitals with his fine gent airs. I sawr him out of the winder whileyou was in the shop, and there he spoke law-de-daw to a brat of a boy asought to be in gaol, seeing he smoked a cigar stump an' him but aten-year-old guttersnipe. Ses I, oh, a painted maypole you is, I ses, with a face as hard as bath bricks. A bad un you are, ses I. "

"No, Deborah, you are wrong. Mr. Hay is my friend. "

"Never shall he be my pretty's friend, " declared Debby, obstinately, "for if all the wickedness in him 'ud come out in his face, pimpleswould be as thick as smuts in a London fog. No, Mr. Beecot, call him notwhat you do call him, meaning friend, for Judas and Julius Cezar ain'tin it with his Belzebubness. "

Beecot saw it was vain to stop this chatterer, so he turned to talk inwhispers to Sylvia, while Debby murmured on like a brook, only shespoke loud enough at times to drown the whispering of the lovers. 

"Sylvia, " said Paul, softly, "I want you to send your father to me. "

"Yes, Paul. Why do you wish to see him?"

"Because he must be told of our love. I don't think he will be so hardas you think, and I am ashamed of not having told him before. I like toact honorably, and I fear, Sylvia darling, we have not been quite fairto your father. "

"I think so, too, Paul, and I intended to speak when we went home. Butgive me your address, so that if we go away unexpectedly I'll be able towrite to you. "

Beecot gave her his Bloomsbury address, and also that of his old home atWargrove in Essex. "Write care of my mother, " he said, "and then myfather won't get the letter. "

"Would he be angry if he knew?" asked the girl, timidly. 

Paul laughed to himself at the thought of the turkey-cock's rage. "Ithink he would, dearest, " said he, "but that does not matter. Be true tome and I'll be true to you. "

Here the nurse came to turn the visitors away on the plea that Paul hadtalked quite enough. Debby flared up, but became meek when Sylvia lifteda reproving finger. Then Paul asked Debby to seek his Bloomsburylodgings and bring to him any letters that might be waiting for him. "Iexpect to hear from my mother, and must write and tell her of myaccident, " said he. "I don't want to trouble Mr. Hay, but you, Debby--"

"Bless you, Mr. Beecot, it ain't no trouble, " said the servant, cheerfully, "and better me nor that 'aughty peacock, as ain't to betrusted, say what you will, seeing criminals is a-looking out of hiseyes, hide one though he may with a piece of glarse, and I ses--"

"You must go now, please, " interposed the nurse. 

"Oh, thank you, ma'am, but my own mistress, as is a lady, do I obeyonly. "

"Debby, Debby, " murmured Sylvia, and after kissing Paul, a farewellwhich Debby strove to hide from the nurse by getting in front of her andblocking the view, the two departed. The nurse laughed as she arrangedPaul's pillows. 

"What a strange woman, Mr. Beecot. "

"Very, " assented Paul, "quite a character, and as true as the needle ofthe compass. "

Meanwhile, Debby, ignorant of this flattering description, conductedSylvia to the draper's shop, and finally fixed on a hideous magentagown, which she ordered to be made quite plain. "With none of yourfal-de-lals, " commanded Miss Junk, snorting. "Plain sewing and goodstuff is all I arsk for. And if there's any left over you can send homea 'at of the same, which I can brighten with a cockes feather as my marwore at her wedding. There, my own, " added Debby, as they emerged fromthe shop and took a 'bus to Gwynne Street, "that's as you'll allways seeme dressed--plain and 'omely, with no more trimmings than you'll see ona washing-day jint, as I know to my cost from my mar's ecomicals. "

"Economy, Debby. "

"It ain't fur me to be using fine words, Miss Sylvia; cockatoos'feathers on a goose they'd be in my mouth. The 'ole dixionary kin do foryou my flower, but pothooks and 'angers never was my loves, me havingbeen at the wash-tub when rising eight, and stout at that. "

In this way Debby discoursed all the way home. On arriving in the roomover the shop they found themselves confronted by Aaron, who lookedless timid than usual, and glowered at the pair angrily. "Where haveyou been, Sylvia?" he asked. 

The girl could not tell a direct lie, and looked at Debby. Thathandmaiden, less scrupulous, was about to blurt forth a garbled account, when Sylvia stopped her with a resolute expression on her pretty face. "No, Debby, " she commanded, "let me speak. Father, I have been to seeMr. Beecot at the Charing Cross Hospital. "

"And you couldn't have my flower do less as a good Smart 'un, " put inDebby, anxiously, so as to avert the storm. "Girls is girls whatever youmay think, sir, of them being dolls and dummies and--"

"Hold your tongue, woman, " cried Norman, fiercely, "let me talk. Why isMr. Beecot in the hospital?"

"He was knocked down, " said Sylvia, quietly, "and his arm is broken. Amotor car ran over him in Gwynne Street. He wants to see you, to tellyou that he lost something. "

Norman turned even whiter than he was by nature, and the perspirationsuddenly beaded his bald forehead. "The opal serpent!" he cried. 

"Yes--the brooch he showed me. "

"He showed you!" cried Aaron, with a groan. "And what did he tell youabout it?--what--what--what--the truth or--" He became passionate. 

Debby grasped Aaron's arm and whirled him into the middle of the roomlike a feather. Then she planted herself before Sylvia, with her armsakimbo, and glared like a lioness. "You can pinch me, sir, or gives meblack eyes and red noses if you like, but no finger on my precious, if Idie for it. "

Aaron was staggered by this defiance, and looked fierce for the moment. Then he became timid again and cast the odd, anxious look over hisshoulder. "Leave the room, Deborah, " he said in a mild voice. 

The faithful maid replied by sitting down and folding her arms. "Getyour wild horses, sir, " she said, breathing heavily, "for only by themwill I be tugged away. " And she snorted so loudly that the room shook. 

"Pshaw, " said Norman, crossly, "Sylvia, don't be afraid of me. " He wipedhis face nervously. "I only want to know of the brooch. I like theopals--I wanted to buy it from Mr. Beecot. He is poor--he wants money. Ican give it to him, for--the--the brooch. "

He brought out the last word with a gasp, and again glanced over hisshoulder. Sylvia, not at all afraid, approached and took the old man'shand. The watchful Deborah moved her chair an inch nearer, so as to beready for any emergency. "Dear father, " said the girl, "Mr. Beecotdoesn't know where the brooch is. It was stolen from him when theaccident happened. If you will see him he can tell you--"

"Not where the brooch is, " interrupted Aaron, trying to appear calm. "Well, well, it doesn't matter. " He glanced anxiously at Sylvia. "Youbelieve me, child, when I say it doesn't matter. "

A snort from Deborah plainly said that she had her doubts. Sylvia cast areproving glance in her direction, whereupon she rose and committedperjury. "Of course it don't matter, sir, " she said in a loud, heartyvoice which made Aaron wince. "My precious believes you, though lie itmight be. But folk so good as you, sir, who go to church when thereain't anyone to see, wouldn't tell lies without them a-choking of themin their blessed throats. "

"How do you know I go to church?" asked Norman, with the snarl of atrapped animal. 

"Bless you, sir, I don't need glarses at my age, though not so young asI might be. Church you enjiy, say what you may, you being as regular asthe taxes, which is saying much. Lor' save us all!"

Deborah might well exclaim this. Her master flung himself forward withoutstretched hands clawing the air, and with his lips lifted like thoseof an enraged dog. "You she-cat, " he said in a painfully hissing voice, "you're a spy, are you? They've set you to watch--to drag me to thegallows--" he broke off with a shiver. His rage cooled as suddenly as ithad heated, and staggering to the sofa he sat down with his face hidden. "Not that--not that--oh, the years of pain and terror! To come tothis--to this--Deborah--don't sell me. Don't. I'll give you money--I amrich. But if the opal serpent--if the opal--" He rose and began to beatthe air with his hands. 

Sylvia, who had never seen her father like this, shrank back in terror, but Deborah, with all her wits about her, though she was wildlyastonished, seized a carafe of water from the table and dashed thecontents in his face. The old man gasped, shuddered, and, dripping wet, sank again on the sofa. But the approaching fit was past, and when helooked up after a moment or so, his voice was as calm as his face. "What's all this?" he asked, feebly. 

"Nothing, father, " said Sylvia, kneeling beside him; "you must not doubtDebby, who is as true as steel. "

"Are you, Deborah?" asked Aaron, weakly. 

"I should think so, " she declared, putting her arms round Sylvia, "solong, sir, as you don't hurt my flower. "

"I don't want to hurt her ... "

"There's feelings as well as bones, " said Deborah, hugging Sylvia so asto keep her from speaking, "and love you can't squash, try as you may, though, bless you, I'm not given to keeping company myself. "

"Love, " said Aaron, vacantly. He seemed to think more of his troublesthan of Sylvia going to visit a young man. 

"Love and Mr. Beecot, " said Deborah. "She wants to marry him. "

"Why, then, " said Aaron, calmly, "she shall marry him. "

Sylvia fell at his feet. "Oh, father--father, and I have kept it fromyou all these months. Forgive me--forgive me, " and she wept. 

"My dear, " he said, gently raising her, "there is nothing to forgive. "

CHAPTER VI

A NOISE IN THE NIGHT

Both Deborah and Sylvia were astonished that Aaron should be soindifferent about their long concealment. They had expected and dreadeda storm, yet when the secret was told Mr. Norman appeared to take it ascalmly as though he had known about the matter from the first. Indeed, he seemed perfectly indifferent, and when he raised Sylvia and made hersit beside him on the sofa he reverted to the brooch. 

"I shall certainly see Mr. Beecot, " he said in a dreamy way. "CharingCross Hospital--of course. I'll go to-morrow. I had intended to seeabout selling the furniture then, but I'll wait till the next day. Iwant the brooch first--yes--yes, " and he opened and shut his hand in astrangely restless manner. 

The girl and the servant looked at one another in a perplexed way, forit was odd Norman should take the secret wooing of his daughter soquietly. He had never evinced much interest in Sylvia, who had been leftmainly to the rough attentions of Miss Junk, but sometimes he hadmentioned that Sylvia would be an heiress and fit to marry a poor peer. The love of Paul Beecot overthrew this scheme, if the man intended tocarry it out, yet he did not seem to mind. Sylvia, thinking entirely ofPaul, was glad, and the tense expression of her face relaxed; butDeborah sniffed, which was always an intimation that she intended tounburden her mind on an unpleasant subject. 

"Well, sir, " she said, folding her arms and scratching her elbow, "I dothink as offspring ain't lumps of dirt to be trod on in this way. Iarsk"--she flung out her hand towards Sylvia--"Is she your own or is shenot?"

"She is my daughter, " said Aaron, mildly. "Why do you ask?"

"'Cause you don't take interest you should take in her marriage, whichis made in heaven if ever marriage was. "

Norman raised his head like a war-horse at the sound of a trumpet-call. "Who talks of marriage?" he asked sharply. 

"Dear father, " said Sylvia, gently, "did you not hear? I love Paul, andI want to marry him. "

Aaron stared at her. "He is not a good match for you, " was his reply. 

"He is the man I love, " cried Sylvia, tapping with her pretty foot. 

"Love, " said Norman, with a melancholy smile, "there is no such thing, child. Talk of hate--for that exists, " he clenched his hands again, "hate that is as cruel as the grave. "

"Well I'm sure, sir, and what 'ave hates to do with my beauty there? Asto love, exist it do, for Bart's bin talked into filling his 'eart withthe same, by me. I got it out of a _Family Herald_, " explained Deborah, incoherently, "where gentry throw themselves on their knees to arsk'ands in marriage. Bart was down on his hunkers every night for twoweeks before he proposed proper, and I ses, ses I--"

"Will you hold your tongue?" interrupted Aaron, angrily; "you gabblegabble till you make my head ache. You confuse me. "

"I want to clear your 'ead, " retorted Miss Junk, "seeing you take nointerest in my pretty's livings. "

Norman placed his fingers under Sylvia's chin, and tipped it up so thathe could gaze into her eyes. "Child, do you love him?" he asked gravely. 

"Oh, father!" whispered Sylvia, and said no more. The expression of hereyes was enough for Aaron, and he turned away with a sigh. 

"You know nothing about him, " he said at length. 

"Begging pardon, sir, for being a gabbler, " said Deborah, witheringly, "but know what he is we do--a fine young gent with long descents andstone figgers in churches, as Bart knows. Beecot's his par's name, as isfighting with Mr. Paul by reason of contrariness and 'igh living, himbeing as stout as stout. "

"Perhaps you will explain, Sylvia, " said Aaron, turning impatiently fromthe handmaiden. 

"I should have explained before, " said the girl, quietly and verydistinctly. "I loved Paul from the moment I saw him enter the shop sixmonths ago. He came again and again, and we often talked. Then he toldme of his love, and I confessed mine. Deborah wanted to know who he was, and if he was a good man. From what I learned of Paul's people he seemedto be all that was good and generous and high-minded and loving. Deborahsent Bart one holiday to Wargrove in Essex, where Paul's parents live, and Bart found that Paul had left home because he wanted to be anauthor. Paul is very popular in Wargrove, and everyone speaks well ofhim. So Deborah thought we might be engaged, and--"

"And have you a word to say against it, sir?" demanded Deborah, bristling. 

"No, " said Aaron, after a pause, "but you should have told me. "

"We should, " admitted Sylvia, quickly, "but Paul and I feared lest youshould say 'No. '"

"My child, " said the old man, gravely, "so long as you wed a kind andgood man I have nothing to say. Sylvia, I have worked hard these manyyears and have made much money, which, by will, I have left to you. WhenI die you will be rich. He is poor. "

"Paul--yes, he is poor. But what of that?"

"Many fathers might think that an objection, " went on Aaron withoutnoticing her remark. "But I do not. You shall marry Paul before I go toAmerica. "

"Lor'!" cried Deborah, "whatever are you a-goin' there for, sir?"

"That's my business, " said Aaron, dryly, "but I go as soon as I can. Ihave sold the books; and the furniture of these rooms shall be disposedof before the end of the week. My gems I take to Amsterdam for sale, andI go abroad next week. When I return in a fortnight you can marry Mr. Beecot. He is a good young man. I quite approve of him. "

Deborah snorted. "Seems to me as though you was glad to get quit of mypretty, " she murmured, but too low to be overheard. 

"Oh, father, " cried Sylvia, putting her arms round Norman's neck, "howgood you are! I _do_ love him so. "

"I hope the love will continue, " said her father, cynically, andremoving the girl's arms, to the secret indignation of Deborah. "I shallcall on Mr. Beecot to-morrow and speak to him myself about the matter. If we come to an arrangement, for I have a condition to make before Igive my entire consent, I shall allow you a certain sum to live on. ThenI shall go to America, and when I die you will inherit all mymoney--when I die, " he added, casting the usual look over his shoulders. "But I won't die for many a long day, " he said, with a determined air. "At least, I hope not. "

"You are healthy enough, father. "

"Yes! Yes--but healthy people die in queer ways. "

Deborah intervened impatiently. "I'm glad you wish to make my lily-queenhappy, sir, " said she, nodding, "but change your mind you may if Mr. Beecot don't fall in. "

"Fall in?" queried Aaron. 

"With this arrangements--what is they?"

Aaron looked undecided, then spoke impulsively, walking towards the dooras he did so. "Let Mr. Beecot give me that opal serpent, " he said, "andhe shall have Sylvia and enough to live on. "

"But, father, it is lost, " cried Sylvia, in dismay. 

She spoke to the empty air. Norman had hastily passed through the doorand was descending the stairs quicker than usual. Sylvia, in hereagerness to explain, would have followed, but Deborah drew her backwith rough gentleness. "Let him go, lily-queen, " she said; "let sleepingdogs lie if you love me. "

"Deborah, what do you mean?" asked Sylvia, breathlessly. 

"I don't mean anything that have a meaning, " said Miss Junk, enigmatically, "but your par's willing to sell you for that drattedbrooch, whatever he wants it for. And you to be put against a brooch myhoney-pot. I'm biling--yes, biling hard, " and Deborah snorted in proofof the extremity of her rage. 

"Never mind, Debby. Father consents that I shall marry Paul, and willgive us enough to live on. Then Paul will write great books, and hisfather will ask him home again. Oh--oh!" Sylvia danced round the roomgaily, "how happy I am. "

"And happy you shall be if I die for it, " shouted Deborah, screwing upher face, for she was not altogether satisfied, "though mysteries Idon't hold with, are about. America--what's he going to America for? andwith that brooch, and him locking us up every night to sleep in cellars. Police-courts and Old Baileys, " said Miss Junk, frowning. "I don't likeit, Sunbeam, and when you're married to Mr. Beecot I'll be that happy asnever was. "

Sylvia opened her grey eyes in wide surprise and a little alarm. "Oh, Debby, you don't think there's anything wrong with father?"

Miss Junk privately thought there was a good deal wrong, but she foldedSylvia in her stout arms and dismissed the question with a snort. "No, lovey, my own, there ain't. It's just my silly way of going on. Orangebuds and brides the sun shines on, is your fortunes, Miss Sylvia, thoughhow I'm going to call you Mrs. Beecot beats me, " and Deborah rubbed hernose. 

"I shall always be Sylvia to you. "

"Bless you, lady-bird, but don't ask me to live with Mr. Beecot'sfrantic par, else there'll be scratchings if he don't do proper what heshould do and don't. So there. " Deborah swung her arms like a windmill. "My mind's easy and dinner's waiting, for, love or no love, eat youmust, to keep your insides' clockwork. "

When Bart heard the joyful news he was glad, but expressed regret thatNorman should go to America. He did not wish to lose his situation, andnever thought the old man would take him to the States also. Deborahvowed that if Aaron did want to transport Bart--so she put it--she wouldobject. Then she unfolded a scheme by which, with Bart's savings and herown, they could start a laundry. "And I knows a drying ground, " saidDeborah, while talking at supper to her proposed husband, "as is lovelyand cheap. One of them suburbs on the line to Essex, where my prettywill live when her husband's frantic par makes it up. Jubileetown's theplace, and Victoria Avenue the street. The sweetest cottage at twentypun' a year as I ever set eyes on. And m'sister as is married to abricklayer is near to help with the family. "

"The family?" echoed Bart, looking scared. 

"In course--they will come, though it's early to be thinking of namesfor 'em. I'll do the washing, Bart, and you'll take round the cart, sodon't you think things 'ull be otherwise. "

"I don't want 'em to, " said Bart, affectionately. "I always loved you, Debby darling. "

"Ah, " said Miss Junk, luxuriously, "I've taught you to, in quite agenteel way. What a scrubby little brat you were, Bart!"

"Yuss, " said Mr. Tawsey, eating rapidly. "I saw myself to-day. "

"In a looking-glarse?"

"Lor', Debby--no. But there wos a brat all rags and dirty face and sauceas I was when you saw me fust. He come into the shop as bold as brassand arsked fur a book. I ses, 'What do you want with a book?' and heses, looking at the shelves so empty, 'I sees your sellin' off, ' he ses, so I jumped up to clip him over the 'ead, when he cut. Tray's his name, Debby, and he's the kid as talked to that cold gent Mr. Beecot broughtalong with him when he got smashed. "

"Tray--that's a dog's name, " said Deborah, "old dog Tray, and quite goodenough for guttersnipes. As to Mr. Hay, don't arsk me to say he's good, for that he ain't. What's he want talking with gutter Trays?"

"And what do gutter Trays want with books?" asked Bart, "though to besure 'twas impertinence maybe. "

Deborah nodded. "That it was, and what you'd have done when you was ascrubby thing. Don't bolt your food, but make every bit 'elp you to'ealth and long living. You won't 'ave gormandising when we've got thelaundry, I can tell you. "

Next day Aaron went off in the afternoon to Charing Cross Hospital, after holding a conversation with a broker who had agreed to buy thederelict furniture. The shop, being empty, was supposed to be closed, but from force of habit Bart took down the shutters and lurkeddisconsolately behind the bare counter. Several old customers who hadnot heard of the sale entered, and were disappointed when they learnedthat Aaron was leaving. Their lamentations made Bart quite low-spirited. However, he was polite to all, but his manners broke down when a Hindooentered to sell boot-laces. "I ain't got nothing to sell, and don't wantto buy nohow, " said Bart, violently. 

The man did not move, but stood impassively in the doorway like a bronzestatue. He wore a dirty red turban carelessly wound round his smallhead, an unclean blouse which had once been white, circled by a yellowhandkerchief of some coarse stuff, dark blue trousers and slippers withcurled-up toes on naked feet. His eyes were black and sparkling and hehad a well-trimmed moustache which contrasted oddly with his shabbyattire. "Hokar is poor: Hokar need money, " he whined in a monotone, butwith his eyes glancing restlessly round the shop. "Give Hokar--give, "and he held out the laces. 

"Don't want any, I tell you, " shouted Bart, tartly. "I'll call a peelerif you don't git. "

"Ho! ho! who stole the donkey?" cried a shrill voice at the door, andfrom behind the hawker was poked a touzelled curly head, and a grinningface which sadly needed washing. "You leave this cove alone, won't y?He's a pal o' mine. D'y see?"

"You git along with your pal then, " cried Bart, indignantly. "If hedon't understand King's English, you do, Tray. "

Tray darted into the middle of the shop and made a face at the indignantshopman by putting his fingers in his mouth to widen it, and pullingdown his eyes. Hokar never smiled, but showed no disposition to move. Bart, angered at this blocking up the doorway, and by Tray's war dance, jumped the counter. He aimed a blow at the guttersnipe's head, butmissed it and fell full length. The next moment Tray was dancing on hisbody with his tongue out derisively. Then Hokar gave a weird smile. "Kalee!" he said to himself. "Kalee!"

How the scene would have ended it is impossible to say, but while Bartstrove to rise and overturn Tray, Aaron walked in past the Indian. "What's this?" he asked sharply. Tray stopped his dancing on Bart'sprostrate body and gave a shrill whistle by placing two dirty fingers inhis mouth. Then he darted between Norman's legs and made off. Hokarstood staring at the bookseller, and after a pause pointed with hisfinger. "One--eye, " he said calmly, "no good!"

Aaron was about to inquire what he meant by this insult, when the Indianwalked to the counter and placed something thereon, after which he movedaway, and his voice was heard dying away down the street. "Hokar ispoor--Hokar need money. Hokar, Christian. "

"What's this?" demanded Norman, again assisting Bart roughly to hisfeet. 

"Blest if I know, " replied Tawsey, staring; "they're mad, I think, " andhe related the incoming of the Indian and the street arab. "As for thatTray, " said he, growling, "I'll punch his blooming 'ead when I meets himagin, dancing on me--yah. Allays meddlin' that brat, jus' as he woswhen Mr. Beecot was smashed. "

"You saw that accident?" asked his master, fixing his one eye on him. 

"Yuss, " said Bart, slowly, "I did, but Deborah she told me to saynothink. Mr. Beecot was smashed, and his friend, the cold eye-glarsedgent, pulled him from under the wheels of that there machine with Trayto help him, and between 'em they carried him to the pavement. "

"Humph!" said Aaron, resting his chin on his hand and speaking more tohimself than to his assistant, "so Tray was on the spot. Humph!" Bart, having brushed himself, moved behind the counter and took up what Hokarhad left. "Why, it's brown sugar!" he exclaimed, touching it with histongue, "coarse brown sugar--a handful. " He stretched out his palmheaped with the sugar to his master. "What do that furrein pusson meanby leaving dirt about?"

"I don't know, nor do I care, " snapped Aaron, who appeared to be out oftemper. "Throw it away!" which Bart did, after grumbling again at theimpudence of the street hawker. 

Norman did not go upstairs, but descended to the cellar, where he busiedhimself in looking over the contents of the three safes. In these, weremany small boxes filled with gems of all kind, cut and uncut: alsoarticles of jewellery consisting of necklaces, bracelets, stars for thehair, brooches, and tiaras. The jewels glittered in the flaringgaslight, and Aaron fondled them as though they were living things. "Youbeauties, " he whispered to himself, with his one eye gloating over hishoard. "I'll sell you, though it goes to my heart to part with lovelythings. But I must--I must--and then I'll go--not to America--oh, dearno! but to the South Seas. They won't find me there--no--no! I'll berich, and happy, and free. Sylvia can marry and live happy. But theserpent, " he said in a harsh tone, "oh, the opal serpent! Thepawnbroker's shop. Stowley--yes--I know it. I know it. Stowley. Theywant it back; but they sha'n't. I'll buy it from Beecot by giving himSylvia. It's lost--lost. " He looked over his shoulder as he spoke in aterrified whisper. "Perhaps they have it, and then--then, " he leaped upand flung the armful of baubles he held on to the deal table, "andthen--I must get away--away. "

He pulled out three or four coarse sacks of a small size and filledthese with the jewellery. Then he tied a cord round the neck of eachsack and sealed it. Afterwards, with a sigh, he closed the safe andturned down the gas. He did not leave by the trap, which led through theshop, but opened and locked the back door of the cellar, ascended thesteps and went out into the street through the side passage. "If theycome, " he thought as he walked into the gathering night, "they won'tfind these. No! no!" and he hugged the bags closely. 

Sylvia upstairs waited anxiously for the return of her father from thehospital, as she both wanted to hear how her lover was progressing andwhat he said about the permission to marry being given. But Aaron didnot come to supper, as was his usual custom. Bart said, when inquirieswere made, that the master had gone down into the cellar and wasprobably there. Meanwhile, according to his usual habit, he put up theshutters and departed. Sylvia and Deborah ate their frugal meal andretired to bed, the girl much disturbed at the absence of her father. Outside, in the street, the passers-by diminished in number, and as thenight grew darker and the lamps were lighted hardly a person remained inGwynne Street. It was not a fashionable thoroughfare, and afternightfall few people came that way. By eleven o'clock there was not asoul about. Even the one policeman who usually perambulated the streetwas conspicuous by his absence. 

Sylvia, in her bed, had fallen into a troubled sleep, and was dreamingof Paul, but not happily. She seemed to see him in trouble. Then shewoke suddenly, with all her senses alert, and sat up. Faintly she hearda wild cry, and then came the twelve strokes of the church bellsannouncing midnight. Breathlessly she waited, but the cry was notrepeated. In the darkness she sat up listening until the quarter chimed. Then the measured footsteps of a policeman were heard passing down thestreet and dying away. Sylvia was terrified. Why, she hardly knew: butshe sprang from her bed and hurried into Deborah's room. "Wake up, " shesaid, "there's something wrong. "

Deborah was awake in a moment and lighted the lamp. On hearing Sylvia'sstory she went down the stairs followed by the girl. The door at thebottom, strange to say, was not locked. Deborah opened this, and peeringinto the shop gave a cry of alarm and horror. 

Lying on the floor was Aaron, bound hand and foot. 

CHAPTER VII

A TERRIBLE NIGHT

"Go back!--go back, my precious!" cried Deborah, her first thought beinghow to spare Sylvia the sight. 

But the girl, remembering that agonized cry which had awakened her, faint and far away as it sounded, pushed past the servant and ran intothe middle of the shop. The lamp, held high by Deborah over her head, cast a bright circle of light on the floor, and in the middle of thisSylvia saw her father breathing heavily. His hands were bound behind hisback in a painful way, his feet were tightly fastened, and his headseemed to be attached to the floor. At least, when the body (as itseemed from its stillness) suddenly writhed, it rolled to one side, butthe head remained almost motionless. The two women hung back, clutchingeach other's hands, and were almost too horrified to move at the sight. "Look! Look!" cried Sylvia, gasping, "the mouth!" Deborah looked andgave a moan. Aaron's mouth was rigidly closed under a glittering jewel. Deborah bent down, still moaning, so great did the horror of the thingparalyse her speech, and saw the lights flash back from many diamonds:she saw bluish gleams and then a red sparkle like the ray of the settingsun. It was the opal serpent brooch, and Aaron's lips were fastenedtogether with the stout pin. On his mouth and across his agonised facein which the one eye gleamed with terrific meaning the jewelled serpentseemed to writhe. 

"Oh, poor soul!" cried Deborah, falling on her knees with the lamp stillheld above her head. "Sylvia see--"

The girl gasped again, and impulsively knelt also, trying with nervelessfingers to unfasten the cruel pin which sealed the man's lips. He stilllived, for they heard him breathing and saw the gleaming eye: but evenas they looked the face grew black: the eye opened and closedconvulsively. Deborah set down the lamp and tried to raise the head. Shecould not lift it from the floor. Then the bound feet swung in the airand fell again with a dull thud. The eye remained wide open, staring ina glassy, manner: the breathing had stopped: and the body wasmotionless. "He's dead, " said Deborah, leaping to her feet and catchingaway the girl. "Help! Help!"

Her loud voice rang fiercely through the empty shop and echoed round andround. But there came no answering cry. Not a sound could be heard inthe street. On the bare floor was the lamp shining on that dreadfulsight: the body with sealed lips, and the glittering jewel, and leaningagainst the wall were the two women, Deborah staring at her dead master, but with Sylvia's eyes pressed against her bosom so that she might notwitness the horror. And the stillness deepened weirdly every moment. 

Sylvia tried to move her head, but Deborah pressed it closer to herbreast. "Don't, my pretty--don't, " she whispered harshly. 

"I must--I--ah!" the girl freed her head from those kind arms with awrench, and looked at the gruesome sight. She staggered forward a fewsteps, and then fell back. Deborah received her in her arms, and, thankful that Sylvia had fainted, carried her up the stairs to lay theunconscious girl on her own bed. Then she descended rapidly, locked thedoor leading from the shop to the stairs, and again looked at the body. The time she had been away was about seven or eight minutes, and thebody still remained with the one open eye staring meaninglessly at theceiling. Deborah, drawn by fascination like a bird by a serpent, creptforward and touched the head. It moved, and she again tried to lift it. This time she found she could do so. The head she lifted against herbreast, and then laid it down with horror when she found the bosom ofher nightgown was stained with blood. Pulling her wits together, for shefelt that she needed them every one, she examined the head and neck. Toher horror she found round the throat a strong thin copper wire, whichdisappeared through a hole in the floor. Apparently this had been pulledso tightly as to keep the head down and to choke the old man, and socruelly as to cut deeply into the flesh. With a moan of horror Deborahdropped the head and ran to the trap-door in the corner. If anywhere, those who had murdered Aaron Norman were lurking in the cellar. But thetrap-door would not open, and then she remembered that it was closed bya bolt underneath. She could not reach the midnight assassin that way. 

"The front door, " she gasped, and ran to unbolt it. The bolts wereeasily removed, but the door was also locked, and Aaron usually had thekey deposited nightly in the cellar by Bart. Repugnant as it was for herto approach the dead body, Deborah again went forward and felt in thepockets and loose clothing. The man was completely dressed, even to anovercoat which he wore. But she could not find the key and wondered whatshe was to do. Probably the key had been hung up in the cellar as usual. Necessity being the mother of invention, she remembered that thewindow-glass was fragile, and ran up in the hope of breaking through. But the stout shutters were up, so Deborah found that she was sealed inthe house. Almost in a state of distraction, for by this time her nervehad given way, she unlocked the door to the stairs and ran up threesteps at a time to the sitting-room. Here she opened the window andscrambled out on to the ledge among Sylvia's flower-pots. Just as shewas wondering how she could get down, the measured tread of a policemanwas heard, and by craning her neck Deborah saw him coming leisurelyalong the street, swinging his dark lantern on the windows and doors. Itwas a moonlight night and the street was extraordinarily well lighted asthe moon shone straightly between the houses. Gathering her strength fora last effort, Deborah yelled as only she could yell, and saw thestartled officer spinning round, looking up and down and sideways to seewhere the shrieks came from. "Up--up--oh, look up, you fool!" screamedDeborah. "Murder--oh, murder! Burst in the door, call the police, dratyou! Help!--help!"

By this time she was the centre of a circle of bright light, for thepoliceman had located her, and his lantern was flashing on her whitenightgown as she clung to the window-sill. 

"What are you making that noise for?" called up the officer, gruffly. 

"Murder, you fool!" screamed Deborah. "Master's murdered. Numberforty-five--the door's locked--break it open. Police!--police!"

Before she finished the sentence the officer blew his whistle shrillyand ran to the door of the shop, against which he placed his shoulder. Deborah climbed in again by the window, and ran down again, but eventhen, in her excitement and horror, she did not forget to lock the doorleading to the stairs, so that Sylvia might not be disturbed. As shedescended she flung a thick shawl over her shoulders, which she hadcaught up when leaving her room, though for the rest she had nothing onbut a nightgown. But the poor woman was too terrified to be troubled byany scruples at the moment, and reached the shop to hear heavy blows onthe door. Between the thuds Deborah could hear footsteps running inwardfrom every quarter. "I ain't got the key!" she shrieked through thekeyhole; "break in the door, drat you! Murder!--murder!"

From the noise she made those without concluded that some terrible crimewas taking place within, and redoubled their efforts. Deborah had justtime to leap back after a final scream when the door fell flat on thefloor, and three policemen sprang into the room with drawn batons andtheir lights flashing like stars. The lamp was still on the floorshedding its heavy yellow light on the corpse. "Master!" gasped Deborah, pointing a shaking finger. "Dead--the--the cellar--the--" and here shemade as to drop. A policeman caught her in his arms, but the woman shookherself free. "I sha'n't faint--no--I sha'n't faint, " she gasped, "thecellar--look--look--" She ran forward and raised the head of the deadman. When the officers saw the dangling slack wire disappearing througha hole in the floor they grasped the situation. "The passage outside!"cried Deborah, directing operations; "the trap-door, " she ran to it, "fast bolted below, and them murdering people are there. "

"How many are there?" asked a policeman, while several officers ranround the back through the side passage. 

"Oh, you dratted fool, how should I know!" cried Deborah, fiercely;"there may be one and there may be twenty. Go and catch them--you'repaid for it. Send to number twenty Park Street, Bloomsbury, for Bart. "

"Who is Bart?"

"Go and fetch him, " cried Deborah, furious at this delay; "number twentyPark Street, Bloomsbury. Oh, what a night this is! I'm a-goin' to seeMiss Sylvia, who has fainted, and small blame, " and she made for thelocked door. An officer came after her. "Go away, " shrieked Deborah, pushing him back. "I've got next to nothink on, and my pretty is ill. Goaway and do your business. "

Seeing she was distracted and hardly knew what she was saying, the mandrew back, and Deborah ran up the stairs to Sylvia's room, where shefound the poor girl still unconscious. 

Meanwhile, an Inspector had arrived, and one of the policemen wasdetailing all that had occurred from the time Deborah had given thealarm at the window. The Inspector listened quietly to everything, andthen examined the body. "Strangled with a copper wire, " he said, lookingup. "Go for a doctor one of you. It goes through the floor, " he added, touching the wire which still circled the throat, "and must have beenpulled from below. Examine the cellar. "

Even as he spoke, and while one zealous officer ran off for a medicalman, there was a grating sound and the trap-door was thrown open. Apoliceman leaped into the shop and saluted when he saw his superior. Bythis time the gas had been lighted. "We've broken down the back door, sir, " said he, "the cellar door--it was locked but not bolted. Nothingin the cellar, everything in order, but that wire, " he pointed to themeans used for strangling, "dangled from the ceiling and a cross pieceof wood is bound to the lower end. "

"Who does the shop belong to?"

"Aaron Norman, " said the policeman whose beat it was; "he's asecond-hand bookseller, a quiet, harmless, timid sort of man. "

"Anyone about?"

"No, sir. I passed down Gwynne Street at about a quarter past twelve andall seemed safe. When I come back later--it might have been twentyminutes and more--say twenty-five--I saw the woman who was down hereclinging to a window on the first floor, and shouting murder. I gave thesummons, sir, and we broke open the door. "

Inspector Prince laid down the dead man's head and rose to his feet witha nod. "I'll go upstairs and see the woman, " he said; "tell me when thedoctor comes. "

Upstairs he examined the sitting-room, and lighted the gas therein; thenhe mounted another storey after looking through the kitchen anddining-room. In a bedroom he found an empty bed, but heard someonetalking in a room near at hand. Flinging open the door he heard ashriek, and found himself confronted by Deborah, who had hastily flungon some clothes. "Don't come in, " she cried, extending her arm, "for I'mjust getting Miss Sylvia round. "

"Nonsense, " said the Inspector, and pushing her roughly aside he steppedinto the room. On the bed lay Sylvia, apparently still unconscious, butas the man looked at her she opened her eyes with a long sigh. Deborahput her arms round the girl and began to talk to her in an endearingway. Shortly Sylvia sat up, bewildered. "What is it?" she asked. Thenher eyes fell on the policeman. "Oh, where is my father?"

"He's dead, pretty, " said Deborah, fondling her. "Don't take on so. "

"Yes--I remember--the body on the floor--the serpent across themouth--oh--oh!" and she fainted again. 

"There!" cried Deborah, with bitter triumph, "see what you've done. "

"Come--come, " said Inspector Prince, though as gently as possible. "Iam in charge of this case. Tell me what has happened. "

"If you'd use your blessed eyes you'd see murder has happened, " saidMiss Junk, savagely. "Let me attend to my pretty. "

Just at this moment a tall young man entered the room. It was thedoctor. "The policemen said you were up here, " he said in a pleasantvoice. "I've examined the body, Inspector. The man is quite dead--he hasbeen strangled--and in a cruel manner with that copper wire, which hascut into the throat, to say nothing of this, " and the doctor held outthe brooch. 

"That, drat it!" cried Deborah, vigorously, "it's the cause of it all, Ido believe, if I died in saying so, " and she began to rub Sylvia's handsvigorously. 

"Who is this young lady?" asked the doctor; "another patient?"

"And well she may be, " said Miss Junk. "Call yourself a doctor, anddon't help me to bring her to. "

"Do what you can, " said Prince, "and you, " he added to Deborah, "comedown with me. I wish to ask you a few questions. "

Deborah was no fool and saw that the Inspector was determined to makeher do what he wanted. Besides, Sylvia was in the hands of the doctor, and Deborah felt that he could do more than she, to bring the poor girlto her senses. After a few parting injunctions she left the room andwent downstairs with the Inspector. The police had made no furtherdiscovery. 

Prince questioned not only the Gwynne Street policeman, who had givenhis report, but all others who had been in the vicinity. But they couldtell him nothing. No one suspicious had been seen leaving Gwynne Streetnorth or south, so, finding he could learn nothing in this direction, Prince turned his attention to the servant. "Now, then, what do youknow?" he asked. "Don't say anything likely to incriminate yourself. "

"Me!" shouted Deborah, bouncing up with a fiery face. "Don't you betaking away my character. Why, I know no more who have done it than ababe unborn, and that's stupid enough, I 'opes, Mr. Policeman. Ho!indeed, and we pays our taxes to be insulted by you, Mr. Policeman. " Shewas very aggravating, and many a man would have lost his temper. ButInspector Prince was a quiet and self-controlled officer, and knew howto deal with this violent class of women. He simply waited till Deborahhad exhausted herself, and then gently asked her a few questions. Finding he was reasonable, Deborah became reasonable on her part, andreplied with great intelligence. In a few minutes the Inspector, byhandling her deftly, learned all that had taken place on that terriblenight, from the time Sylvia had started up in bed at the sound of thatfar-distant cry of a soul in agony. "And that, from what Miss Sylviasays, " ended Deborah, "was just before the church clock struck the hourof twelve. "

"You came down a quarter of an hour later?"

"I did, when Miss Sylvia woke me, " said Deborah; "she was frightened outof her seven senses, and couldn't get up at once. Yes--it was abouttwenty minutes after the hour we come down to see--It, " and the woman, strong nerved as she was, shuddered. 

"Humph, " said the Inspector, "the assassin had time to escape. "

"Begging your pardon, sir, them, or him, or her, or it as murderedmaster was below in the cellar when we saw the corp--not that it waswhat you'd call a corp then. "

"Will you say precisely what you mean?"

Deborah did so, and with such wealth of detail that even the hardenedInspector felt the creeps down his official back. There was somethingterribly merciless about this crime. The man had been bound like asheep for the slaughter; his mouth had been sealed with the brooch sothat he could not cry out, and then in the sight of his child andservant he had been slowly strangled by means of the copper wire whichcommunicated with the cellar. One of the policemen brought up an augerwhich evidently had been used to bore the hole for the wire to passthrough, for the fresh sawdust was still in its whorls. "Who does thisbelong to?" Prince asked Deborah. 

"It's Bart's, " said Deborah, staring; "he was using it along with othertools to make some deal boxes for master, who was going away. I expectit was found in the cellar in the tool-box, for Bart allays brought itin tidy-like after he'd done his work in the yard, weather being fine, of course, " ended Deborah, sniffing. 

"Where is this Bart?"

"In bed like a decent man if he's to be my husband, which he is, " saidMiss Junk, tartly. "I told one of them idle bobbies to go and fetch himfrom Bloomsbury. "

"One has gone, " said another policeman. "Bart Tawsey isn't he?"

"Mr. Bartholemew Tawsey, if you please, " said the servant, grandly. "Ionly hope he'll be here soon to protect me. "

"You're quite safe, " said Prince, dryly, whereat there was a smile onthe faces of his underlings, for Deborah in her disordered dress andwith her swollen, flushed, excited face was not comely. "But what aboutthis brooch you say is the cause of it all?"

Deborah dropped with an air of fatigue. "If you kill me I can't talk ofit now, " she protested. "The brooch belonged to Mr. Paul Beecot. "

"And where is he?"

"In the Charing Cross Hospital if you want to know, and as he's engagedto my pretty you needn't think he done it--so there. "

"I am accusing no one, " said the Inspector, grimly, "but we must get tothe bottom of this horrible crime. "

"Ah, well you may call it that, " wailed Deborah, "with that serping onhis poor mouth and him wriggling like an eel to get free. But 'ark, there's my pretty a-calling, " and Miss Junk dashed headlong from theshop shouting comfort to Sylvia as she went. 

Prince looked at the dead man and at the opal serpent which he held inhis hand. "This at one end of the matter, and that at the other. What isthe connecting link between this brooch and that corpse?"

CHAPTER VIII

THE VERDICT OF THE JURY

As may be guessed, the murder of Aaron Norman caused a tremendoussensation. One day the name was unknown, the next and it was in themouths of the millions. The strange circumstances of the crime, themystery which shrouded it, the abominable cruelty of the serpent broochhaving been used to seal the man's lips while he was being slowlystrangled, deepened the interest immensely. Here, at last was a murderworthy of Wilkie Collins's or Gaboriau's handling; such a crime as oneexpected to read of in a novel, but never could hope to hear of in reallife. Fact had for once poached on the domains of fiction. 

But notwithstanding all the inquiries which were made, and all thevigilance of the police, and all the newspaper articles, and all thetheories sent by people who knew nothing whatever of the matter, nothingtangible was discovered likely to lead to a discovery of the assassinsor assassin. It was conjectured that two people at least had beenconcerned in the committal of the crime, as, weak physically though hewas, the deceased would surely not have allowed himself to be bound byone person, however strong that person might be. In such a case therewould certainly have been a scuffle, and as the daughter of the murderedman heard his cry for help--which was what Sylvia did hear--she wouldcertainly have heard the noise of a rough-and-tumble struggle such asNorman would have made when fighting for his life. But that singlemuffled cry was all that had been heard, and then probably the broochhad been pinned on the mouth to seal it for ever. Later the man had beenslowly strangled, and in the sight of his horrified daughter. 

Poor Sylvia received a severe shock after witnessing that awful sight, and was ill for some days. The faithful Deborah attended to her like aslave, and would allow no one, save the doctor, to enter the sick-room. Bart Tawsey, who had been summoned to Gwynne Street from his bed, remained in the empty shop and attended to any domestic duties whichMiss Junk required to be performed. She made him cook viands for Sylviaand for herself, and, as he had been trained by her before, to act as anemergency cook, he did credit to her tuition. Also Bart ran messages, saw that the house was well locked and bolted at night, and slept on ahastily-improvised bed under the counter. Even Deborah's strong nerveswere shaken by the horrors she had witnessed, and she insisted that Bartshould remain to protect her and Sylvia. Bart was not over-strong, buthe was wiry, and, moreover, had the courage of a cock sparrow, so whilehe was guarding the house Deborah had no fears, and could attendaltogether to her sick mistress. 

One of the first people to call on Miss Norman was a dry, wizen monkeyof a man, who announced himself as Jabez Pash, the solicitor of thedeceased. He had, so he said, executed Aaron's legal business for years, and knew all his secrets. Yet, when questioned by the police, he couldthrow no light on the murder. But he knew of something strange connectedwith the matter, and this he related to the detective who was now incharge of the case. 

This officer was a chatty, agreeable, pleasant-faced man, with browneyes, brown hair and brown skin. Also, to match his face, no doubt, hewore brown clothes, brown boots, a brown hat and a brown tie--in fact, in body, face and hands and dress he was all brown, and this prevalentcolor produced rather a strange effect. "He must ha' bin dyed, " saidMiss Junk when she set eyes on him. "But brown is better nor black, MissSylvia, though black you'll have to wear for your poor par, as is goneto a better land, let us hope, though there's no knowing. "

The brown man, who answered to the name of Hurd, or, as he geniallydescribed himself, "Billy" Hurd, saw Mr. Pash, the lawyer, after he hadexamined everyone he could lay hold of in the hopes of learningsomething likely to elucidate the mystery. "What do you know of thismatter, sir?" asked the brown man, pleasantly. 

Pash screwed up his face in a manner worthy of his monkey looks. Hewould have been an absolute image of one with a few nuts in his cheek, and as he talked in a chattering sort of way, very fast and a trifleincoherent, the resemblance was complete. "I know nothing why myesteemed client should meet with such a death, " he said, "but I maymention that on the evening of his death he called round to see me anddeposited in my charge four bags of jewels. At least he said they werejewels, for the bags are sealed, and of course I never opened them. "

"Can I see those bags?" asked Hurd, amiably. 

The legal monkey hopped into the next room and beckoned Hurd to follow. Shortly the two were looking into the interior of a safe wherein reposedfour bags of coarse white canvas sealed and tied with stout cords. "Theodd thing is, " said Mr. Pash, chewing his words, and looking so absurdlylike a monkey that the detective felt inclined to call him "Jacko, ""that on the morning of the murder, and before I heard anything aboutit, a stranger came with a note from my esteemed client asking that thebags should be handed over. "

"What sort of a man?"

"Well, " said Pash, fiddling with his sharp chin, "what you might call aseafaring man. A sailor, maybe, would be the best term. He was stout andred-faced, but with drink rather than with weather, I should think, andhe rolled on his bow-legs in a somewhat nautical way. "

"What name did he give?" asked Hurd, writing this description rapidly inhis note-book. 

"None. I asked him who he was, and he told me--with many oaths I regretto say--to mind my own business. He insisted on having the bags to takeback to Mr. Norman, but I doubted him--oh, yes, " added the lawyer, shrewdly, "I doubted him. Mr. Norman always did his own business, andnever, in my experience of him, employed a deputy. I replied to theunknown nautical man--a sailor--as you might say; he certainly smelt ofrum, which, as we know, is a nautical drink--well, Mr. Hurd, I repliedthat I would take the bags round to Mr. Norman myself and at once. Thisoffice is in Chancery Lane, as you see, and not far from Gwynne Street, so I started with the bags. "

"And with the nautical gentleman?"

"No. He said he would remain behind until I returned, so as to receivemy apology when I had seen my esteemed client and become convinced ofthe nautical gentleman's rectitude. When I reached Gwynne Street I foundthat Mr. Norman was dead, and at once took the bags back to replace themin this safe, where you now behold them. "

"And this sailor?" asked Hurd, eyeing Mr. Pash keenly. 

The lawyer sucked in his cheeks and put his feet on the rungs of hischair. "Oh, my clerk tells me he left within five minutes of mydeparture, saying he could not wait. "

"Have you seen him since?"

"I have not seen him since. But I am glad that I saved the property ofmy client. "

"Was Norman rich?"

"Very well off indeed, but he did not make his money out of hisbook-selling business. In fact, " said Pash, putting the tips of hisfingers delicately together, "he was rather a good judge of jewels. "

"And a pawnbroker, " interrupted Hurd, dryly. "I have heard all aboutthat from Bart Tawsey, his shopman. Skip it and go on. "

"I can only go on so far as to say that Miss Norman will probablyinherit a fortune of five thousand a year, beside the jewels containedin those bags. That is, " said Mr. Pash, wisely, "if the jewels be notredeemed by those who pawned them. "

"Is there a will?" asked Hurd, rising to take his leave. 

Pash screwed up his eyes and inflated his cheeks, and wriggled so muchthat the detective expected an acrobatic performance, and wasdisappointed when it did not come off. "I really can't be sure onthat point, " he said softly. "I have not yet examined the paperscontained in the safe of my deceased and esteemed client. He wouldnever allow me to make his will. Leases--yes--he has somehouse-property--mortgages--yes--investments--yes--he entrusted me withall his business save the important one of making a will. But a greatmany other people act in the same strange way, though you might notthink so, Mr. Hurd. They would never make a lease, or let a house, orbuy property, without consulting their legal adviser, yet in the case ofwills (most important documents) many prefer to draw them up themselves. Consequently, there is much litigation over wrongly-drawn documents ofthat nature. "

"All the better for you lawyers. Well, I'm off to look for your nauticalgentleman. "

"Do you think he is guilty?"

"I can't say, " said Hurd, smiling, "and I never speak unless I am quitesure of the truth. "

"It will be hard to come at, in this case, " said the lawyer. 

Billy the detective smiled pleasantly and shrugged his brown shoulders. "So hard that it may never be discovered, " he said. "You know manymysteries are never solved. I suspect this Gwynne Street crime will beone of them. "

Hurd had learned a great deal about the opal brooch from Sylvia andDeborah, and what they told him resulted in his visiting the CharingCross Hospital to see Paul Beecot. The young man was much worried. Hisarm was getting better, and the doctors assured him he would be able toleave the hospital in a few days. But he had received a letter from hismother, whom he had informed of his accident. She bewailed his danger, and wrote with many tears--as Paul saw from the blotted state of theletter--that her domestic tyrant would not allow her to come to Londonto see her wounded darling. This in itself was annoying enough, but Paulwas still more irritated and excited by the report of Aaron's terribledeath, which he saw in a newspaper. So much had this moved him that hewas thrown into a high state of fever, and the doctor refused to allowhim to read the papers. Luckily, Paul, for his own sake, had somewhatcalmed down when Hurd arrived, so the detective was permitted to seehim. He sat by the bedside and told the patient who he was. Beecotlooked at him sharply, and then recognized him. 

"You are the workman, " he said astonished. 

"Yes, Mr. Beecot, I am. I hear that you have not taken my warningregarding your friend, Mr. Grexon Hay. "

"Ah! Then you knew his name all the time!"

"Of course I did. I merely spoke to you to set you on your guard againsthim. He'll do you no good. "

"But he was at school with me, " said Beecot, angrily. 

"That doesn't make him any the better companion, " replied Hurd; "seehere, Mr. Beecot, we can talk of this matter another time. At present, as I am allowed to converse with you only for a short time, I wish toask you about the opal serpent. "

Paul sat up, although Hurd tried to keep him down. "What do you know ofthat?--why do you come to me?"

"I know very little and want to know more. As I told you, my name isBilly Hurd, and, as I did _not_ tell you, I am the detective whom theTreasury has placed in charge of this case. "

"Norman's murder?"

"Yes! Have you read the papers?"

"A few, but not enough. The doctors took them from me and--"

"Gently, Mr. Beecot. Let us talk as little as possible. Where did youget that brooch?"

"Why do you want to know? You don't suspect me, I hope?"

Hurd laughed. "No. You have been in this ward all the time. But as thebrooch was used cruelly to seal the dead man's mouth, it seems to me, and to Inspector Prince, that the whole secret of the murder lies intracing it to its original possessor. Now tell me all about it, " saidBilly, and spread out his note-book. 

"I will if you'll tell me about Miss Norman. I'm engaged to marry herand I hear she is ill. "

"Oh, she is much better, " said Hurd, pausing pencil in hand, "don'tdistress yourself. That young lady is all right; and when you marry heryou'll marry an heiress, as I learn from the lawyer who does thebusiness of the deceased. "

"I don't care about her being the heiress. Will you take a message toher from me?"

"Certainly. What is it?" Hurd spoke quite sympathetically, for eventhough he was a detective he was a human being with a kindly heart. 

"Tell her how sorry I am, and that I'll come and see her as soon as Ican leave this confounded hospital. Thanks for your kindness, Mr. Hurd. Now, what do you wish to know? Oh, yes--about the opal serpent, which, as you say, and as I think, seems to be at the bottom of all thetrouble. Listen, " and Paul detailed all he knew, taking the story up tothe time of his accident. 

Hurd listened attentively. "Oh, " said he, with a world of meaning, "soMr. Grexon Hay was with you? Hum! Do you suppose he pushed you into theroad on purpose?"

"No, " said Paul, staring, "I'm sure he didn't. What had he to gain byacting in such a way?"

"Money, you may be sure, " said Hurd. "That gentleman never does anythingwithout the hope of a substantial reward. Hush! We'll talk of this whenyou're better, Mr. Beecot. You say the brooch was lost. "

"Yes. It must have slipped out of my pocket when I fell under the wheelsof that machine. I believe there were a number of loafers and raggedcreatures about, so it is just possible I may hear it has been pickedup. I've sent an advertisement to the papers. "

Hurd shook his head. "You won't hear, " he said. "How can you expect towhen you know the brooch was used to seal the dead man's lips?"

"I forgot that, " said Paul, faintly. "My memory--"

"Is not so good as it was. " Hurd rose. "I'll go, as I see you areexhausted. Good-bye. "

"Wait! You'll keep me advised of how the case goes?"

"Certainly, if the doctors will allow me to. Good-bye, " and Hurd wentaway very well satisfied with the information he had obtained. 

The clue, as he thought it was, led him to Wargrove, where he obtaineduseful information from Mr. Beecot, who gave it with a very bad grace, and offered remarks about his son's being mixed up in the case, whichmade Hurd, who had taken a fancy to the young fellow, protest. FromWargrove, Hurd went to Stowley, in Buckinghamshire, and interviewed thepawnbroker whose assistant had wrongfully sold the brooch to Beecot manyyears before. There he learned a fact which sent him back to Mr. JabezPash in London. 

"I says, sir, " said Hurd, when again in the lawyer's private room, "thatnautical gentleman of yours pawned that opal serpent twenty years agomore or less. "

"Never, " said the monkey, screwing up his face and chewing. 

"Yes, indeed. The pawnbroker is an old man, but he remembers thecustomer quite well, and his description, allowing for the time that haselapsed, answers to the man who tried to get the jewels from you. "

Mr. Pash chewed meditatively, and then inflated his cheeks. "Pooh, " hesaid, "twenty years is a long time. A man then, and a man now, would bequite different. "

"Some people never change, " said Hurd, quietly. "You have not changedmuch, I suspect. "

"No, " cackled the lawyer, rather amused. "I grew old young, and havenever altered my looks. "

"Well, this nautical gentleman may be the same. He pawned the articleunder the name of David Green--a feigned one, I suspect. "

"Then you think he is guilty?"

"I have to prove that the brooch came into his possession again before Ican do that, " said Hurd, grimly. "And, as the brooch was lost in thestreet by Mr. Beecot, I don't see what I can do. However, it is strangethat a man connected with the pawning of the brooch so many years agoshould suddenly start up again when the brooch is used in connectionwith a terrible crime. "

"It is strange. I congratulate you on having this case, Mr. Hurd. It isan interesting one to look into. "

"And a mighty difficult one, " said Hurd, rather depressed. "I reallydon't see my way. I have got together all the evidence I can, but I fearthe verdict at the inquest will be wilful murder against some person orpersons unknown. "

Hurd, who was not blind to his own limitations like some detectives, proved to be a true prophet. The inquest was attended by a crowd ofpeople, who might as well have stayed away for all they learnedconcerning the identity of the assassin. It was proved by the evidenceof Sylvia and Deborah how the murder had taken place, but it wasimpossible to show who had strangled the man. It was presumed that theassassin or assassins had escaped when Deborah went upstairs to shoutmurder out of the first-floor window. By that time the policeman on theGwynne Street beat was not in sight, and it would have been easy forthose concerned in the crime--if more than one--to escape by the cellardoor, through the passage and up the street to mingle with the people inthe Strand, which, even at that late hour, would not be deserted. Orelse the assassin or assassins might have got into Drury Lane and haveproceeded towards Oxford Street. But in whatever direction they went, none of the numerous policemen around the neighborhood on that fatalnight had "spotted" any suspicious persons. It was generally assumed, from the peculiar circumstances of the crime, that more than one personwas inculpated, and these had come out of the night, had committed thecruel deed, and then had vanished into the night, leaving no tracebehind. The appearance of the fellow whom Mr. Pash called the nauticalgentleman certainly was strange, and led many people to believe thatrobbery was the motive for the commission of the crime. "This man, whowas powerful and could easily have overpowered a little creature likeNorman, came to rob, " said these wiseacres. "Finding that the jewelswere gone, and probably from a memorandum finding that they were in thepossession of the lawyer, he attempted the next morning to get them--"and so on. But against this was placed by other people the cruelcircumstances of the crime. No mere robbery would justify the broochbeing used to pin the dead man's lips together. Then, again, the manbeing strangled before his daughter's eyes was a refinement of crueltywhich removed the case from a mere desire on the part of the murdered toget money. Finally, one man, as the police thought, could not havecarried out the abominable details alone. 

So after questions had been asked and evidence obtained, and detailsshifted, and theories raised, and pros and cons discussed, the jury wasobliged to bring in the verdict predicted by Mr. Hurd. "Wilful murderagainst some person or persons unknown, " said the jury, and everyoneagreed that this was the only conclusion that could be arrived at. 

Of course the papers took up the matter and asked what the police weredoing to permit so brutal a murder to take place in a crowdedneighborhood and in the metropolis of the world. "What was civilisationcoming to and--" etc. , etc. All the same the public was satisfied thatthe police and jury had done their duty. So the inquest was held, theverdict was given, and then the remains of Aaron Norman were committedto the grave; and from the journals everyone knew that the daughter leftbehind was a great heiress. "A million of money, " said the Press, andlied as usual. 

CHAPTER IX

CASTLES IN THE AIR

So Aaron Norman, the second-hand bookseller of Gwynne Street, was deadand buried, and, it may be said, forgotten. Sylvia and those connectedwith her remembered the old man and his unhappy end, but the publicmanaged to forget all about the matter in a wonderfully short space oftime. Other events took place, which interested the readers of thenewspapers more, and few recalled the strange Gwynne Street crime. Manypeople, when they did think, said that the assassins would never bediscovered, but in this they were wrong. If money could hunt down theperson or persons who had so cruelly murdered Aaron Norman, his daughterand heiress was determined that money could not be better spent. AndBilly Hurd, knowing all about the case and taking a profound interest init by reason of the mystery which environed it, was selected to followup what clues there were. 

But while London was still seething with the tragedy and strangeness ofthe crime, Mr. Jabez Pash came to the heterogeneously-furnishedsitting-room in Gwynne Street to read the will. For there was a willafter all. Deborah, and Bart, who had witnessed it at the request oftheir master, told Mr. Pash of its existence, and he found it in one ofthe three safes in the cellar. It proved to be a short, curt document, such as no man in his senses would think of making when disposing offive thousand a year. Aaron was a clever business man, and Pash wasprofessionally disgusted that he had left behind him such a loosetestament. 

"Why didn't he come to me and have it properly drawn up?" he asked as hestood in the cellar before the open safe with the scrap of paper in hishand. 

Deborah, standing near, with her hands on her haunches, laughedheartily. "I think master believed he's spent enough money with you, sir. Lor' bless you, Mr. Pash, so long as the will's tight and fair whatdo it matter? Don't tell me as there's anything wrong and that my prettywon't come into her forting?"

"Oh, the will's right enough, " said Pash, screwing up his cheeks; "letus go up to the sitting-room. Is Miss Sylvia there?"

"That she are, sir, and a-getting back her pretty color with Mr. Paul. "

Pash looked suspiciously at the handmaiden. "Who is he?"

"Nobody to be spoke of in that lump of dirt way, " retorted Deborah. "He's a gentleman who's going to marry my pretty. "

"Oh, the one who had the accident! I met him, but forgot his name. "

Miss Junk nodded vigorously. "And a mercy it was that he wasn't smashedto splinters, with spiled looks and half his limbses orf, " she said. "Why, bless you, Mr. Pash, could I let my sunbeam marry a man as wasn'tall there, 'eart of gold though he may have? But the blessing ofProvidence kept him together, " shouted Deborah in a burst of gratitude, "and there he sits upstairs with arms to put about my lily-queen for thedrying of her dear eyes. "

Mr. Pash was not at all pleased at this news and rubbed his nose hard. "If a proper will had only been made, " he said aggressively, "a properguardian might have been appointed, and this young lady would not havebeen permitted to throw herself away. "

"Beggin' your parding, Mr. Pash, " said Deborah, in an offended tone, "but this marriage is of my making, to say nothing of Heaven, whichbrought him and my pretty together. Mr. Beecot ain't got money, but hislooks is takin', and his 'eart is all that an angel can want. Mypretty's chice, " added the maiden, shaking an admonitory finger, "and mypretty's happiness, so don't you go a-spilin' of it. "

"I have nothing to say, save to regret that a young lady in possessionof five thousand a year should make a hasty contract like this, " saidMr. Pash, dryly, and hopping up the cellar stairs. 

"It wasn't hasty, " cried Deborah, following and talking all the time;"six months have them dears billed and cooed lovely, and if my queenwants to buy a husband, why not? Just you go up and read the will properand without castin' cold water on my beauty's warm 'eart, or troublewill come of your talkin'. I'm mild, " said Deborah, chasing the littlelawyer up the stairs leading to the first floor, "mild as flat beer ifnot roused: but if you make me red, my 'and flies like a windmill, and--"

Mr. Jabez Pash heard no more. He stopped his legal ears and fled intothe sitting-room, where he found the lovers seated on a sofa near thewindow. Sylvia was in Paul's embrace, and her head was on his shoulder. Beecot had his arm in a sling, and looked pale, but his eyes were asbright as ever, and his face shone with happiness. Sylvia also lookedhappy. To know that she was rich, that Paul was to be her husband, filled the cup of her desires to the brim. Moreover, she was beginningto recover from the shock of her father's death, and was feverishlyanxious to escape from Gwynne Street, and from the house where thetragedy had taken place. 

"Well, " said Mr. Pash, drawing a long breath and sucking in his cheeks, "you lose no time, young gentleman. "

Paul laughed, but did not change his position. Sylvia indeed blushed andraised her head, but Paul still held her with his uninjured arm, defyingMr. Pash and all the world. "I am gathering rosebuds while I may, Mr. Pash, " said he, misquoting Herrick's charming line. 

"You have plucked a very pretty one, " grinned the monkey; "but may Irequest the rosebud's attention?"

Sylvia extricated herself from her lover's arm with a heightened color, and nodded gravely. Seeing it was business, she had to descend fromheaven to earth, but she secretly hoped that this dull little lawyer, who was a bachelor and had never loved in his dry little life, wouldsoon go away and leave her alone with Prince Charming. Deborah guessedthese thoughts with the instinct of fidelity, and swooped down on heryoung mistress. 

"It's the will, poppet, " she whispered loudly, "but if it do make yourdear head ache Mr. Beecot will listen. "

"I wish Mr. Beecot to listen in any case, " said Pash, dryly, "if he isto marry my young and esteemed client. "

"We are engaged with the consent of my poor father, " said Sylvia, takingPaul's hand. "I shall marry no one but Paul. "

"And Paul will marry an angel, " said that young man, with a tendersqueeze, "although he can't keep her in bread-and-butter. "

"Oh, I think there will be plenty of bread-and-butter, " said the lawyer. "Miss Norman, we have found the will if, " added Mr. Pash, disdainfully, "this, " he held out the document with a look of contempt, "can be calleda will. "

"It's all right, isn't it?" asked Sylvia, anxiously. 

"I mean the form and the writing and the paper, young lady. It is a goodwill in law, and duly signed and witnessed. "

"Me and Bart having written our names, lovey, " put in Deborah. 

Pash frowned her into silence. "The will, " he said, looking at thewriting, "consists of a few lines. It leaves all the property of thetestator to 'my daughter. '"

"Your daughter!" screamed Deborah. "Why, you ain't married. "

"I am reading from the will, " snapped Pash, coloring, and read again: "Ileave all the real and personal property of which I may die possessed ofto my daughter. "

"Sylvia Norman!" cried Deborah, hugging her darling. 

"There you are wrong, " corrected Pash, folding up the so-called will, "the name of Sylvia isn't mentioned. "

"Does that make any difference?" asked Paul, quietly. 

"No. Miss Norman is an only daughter, I believe. "

"And an only child, " said Deborah, "so that's all right. My pretty, youwill have them jewels and five thousand a year. "

"Oh, Paul, what a lot of money!" cried Sylvia, appalled. "Whatever willwe do with it all?"

"Why, marry and be happy, of course, " said Paul, rejoicing not so muchon account of the money, although that was acceptable, but because thisdelightful girl was all his very--very own. 

"The question is, " said Mr. Pash, who had been reflecting, and nowreproduced the will from his pocket, "as to the name?"

"What name?" asked Sylvia, and Deborah echoed the question. 

"Your name. " Pash addressed the girl direct. "Your father's real namewas Krill--Lemuel Krill. "

Sylvia looked amazed, Deborah uttered her usual ejaculation, "Lor'!" butPaul's expression did not change. He considered that this was all of apiece with the murder and the mystery of the opal brooch. UndoubtedlyMr. Lemuel Krill, _alias_ Aaron Norman, must have had good reason tochange his name and to exhibit terror at the sight of the brooch. Andthe reason he dreaded, whatever it might be, had been the cause of hismysterious and tragic death. But Paul said nothing of these thoughts andthere was silence for a few minutes. 

"Lor, '" said Deborah again, "and I never knew. Do he put that name tothat, mister?" she asked, pointing to the will. 

"Yes! It is signed Lemuel Krill, " said Pash. "I wonder you didn't noticeit at the moment. "

"Why, bless you, Mr. Pash, there weren't no moment, " said Deborah, herhands on her hips as usual. "Master made that there will only a shorttime before he was killed. "

Pash nodded. "I note the date, " said he, "all in order--quite. "

"Master, " went on Deborah, looking at Paul, "never got over that therefainting fit you gave him with the serping brooch. And he writes outthat will, and tells Bart and me to put our names to it. But he coveredup his own name with a bit of red blotting-paper. I never thought butthat he hadn't put Aaron Norman, which was his name. "

"It was not his name, " said Pash. "His real name I have told you, andfor years I have known the truth. "

"Do you know why he changed his name?" asked Beecot, quickly. 

"No, sir, I don't. And if I did, I don't know if it would be legaletiquette to reveal the reason to a stranger. "

"He's not a stranger, " cried Sylvia, annoyed. 

"Well, then, to a young gentleman whom I have only seen twice. Why doyou ask, Mr. Beecot?"

"I was wondering if the change of name had anything to do with themurder, " said Paul, hesitating. 

"How could it, " said Pash, testily, "when the man never expected to bemurdered?"

"Beggin' your parding, Mr. Pash, but you're all out, " said Deborah. "Master did expect to have his throat cut, or his 'ead knocked orf, orhis inside removed--"

"Deborah, " cried Paul, hastily, "you are making Sylvia nervous. "

"Don't you worrit, pretty, " said the maiden, "it's only silly oldDebby's way. But master, your par as was, my pretty, went to church andprayed awful against folk as he never named, to say nothin' of lookin'over the left shoulder blade and sleepin' in the cellar bolted andbarred, and always with his eye on the ground sad like. Old Baileys andpolice-courts was in his mind, say what you like. "

"I say nothing, " rejoined Pash, putting on his hat and hopping to thedoor. "Mr. Lemuel Krill did not honor me with his confidence so far. Hecame here, over twenty years ago and began business. I was then youngerthan I am, and he gave me his business because my charges were moderate. I know all about him as Aaron Norman, " added Pash, with emphasis, "butas Lemuel Krill I, knowing nothing but the name, can say nothing. Nor doI want to. Young people, " ended the lawyer, impressively, "let sleepingdogs lie. "

"What do you mean?" asked Sylvia, looking startled. 

"Nothing--he means nothing, " interposed Paul hastily, for the girl hadundergone quite enough torments. "What about the change of name?"

"Ah yes!" said the lawyer, inquiringly. "Will you call yourself Krill orNorman, Miss Sylvia?"

"Seein' her name's to be changed to Beecot in a jiffy, " cried Deborah, "it don't matter, and it sha'n't matter. You leave Krill and its oldBaileys, if old Baileys there are in it, alone, my lovey, and be MissNorman till the passon and the clark, and the bells and the ringers, andthe lawr and the prophets turn you into the loveliest bride as everwas, " and Deborah nodded vigorously. 

"I wish father had mentioned my name in his will, " said Sylvia, in a lowvoice, "and then I should know what to call myself. "

Paul addressed the lawyer. "I know little about the legal aspect of thiswill"--

"This amateur will, " said Pash, slightingly. 

"But I should like to know if there will be any difficulty in provingit?"

"I don't think so. I have not gone through all the safes below, and maycome across the marriage certificate of Miss Krill's--I beg pardon, MissNorman's--mother and father. Then there's the birth certificate. We mustprove that Miss Sylvia is the daughter of my late esteemed client. "

"What's that?" shouted Deborah. "Why, I knowed her mother as died. She'sthe daughter right enough, and--"

"There's no need to shout, " chattered Pash, angrily. "I know that aswell as you do; I must act, however, as reason dictates. I'll prove thewill and see that all is right. " Then, dreading Deborah's tongue hehastily added "Good-day, " and left the room. But he was not to escape soeasily. Deborah plunged after him and made scathing remarks about legalmanners all the way down to the door. 

Paul and Sylvia left alone looked and smiled and fell into one another'sarms. The will had been read and the money left to the girl, thereby thefuture was all right, so they thought that Pash's visit demanded nofurther attention. "He'll do all that is to be done, " said Paul. "Idon't see the use of keeping a dog and having to bark yourself. "

"And I'm really a rich woman, Paul, " said Sylvia, gladly. 

"Really and truly, as I am a pauper. I think perhaps, " said Beecot, sadly, "that you might make a better match than--"

Sylvia put her pretty hand over his moustache. "I won't hear it, Paul, "she cried vehemently, with a stamp of her foot. "How dare you? As if youweren't all I have to love in the world now poor father--is--is de-a-d, "and she began to weep. "I did not love him as I ought to have done, Paul. "

"My own, he would not let you love him very much. "

"N-o-o, " said Sylvia, drying her eyes on Paul's handkerchief, which heproduced. "I don't know why. Sometimes he was nice, and sometimes hewasn't. I never could understand him, and you know, Paul, we didn'ttreat him nicely. "

"No, " admitted Beecot, frankly, "but he forgave us. "

"Oh, yes, poor dear, he did! He was quite nice when he said we couldmarry and he would allow us money. You saw him?"

"I did. He came to the hospital. Didn't he tell you when he returned, Sylvia?"

"I never saw him, " she wept. "He never came upstairs, but went out, andI went to bed. He left the door leading to the stairs open, too, on thatnight, a thing he never did before. And then the key of the shop. Bartused to hang it on a nail in the cellar and father would put it into hispocket after supper. Deborah couldn't find it in his clothes, and whenshe went afterwards to the cellar it was on the nail. On that night, Paul, father did everything different to what he usually did. "

"He seems to have had some mental trouble, " said Paul, gently, "and Ibelieve it was connected with that brooch. When he spoke to me at thehospital he said he would let you marry me, and would allow us anincome, if I gave him the serpent brooch to take to America. "

"But why did he want the brooch?" asked Sylvia, puzzled. 

"Ah!" said Beecot, with great significance, "if we could find out hisreason we would learn who killed him and why he was killed. "

Sylvia wept afresh on this reference to the tragedy which was yet freshin her memory: but as weeping would not bring back the dead, and Paulwas much distressed at the sight of her tears, she dried her eyes forthe hundredth time within the last few days and sat again on the sofa byher lover. There they built castles in the air. 

"I tell you what, Sylvia, " said Paul, reflectively; "after this willbusiness is settled and a few weeks have elapsed, we can marry. "

"Oh, Paul, not for a year! Think of poor father's memory. "

"I do think of it, my darling, and I believe I am saying what yourfather himself would have said. The circumstances of the case arestrange, as you are left with a lot of money and without a protector. You know I love you for yourself, and would take you without a penny, but unless we marry soon, and you give me a husband's right, you will bepestered by people wanting to marry you. " Paul thought of Grexon Haywhen he made this last remark. 

"But I wouldn't listen to them, " cried Sylvia, with a flush, "and Debbywould soon send them away. I love you dearest, dear. "

"Then marry me next month, " said Paul, promptly. "You can't stop here inthis dull house, and it will be awkward for you to go about withDeborah, faithful though she is. No, darling, let us marry, and then weshall go abroad for a year or two until all this sad business isforgotten. Then I hope by that time to become reconciled to my father, and we can visit Wargrove. "

Sylvia reflected. She saw that Paul was right, as her position wasreally very difficult. She knew of no lady who would chaperon her, andshe had no relative to act as such. Certainly Deborah could be achaperon, but she was not a lady, and Pash could be a guardian, but hewas not a relative. Paul as her husband would be able to protect her, and to look after the property which Sylvia did not think she could doherself. These thoughts made her consent to an early marriage. "And Ireally don't think father would have minded. "

"I am quite sure we are acting as he would wish, " said Beecot, decisively. "I am so thankful, Sylvia sweetest, that I met you and lovedyou before you became an heiress. No one can say that I marry you foranything save your own sweet self. And I am doubly glad that I am tomarry you and save you from all the disagreeable things which might haveoccurred had you not been engaged to me. "

"I know, Paul. I am so young and inexperienced. "

"You are an angel, " said he, embracing her. "But there's one thing wemust do"--and his voice became graver--"we must see Pash and offer areward for the discovery of the person who killed your father. "

"But Mr. Pash said let sleeping dogs lie, " objected Sylvia. 

"I know he did, but out of natural affection, little as your poor fatherloved you, we must stir up this particular dog. I suggest that we offera reward of five hundred pounds. "

"To whom?" asked Sylvia, thoroughly agreeing. 

"To anyone who can find the murderer. I think myself, that Hurd will bethe man to gain the money. Apart from any reward he has to act on behalfof the Treasury, and besides, he is keen to discover the mystery. Youleave the matter to me, Sylvia. We will offer a reward for the discoveryof the murderer of--"

"Aaron Norman, " said Sylvia, quickly. 

"No, " replied her lover, gravely, "of Lemuel Krill. "

CHAPTER X

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

Paul's reason for advertising the name of Lemuel Krill was a verynatural one. He believed that in the past of the dead man was to befound his reason for changing his name and living in Gwynne Street. Andin that past before he became a second-hand bookseller and a secretpawnbroker might be found the motive for the crime. Therefore, if areward was offered for the discovery of the murderer of Lemuel Krill, _alias_ Aaron Norman, something might come to light relative to theman's early life. Once that was known, the clue might be obtained. Thenthe truth would surely be discovered. He explained this to Hurd. 

"I think you're right, Mr. Beecot, " said the detective, in his genialway, and looking as brown as a coffee bean. "I have made inquiries fromthe two servants, and from the neighbors, and from what customers Icould find. Aaron Norman certainly lived a very quiet and respectablelife here. But Lemuel Krill may have lived a very different one, and themere fact that he changed his name shows that he had something toconceal. When we learn that something we may arrive at the motive forthe murder, and, given that, the assassin may be caught. "

"The assassin!" echoed Paul. "Then you think there was only one. "

Hurd shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows?" he said. "I speak generally. From the strange circumstances of the crime I am inclined to think thatthere is more than one person concerned in this matter. However, thebest thing to be done is to have hand-bills printed offering the fivehundred pounds reward. People will do a lot to earn so much money, andsomeone may come forward with details about Mr. Krill which will solvethe mystery of Norman's death. "

"I hope you will gain the reward yourself, Hurd. "

The detective nodded. "I hope so too. I have lately married the sweetestlittle wife in the world, and I want to keep her in the way she has beenaccustomed to be kept. She married beneath her, as I'm only athief-catcher, and no very famous one either. "

"But if you solve this mystery it will do you a lot of good. "

"That it will, " agreed Billy, heartily, "and it will mean advancementand extra screw: besides the reward if I can get it. You may be verysure, Mr. Beecot, that I'll do my best. Oh, by the way, " he added, "haveyou heard that Mr. Pash is being asked for many of those jewels?"

"No. Who are asking for them? Not that nautical man?"

Hurd shook his head. "He's not such a fool, " said he. "No! But thepeople who pledged the jewels are getting them back--redeeming them, infact. Pash is doing all the business thoroughly well, and will keep whatjewels remain for the time allowed by law, so that all those who wish toredeem them can do so. If not, they can be sold, and that will mean moremoney to Miss Norman--by the way, I presume she intends to remain MissNorman. "

"Until I make her Mrs. Beecot, " said Paul, smiling. 

"Well, " replied Hurd, very heartily, "I trust you will both be happy. Ithink Miss Norman will get a good husband in you, and you will gain thesweetest wife in the world bar one. "

"Everyone thinks his own crow the whitest, " laughed Beecot. "But nowthat business is ended and you know what you are to do, will you tell meplainly why you warned me against Grexon Hay?"

"Hum, " said the detective, looking at Paul with keen eyes, "what do youknow about him, sir?"

Beecot detailed his early friendship with Hay at Torrington, and thenrelated the meeting in Oxford Street. "And so far as I have seen, " addedPaul, justly, "there's nothing about the man to make me think he is abad lot. "

"It is natural you should think well of him as you know no wrong, Mr. Beecot. All the same, Grexon Hay is a man on the market. "

"You made use of that expression before. What does it mean?"

"Ask Mr. Hay. He can explain best. "

"I did ask him, and he said it meant a man who was on the marriagemarket. "

Hurd laughed. "Very ingenious and untrue. "

"Untrue!"

"Certainly. Mr. Hay knows better than that. If that were all he wouldn'tthink a working man would warn anyone against him. "

"He guessed you were not a working man, " said Paul, "and intimated thathe had a _liaison_ with a married woman, and that the husband had setyou to watch. "

"Wrong again. My interest in Mr. Hay doesn't spring from divorceproceedings. He paints himself blacker than he is in that respect, Mr. Beecot. My gentleman is too selfish to love, and too cautious to commithimself to a divorce case where there would be a chance of damages. No!He's simply a man on the market, and what that is no one knows betterthan he does. "

"Well, I am ignorant. "

"You shall be enlightened, sir, and I hope what I tell you will lead youto drop this gentleman's acquaintance, especially now that you will be arich man through your promised wife. "

"Miss Norman's money is her own, " said Paul, with a quick flush. "Idon't propose to live on what she inherits. "

"Of course not, because you are an honorable man. But I'll lay anythingyou like that Mr. Hay won't have your scruples, and as soon as he findsyour wife is rich he'll try and get money from her through you. "

"He'll fail then, " rejoined Beecot, calmly. "I am not up to your Londonways, perhaps, but I am not quite such a fool. Perhaps you willenlighten me as you say. "

Hurd nodded and caught his smooth chin with his finger and thumb. "A manon the market, " he explained slowly, "is a social highwayman. "

"I am still in the dark, Hurd. "

"Well, to be more particular, Hay is one of those well-dressedblackguards who live on mugs. He has no money--"

"I beg your pardon, he told me himself that his uncle had left him athousand a year. "

"Pooh, he might as well have doubled the sum and increased the value ofthe lie. He hasn't a penny. What he did have, he got through prettyquickly in order to buy his experience. Now that he is hard up hepractises on others what was practised on himself. Hay is well-bred, good-looking, well-dressed and plausible. He has well-furnished roomsand keeps a valet. He goes into rather shady society, as decent people, having found him out, won't have anything to do with him. But he is acard-sharper and a fraudulent company-promoter. He'll borrow money fromany juggins who is ass enough to lend it to him. He haunts Piccadilly, Bond Street and the Burlington Arcade, and is always smart, and bland, and fascinating. If he sees a likely victim he makes his acquaintance ina hundred ways, and then proceeds to fleece him. In a word, Mr. Beecot, you may put it that Mr. Hay is Captain Hawk, and those he swindles arepigeons. "

Paul was quite startled by this revelation, and it was painful to hearit of an old school friend. "He does not look like a man of that sort, "he remonstrated. 

"It's not his business to look like a man of that sort, " rejoined thedetective. "He masks his batteries. All the same he is one of the mostdangerous men on the market at the present in town. A young peer whom heplucked two years ago lost everything to him, and got into trouble oversome woman. It was a nasty case and Hay was mixed up in it. Therelatives of the victim--I needn't give his title--asked me to putthings right. I got the young nobleman away, and he is now travelling toacquire the sense he so sadly needed. I have given Mr. Hay a warningonce or twice, and he knows that he is being watched by us. When heslips, as he is bound to do, sooner or later, then he'll have to dealwith me. Oh I know how he hunts for clients in fashionable hotels, smartrestaurants, theatres and such-like places. He is clever, and althoughhe has fleeced several lambs since he plucked the pigeon I saved, hehas, as yet, been too clever to be caught. When I saw you with him, Mr. Beecot, I thought it just as well to put you on your guard. "

"I fear he'll get little out of me, " said Paul. "I am too poor. "

"You are rich now through your promised wife, and Hay will find it out. "

"I repeat that Miss Norman's money has nothing to do with me. And I maymention that as soon as the case is in your hands, Mr. Hurd--"

"Which it is now, " interpolated the detective. 

"I intend to marry Miss Norman and then we will travel for a time. "

"That's very wise of you. Give Hay a wide berth. Of course, if you meethim, you needn't tell him what I have told you. But when he tries tocome Captain Hawk over you, be on your guard. "

"I shall, and thanks for the warning. "

So the two parted. Hurd went away to have the bills printed, and Paulreturned to Gwynne Street to arrange with Sylvia about their earlymarriage. Deborah was in the seventh heaven of delight that her youngmistress would soon be in a safe haven and enjoy the protection of anhonorable man. Knowing that she would soon be relieved from care, shetold Bart Tawsey that they would be married at the same time as theyoung couple, and that the laundry would be started as soon as Mr. AndMrs. Beecot left for the Continent. Bart, of course, agreed--he alwaysdid agree with Deborah--and so everything was nicely arranged. 

Meanwhile Pash worked to prove the will, pay the death-duties, and toplace Sylvia in full possession of her property. He found in one of thesafes the certificate of the girl's birth, and also the marriagecertificate of Aaron Norman in the name of Lemuel Krill. The manevidently had his doubts of the marriage being a legal one if contractedunder his _alias_. He had married Lillian Garner, who was described as aspinster. But who she was and where she came from, and what her positionin life might be could not be discovered. Krill was married in a quietcity church, and Pash, having searched, found everything in order. Mrs. Krill--or Norman as she was known--lived only a year or two after hermarriage, and then died, leaving Sylvia to the care of her husband. There were several nurses in succession, until Deborah grew old enoughto attend alone on her young mistress. Then Norman dismissed the nurse, and Deborah had been Sylvia's slave and Aaron's servant until the tragichour of his death. So, everything being in order, there was nodifficulty in placing Sylvia in possession of her property. 

Pash was engaged in this congenial work for several weeks, and duringthat time all went smoothly. Paul paid daily visits to the Gwynne Streethouse, which was to be vacated as soon as he made Sylvia his wife. Deborah searched for her laundry and obtained the premises she wanted ata moderate rental. Sylvia basked in the sunshine of her future husband'slove, and Hurd hunted for the assassin of the late Mr. Norman withoutsuccess. The hand-bills with his portrait and real name, and adescription of the circumstances of his death, were scattered broadcastover the country from Land's End to John-O'Groats, but hitherto no onehad applied for the reward. The name of Krill seemed to be a rare one, and the dead man apparently had no relatives, for no one took theslightest interest in the bills beyond envying the lucky person whowould gain the large reward offered for the conviction of the murderer. 

Then, one day Deborah, while cleaning out the cellar, found a piece ofpaper which had slipped down behind one of the safes. These had not beenremoved for many years, and the paper, apparently placed carelessly ontop, had accidentally dropped behind. Deborah, always thinking somethingmight reveal the past to Sylvia and afford a clue to the assassin, brought the paper to her mistress. It proved to be a few lines of aletter, commenced but never finished. But the few lines were of deepinterest. 

"My dear daughter, " these ran, "when I die you will find that I marriedyour mother under the name of Lemuel Krill. That is my real name, but Iwish you to continue to call yourself Norman for necessary reasons. Ifthe name of Krill gets into the papers there will be great trouble. Keepit from the public. I can tell you where to find the reasons for this asI have written--" Here the letter ended abruptly without any signature. Norman apparently was writing it when interrupted, and had placed itunfinished on the top of the safe, whence it had fallen behind to bediscovered by Deborah. And now it had strangely come to light, but toolate for the request to be carried out. 

"Oh, Paul, " said Sylvia, in dismay, when they read this together, "andthe bills are already published with the real name of my father. "

"It is unfortunate, " admitted Paul, frowning. "But, after all, yourfather may have been troubled unnecessarily. For over the fortnight thebills have been out and no one seems to take an interest in the matter. "

"But I think we ought to call the bills in, " said Sylvia, uneasily. 

"That's not such an easy matter. They are scattered broadcast, and itwill be next to impossible to collect them. Besides, the mischief isdone. Everyone knows by this time that Aaron Norman is Lemuel Krill, sothe trouble whatever it may be, must come. "

"What can it be?" asked the girl anxiously. 

Paul shook his head. "Heaven only knows, " said he, with a heavy heart. "There is certainly something in your father's past life which he didnot wish known and which led to his death. But since the blow has fallenand he is gone, I do not see how the matter can affect you, my darling. I'll show this to Pash and see what he says. I expect he knows moreabout your father's past than he will admit. "

"But if there should be trouble, Paul--"

"You will have me to take it off your shoulders, " he replied, kissingher. "My dearest, do not look so pale. Whatever may happen you willalways have me to stand by you. And Deborah also. She is worth aregiment in her fidelity. "

So Sylvia was comforted, and Paul, putting the unfinished letter in hispocket, went round to see Pash in his Chancery Lane office. He wasstopped in the outer room by a saucy urchin with an impudent face and abold manner. "Mr. Pash is engaged, " said this official, "so you'll 'aveto wait, Mr. Beecot. "

Paul looked down at the brat, who was curly-headed and as sharp as aneedle. "How do you know my name?" he asked. "I never saw you before. "

"I'm the new office-boy, " said the urchin, "wishin' to be respectableand leave street-'awking, which ain't what it was. M'name's Tray, an'I've seen you afore, mister. I 'elped to pull you out from them wheelswith the 'aughty gent as guv me a bob fur doin' it. "

"Oh, so you helped, " said Paul, smiling. "Well, here is anothershilling. I am much obliged to you, Master Tray. But from what DeborahJunk says you were a guttersnipe. How did you get this post?"

"I talked m'self int' it, " said Tray, importantly. "Newspapers ain'tgood enough, and you gets pains in wet weather. So I turns a goodboy"--he grinned evilly--"and goes to a ragged kids' school to do the'oly. The superintendent ses I'm a promising case, and he arsked Mr. Pash, as is also Sunday inclined, to 'elp me. The orfice-boy 'ere went, and I come. " Tray tossed the shilling and spat on it for luck as heslipped it into the pocket of quite a respectable pair of trousers. "SoI'm on m'waiy to bein' Lord Mayor turn agin Wittington, as they ses inthe panymine. "

"Well, " said Beecot, amused, "I hope you will prove yourself worthy. "

Tray winked. "Ho! I'm straight es long es it's wuth m'while. I takesm'sal'ry 'ome to gran, and don't plaiy pitch an' torse n'more. " Hewinked again, and looked as wicked a brat as ever walked. 

Paul had his doubts as to what the outcome of Mr. Pash's charity wouldbe, and, being amused, was about to pursue the conversation, when theinner door opened and Pash, looking troubled, appeared. When he saw Paulhe started and came forward. 

"I was just about to send Tray for you, " said he, looking anxious. "Something unpleasant has come to light in connection with Krill. "

Beecot started and brought out the scrap of paper. "Look at that, " hesaid, "and you will see that the man warned Sylvia. "

Pash glanced hurriedly over the paper. "Most unfortunate, " he said, folding it up and puffing out his cheeks; "but it's too late. The nameof Krill was in those printed bills--a portrait also, and now--"

"Well, what?" asked Paul, seeing the lawyer hesitated. 

"Come inside and you'll see, " said Pash, and conducted Beecot into theinner room. 

Here sat two ladies. The elder was a woman of over fifty, but who lookedyounger, owing to her fresh complexion and plump figure. She had a firmface, with hard blue eyes and a rather full-lipped mouth. Her hair waswhite, and there was a great deal of it. Under a widow's cap it wasdressed _ŕ la_ Marie Antoinette, and she looked very handsome in afull-blown, flowery way. She had firm, white hands, rather large, and, as she had removed her black gloves, these, Paul saw, were covered withcheap rings. Altogether a respectable, well-dressed widow, but evidentlynot a lady. 

Nor was the girl beside her, who revealed sufficient similarity offeatures to announce herself the daughter of the widow. There was thesame fresh complexion, full red lips and hard blue eyes. But the hairwas of a golden color, and fashionably dressed. The young woman--shelikewise was not a lady--was also in black. 

"This, " said Pash, indicating the elder woman, who smiled, "is Mrs. Lemuel Krill. "

"The wife of the man who called himself Aaron Norman, " went on thewidow; "and this, " she indicated her daughter, "is his heiress. "

CHAPTER XI

A CUCKOO IN THE NEST

Paul looked from the fresh-colored woman who spoke so smoothly and sofirmly to the apish lawyer hunched in his chair with a sphinx-like lookon his wrinkled face. For the moment, so taken aback was he by thisastounding announcement, that he could not speak. The younger womanstared at him with her hard blue eyes, and a smile played round her fulllips. The mother also looked at him in an engaging way, as though sherather admired his youthful comeliness in spite of his well-brushed, shabby apparel. 

"I don't know what you mean, " said Beecot at length, "Mr. Pash?"

The lawyer aroused himself to make a concise statement of the case. "Sofar as I understand, " he said in his nervous, irritable way, "theseladies claim to be the wife and daughter of Lemuel Krill, whom we knewas Aaron Norman. "

"And I think by his real name also, " said the elder woman in her deep, smooth contralto voice, and with the display of an admirable set ofteeth. "The bills advertising the reward, and stating the fact of themurder, bore my late husband's real name. "

"Norman was not your husband, madam, " cried Paul, indignantly. 

"I agree with you, sir. Lemuel Krill was my husband. I saw in thenewspapers, which penetrate even into the quiet little Hants village Ilive in, that Aaron Norman had been murdered. I never thought he wasthe man who had left me more than twenty years ago with an only child tobring up. But the bills offering the reward assured me that Norman andKrill are one and the same man. Therefore, " she drew herself up andlooked piercingly at the young man, "I have come to see after theproperty. I understand from the papers that my daughter is an heiress tomillions. "

"Not millions, " said Pash, hastily. "The newspapers have exaggerated theamount. Five thousand a year, madam, and it is left to Sylvia. "

"Who is Sylvia?" asked Mrs. Krill, in the words of Shakespeare's song. 

"She is the daughter of Mr. Norman, " said Paul, quickly, "and is engagedto marry me. "

Mrs. Krill's eyes travelled over his shabby suit from head to foot, andthen back again from foot to head. She glanced sideways at hercompanion, and the girl laughed in a hard, contemptuous manner. "I fearyou will be disappointed in losing a rich wife, sir, " said the elderwoman, sweetly. 

"I have not lost the money yet, " replied Paul, hotly. "Not that I carefor the money. "

"Of course not, " put in Mrs. Krill, ironically, with another look at hisdress. 

"But I _do_ care for Sylvia Norman--"

"With whom I have nothing to do. "

"She is your husband's daughter. "

"But not mine. This is my daughter, Maud--the legal daughter of Lemueland myself, " she added meaningly. 

"Good heavens, madam, " cried Beecot, his face turning white, "what doyou mean?"

Mrs. Krill raised her thick white eyebrows, and shrugged her plumpshoulders, and made a graceful motion with her white, be-ringed hand. "Is there any need for me to explain?" she said calmly. 

"I think there is every need, " cried Beecot, sharply. "I shall not allowMiss Norman to lose her fortune or--"

"Or lose it yourself, sir. I quite understand. Nevertheless, I amassured that the law of the land will protect, through me, my daughter'srights. She leaves it in my hands. "

"Yes, " said the girl, in a voice as full and rich and soft as hersmooth-faced mother, "I leave it in her hands. "

Paul sat down and concealed his face with a groan. He was thinking notso much of the loss of the money, although that was a consideration, asof the shame Sylvia would feel at her position. Then a gleam of hopedarted into his mind. "Mr. Norman was married to Sylvia's mother underhis own name. You can't prove the marriage void. "

"I have no wish to. When did this marriage take place?"

Beecot looked at the lawyer, who replied. "Twenty-two years ago, " and hegave the date. 

Mrs. Krill fished in a black morocco bag she carried and brought out ashabby blue envelope. "I thought this might be needed, " she said, passing it to Pash. "You will find there my marriage certificate. Ibecame the wife of Lemuel Krill thirty years ago. And, as I am stillliving, I fear the later marriage--" She smiled blandly and shrugged hershoulders again. "Poor girl!" she said with covert insolence. 

"Sylvia does not need your pity, " cried Beecot, stung by theinsinuation. 

"Indeed, sir, " said Mrs. Krill, sadly, and with the look of atreacherous cat, "I fear she needs the pity of all right-thinkingpeople. Many would speak harshly of her, seeing what she is, but mytroubles have taught me charity. I repeat that I am sorry for the girl. "

"And again I say there is no need, " rejoined Paul, throwing back hishead; "and you forget, madam, there is a will. "

Mrs. Krill's fresh color turned to a dull white, and her hard eyes shotfire. "A will, " she said slowly. "I shall dispute the will if it is notin my favor. I am the widow of this man and I claim full justice. Besides, " she went on, wetting her full lips with her tongue, "Iunderstood from the newspapers that the money was left to Mr. Krill'sdaughter. "

"Certainly. To Sylvia Krill. "

"Norman, sir. She has no right to any other name. But I really do notsee why I should explain myself to you, sir. If you choose to give thisgirl your name you will be doing a good act. At present the poorcreature is--nobody. " She let the last word drop from her lips slowly, so as to give Paul its full sting. 

Beecot said nothing. He could not dispute what she said. If this womancould prove the marriage of thirty years ago, then Krill, or Norman ashe called himself, had committed bigamy, and, in the hard eyes of thelaw, Sylvia was nobody's child. And that the marriage could be provedPaul saw well enough from the looks of the lawyer, who was studying thecertificate which he had drawn from the shabby blue envelope. "Then thewill--the money is left to Sylvia, " he said with obstinacy. "I shalldefend her rights. "

"Of course, " said Mrs. Krill, significantly. "I understand that a wifewith five thousand--"

"I would marry Sylvia without a penny. "

"Indeed, sir, that is the only way in which you can marry her. If youlike I shall allow her twenty pounds for a trousseau. "

Paul rose and flung back his head again. "You have not got the moneyyet, madam, " he said defiantly. 

Not at all disturbed, Mrs. Krill smiled her eternal smile. "I am hereto get it. There is a will, you say, " she added, turning to Pash. "And Iunderstand from this gentleman, " she indicated Beecot slightly, "thatthe money is left to Mr. Krill's daughter. Does he name Maud or Sylvia?"

Pash slapped down the certificate irritably. "He names no one. The willis a hasty document badly worded, and simply leaves all the testatordied possessed of to--my daughter. "

"Which of course means Maud here. I congratulate you, dear, " she said, turning to the girl, who looked happy and flushed. "Your father has madeup to us both for his cruelty and desertion. "

Seeing that there was nothing to be said, Paul went to the door. Butthere his common sense left him and he made a valedictory speech. "Iknow that Mr. Krill left the money to Sylvia. "

"Oh, no, " said the widow, "to his daughter, as I understand the wordingof the will runs. In that case this nameless girl has nothing. "

"Pash!" cried Beecot, turning despairingly to the little solicitor. 

The old man shook his head and sucked in his cheeks. "I am sorry, Mr. Beecot, " said he, in a pitying tone, "but as the will stands the moneymust certainly go to the child born in wedlock. I have the certificatehere, " he laid his monkey paw on it, "but of course I shall makeinquiries. "

"By all means, " said Mrs. Krill, graciously. "My daughter and myselfhave lived for many years in Christchurch, Hants. We keep the innthere--not the principal inn, but a small public-house on the outskirtsof the village. It will be a change for us both to come into fivethousand a year after such penury. Of course, Mr. Pash, you will act formy daughter and myself. "

"Mr. Pash acts for Sylvia, " cried Paul, still lingering at the door. Thelawyer was on the horns of a dilemma. "If what Mrs. Krill says is trueI can't dispute the facts, " he said irritably, "and I am unwilling togive up the business. Prove to me, ma'am, that you are the lawful widowof my late client, and that this is my late esteemed client's lawfuldaughter, and I will act for you. "

Mrs. Krill's ample bosom rose and fell and her eyes glitteredtriumphantly. She cast a victorious glance at Beecot. But that young manwas looking at the solicitor. "Rats leave the sinking ship, " said he, bitterly; "you will not prosper, Pash. "

"Everyone prospers who protects the widow and the orphan, " said Pash, ina pious tone, and so disgusted Paul that he closed the door with a bangand went out. Tray was playing chuck-farthing at the door and keepingMr. Grexon Hay from coming in. 

"You there, Beecot?" said this gentleman, coldly. "I wish you would tellthis brat to let me enter. "

"Brat yourself y' toff, " cried Tray, pocketing his money. "Ain't Ia-doin' as my master tells me? He's engaged with two pretty women"--heleered in a way which made Paul long to box his ears--"so I don't spilesport. You've got tired of them, Mr. Beecot?"

"How do you know Mr. Beecot's name?" asked Hay, calmly. 

"Lor', sir. Didn't you and me pull him from under the wheels?"

"Oh, " said Grexon, suddenly enlightened, "were you the boy? Since youhave washed your face I didn't recognize you. Well, Beecot, you lookdisturbed. "

"I have reason to. And since you and this boy pulled me from under thewheels of the motor, " said Paul, glancing from one to the other, "Ishould like to know what became of the brooch. "

"I'm sure I don't know, " said Grexon, quietly. "We talked of thisbefore. I gave it as my opinion, if you remember, that it was picked upin the street by the late Aaron Norman and was used to seal his mouth. At least that is the only way in which I can conjecture you lost it. "

"You never saw it drop from my pocket?"

"I should have picked it up and returned it had I seen it, " said Hay, fixing his eye-glass. "Perhaps this boy saw it. "

"Saw what?" asked Tray, who was listening with both his large ears. 

"An old blue-velvet case with a brooch inside, " said Beecot, quickly. 

Tray shook his head vigorously. "If I'd seen it I' ha' nicked it, " hesaid impudently; "catch me givin' it back t' y', Mr. Beecot. There's acove I knows--a fence that is--as 'ud give me lots fur it. Lor', " saidTray, with deep disappointment, "to think as that dropped out of yourpocket and I never grabbed it. Wot crewel luck--ho!" and he spat. 

Paul looked hard at the boy, who met his gaze innocently enough. Apparently he spoke in all seriousness, and really lamented the lostchance of gaining a piece of jewellery to make money out of. Moreover, had he stolen the brooch, he would hardly have talked so openly of thefence he alluded to. Hay the young man could not suspect, as there waspositively no reason why he should steal so comparatively trifling anarticle. Sharper as he was, Hay flew at higher game, and certainly wouldnot waste his time, or risk his liberty, in stealing what would bringhim in only a few shillings. 

"Why don't you ask the detectives to search for the brooch, " said Hay, smiling. 

"It is in the detective's possession, " said Paul, sullenly; "but we wantto know how it came to pin Norman's lips together. "

"I can't imagine, unless he picked it up. If lost at all it must havebeen lost in the street the old man lived in, and you told me he wantedthe brooch badly. "

"But he wasn't on the spot?"

"Wot, " cried Tray, suddenly, "the one-eyed cove? Ho, yuss, but warn'the? Why, when they was a-gitin' the ambulance, an' the peelers wosa-crowdin' round, he come dancing like billeo out of his shorp. "

Beecot thought this was strange, as he understood from Deborah and Bartand Sylvia that Norman had known nothing of the accident at the time. Then again Norman himself had not mentioned it when he paid that visitto the hospital within a few hours of his death. "I don't think that'strue, " he said to Tray sharply. 

"Oh, cuss it, " said that young gentleman, "wot d' I care. Th' ole covecome an' danced in the mud, and then he gits int' his shorp again. Trewis trew, saiy wot y' like, mister--ho. "

Beecot turned his back on the boy. After all, he was not worth arguingwith, and a liar by instinct. Still, in this case he might have spokenthe truth. Norman might have appeared on the scene of the accident andhave picked up the brooch. Paul thought he would tell Hurd this, and, meantime, held out his hand to Hay. In spite of the bad character he hadheard of that young man, he saw no reason why he should not be civil tohim, until he found him out. Meantime, he was on his guard. 

"One moment, " said Grexon, grasping the outstretched hand. "I havesomething to say to you, " and he walked a little way with Paul. "I amgoing in to see Pash on business which means a little money to me. I wasthe unfortunate cause of your accident, Beecot, so I think you mightaccept twenty pounds or so from me. "

"No, thank you all the same, " said Paul gratefully, yet with a certainamount of caution. "I can struggle along. After all, it was anaccident. "

"A very unfortunate one, " said Hay, more heartily than usual. "I shallnever forgive myself. Is your arm all right?"

"Oh, much better. I'll be quite cured in a week or so. "

"And meantime how do you live?"

"I manage to get along, " replied Paul, reservedly. He did not wish toreveal the nakedness of the land to such a doubtful acquaintance. 

"You are a hard-hearted sort of chap, " said Hay coldly, but ratherannoyed at his friendly advances being flouted. "Well, then, if youwon't accept a loan, let me help you in another way. Come and dine at myrooms. I have a young publisher coming also, and if you meet him he willbe able to do something for you. He's under obligations to me, and youmay be certain I'll use all my influence in your favor. Come now--nextTuesday--that's a week off--you can't have any engagement at such a longnotice. "

Paul smiled. "I never do have any engagements, " he said with his boyishsmile, "thank you. I'll look in if I can. But I am in trouble, Grexon--very great trouble. "

"You shouldn't be, " said Hay, smiling. "I know well enough why you willnot accept my loan. The papers say Sylvia, your Dulcinea, has inheriteda million. You are to marry her. Unless, " said Hay, suddenly, "thisaccess of wealth has turned her head and she has thrown you over. Is shethat sort of girl?"

"No, " said Paul quietly, "she is as true to me as I am to her. But youare mistaken as to the million. It is five thousand a year, and she maynot even inherit that. "

"What do you mean?"

"I am not at liberty to say. But with regard to your dinner, " addedPaul, hastily changing the conversation, "I'll come if I can get mydress-suit out of pawn. "

"Then I count on you, " said Hay, blandly, "though you will not let mehelp you to obtain the suit. However, this publisher will do a lot foryou. By Jove, what a good-looking girl. "

He said this under his breath. Miss Maud Krill appeared on the doorstepwhere the two young men stood and stumbled against Grexon in passing. His hat was off at once, and he apologized profusely. Miss Krill, whoseemed a young woman of few words, as Paul thought from her silence inthe office, smiled and bowed, but passed on, without saying a "thankyou. " Mrs. Krill followed, escorted by the treacherous Pash who was allsmiles and hand-washings and bows. Apparently he was quite convincedthat the widow's story was true, and Paul felt sick at the news he wouldhave to tell Sylvia. Pash saw the young man, and meeting his indignanteyes darted back into his office like a rabbit into its burrow. Thewidow sailed out in her calm, serene way, without a look at either Paulor his companion. Yet the young man had an instinct that she saw themboth. 

"That's the mother I expect, " said Hay, putting his glass firmly intohis eye; "a handsome pair. Gad, Paul, that young woman--eh?"

"Perhaps you'd like to marry her, " said Paul, bitterly. 

Hay drew himself up stiffly. "I don't marry stray young women I see onthe street, however attractive, " he said in his cold voice. "I don'tknow either of these ladies. "

"Pash will introduce you if you make it worth his while. "

"Why the deuce should I, " retorted Hay, staring. 

"Well, " said Beecot, impulsively telling the whole of the misfortunethat had befallen him, "that is the wife and that is the daughter ofAaron Norman, _alias_ Krill. The daughter inherits five thousand a year, so marry her and be happy. "

"But your Dulcinea?" asked Grexon, dropping his eye-glass in amazement. 

"She has me and poverty, " said Paul, turning away. Nor could the quietcall of Hay make him stop. But at the end of the street he looked back, and saw Grexon entering the office of the lawyer. If Hay was the manHurd said he was, Paul guessed that he would inquire about the heiressand marry her too, if her banking account was large and safe. 

CHAPTER XII

THE NEW LIFE

For obvious reasons Beecot did not return to Gwynne Street. It wasdifficult to swallow this bitter pill which Providence had administered. In place of an assured future with Sylvia, he found himself confrontedwith his former poverty, with no chance of marrying the girl, and withthe obligation of telling her that she had no right to any name. Paulwas by no means a coward, and his first impulse was to go at once andinform Sylvia of her reverse of fortune. But it was already late, and hethought it would be only kind to withhold the bad news till the morrow, and thus avoid giving the disinherited girl a tearful and wakeful night. Therefore, after walking the Embankment till late, Paul went to hisgarret. 

To the young man's credit it must be said that he cared very little forthe loss of the money, although he grieved on Sylvia's account. Had hebeen able to earn a small income, he would have married the girl andgiven her the protection of his name without the smallest hesitation. But he was yet unknown to fame; he was at variance with his father, andhe could scarcely bring Sylvia to share his bitter poverty--which mightgrow still more bitter in that cold and cheerless garret. 

Then there was another thing to consider. Paul had written to his fatherexplaining the circumstances of his engagement to Sylvia, and askingfor the paternal blessing. To gain this, he mentioned that his promisedwife had five thousand a year. Bully and tyrant as Beecot senior was, heloved money, and although well off, was always on the alert to have morebrought into the family. With the bribe of a wealthy wife, Paul hadlittle doubt but what the breach would be healed, and Sylvia welcomed asthe sweetest and most desirable daughter-in-law in the world. Then Paulfancied the girl would be able to subdue with her gentle ways thestubborn heart of his father, and would also be able to make Mrs. Beecothappy. Indeed, he had received a letter from his mother congratulatinghim on his wealthy match, for the good lady wished to see Paulindependent of the domestic tyrant. Also Mrs. Beecot had made manyinquiries about Sylvia's goodness and beauty, and hoped that he hadchosen wisely, and hinted that no girl living was worthy of her son, after the fashion of mothers. Paul had replied to this letter settingforth his own unworthiness and Sylvia's perfections, and Mrs. Beecot hadaccepted the good news with joy. But the letter written to Beecot seniorwas yet unanswered, and Paul began to think that not even the chance ofhaving a rich daughter-in-law would prevail against the obstinacy of theold gentleman. 

But when he reached his garret, after that lonely and tormenting walk onthe Embankment, he found a letter from his father, and opened it withsome trepidation. It proved to contain joyful news. Mr. Beecot thankedHeaven that Paul was not such a fool as he had been of yore, and hintedthat this sudden access of sense which had led him to engage himself toa wealthy girl had come from his father and not from his mother. He--Beecot senior--was aware that Paul had acted badly, and had notremembered what was due to the best of fathers; but since he wasprepared to settle down with a rich wife, Beecot senior nobly forgavethe past and Paul's many delinquences (mentioned in detail) and would beglad to welcome his daughter-in-law. Then Beecot, becoming the tyrantagain, insisted that the marriage should take place in Wargrove, andthat the fact of Sylvia's father being murdered should be suppressed. Infact, the old gentleman left nothing to the young couple, but arrangedeverything in his own selfish way, even to choosing, in Wargrove, thehouse they would inhabit. The house, he mentioned, was one of his ownwhich could not be let on account of some trivial tale of a ghost, andMr. Beecot would give this as a marriage gift to Paul, thus getting ridof an unprofitable property and playing the part of a generous father atone and the same time. In spite of his bucolic ways and pig-headedobstinacy and narrow views, Beecot senior possessed a certain amount ofcunning which Paul read in every line of the selfish letter before him. 

However, the main point was, that the old gentleman seemed ready tooverlook the past and to receive Sylvia. Paul wanted to return to hishome, not so much on account of his father, as because he wished tosmooth the remaining years of his mother, and he knew well that Sylviawith her gentle ways and heart of gold would make Mrs. Beecot happy. Solong as Paul loved the girl he wished to marry, the mother was happy;but Beecot senior had an eye to the money, and thus was ready to bebribed into forgiveness and decent behavior. Now all this was altered. From the tone of the letter, Paul knew his father would never consent tohis marrying a girl not only without a name, but lacking the fortunewhich alone rendered her desirable in his eyes. Still, the truth wouldhave to be told, and if Beecot senior refused to approve of themarriage, the young couple would have to do without his sanction. Theposition, thought Paul, would only make him work the harder, so thatwithin a reasonable time he might be able to provide a home for Sylvia. 

So, the young man facing the situation, bravely wrote to his father andexplained how the fortune had passed from Sylvia, but declared, with allthe romance of youth, that he intended to marry the girl all the same. If Beecot senior, said Paul, would permit the marriage, and allow thecouple a small income until the husband could earn enough to keep thepot boiling, the writer would be grateful. If not, Paul declared firmlythat he would work like a slave to make a home for his darling. Butnothing in the world would make him give up Sylvia. This was the letterto his father, and then Paul wrote one to his mother, detailing thecircumstances and imploring her to stand by him, although in his ownsinking heart he felt that Mrs. Beecot was but a frail reed on which tolean. He finished these letters and posted them before midnight. Then hewent to bed and dreamed that the bad news was all moonshine, and thatSylvia and he were a happy rich married pair. 

But the cold grey searching light of dawn brought the actual state ofthings again to his mind and so worried him that he could hardly eat anybreakfast. He spent the morning in writing a short tale, for which hehad been promised a couple of sovereigns, and took it to the office ofthe weekly paper which had accepted it, on his way to Gwynne Street. Paul's heart was heavy, thinking of what he had to tell, but he did notintend to let Sylvia see that he was despondent. On turning down thestreet he raised his head, assumed a smile and walked with a confidentstep into the shop. 

As he entered he heard a heavy woman plunge down the stairs, and foundhis arm grasped by Deborah, very red-faced and very furious, the momenthe crossed the threshold. Bart could be heard knocking boxes together inthe cellar, as he was getting Deborah's belongings ready for removal toJubileetown, where the cottage, and the drying ground for the laundry, had already been secured through Pash. But Paul had no time to ask whatwas going on. A glance at the hand-maiden's tearful face revealed thatshe knew the worst, in which case Sylvia must also have heard the news. 

"Yes, " cried Deborah, seeing the sudden whiteness of Paul's cheeks, andshaking him so much as to hurt his injured arm, "she knows, she do--oh, lor', bless us that things should come to this--and there she's settin'a-crying out her beautiful eyes for you, Mr. Beecot. Thinking of yourthrowin' her over, and if you do, " shouted Deborah, with another shake, "you'd better ha' bin smashed to a jelly than face me in my presingtstate. Seein' you from the winder I made bold to come down and arsk yourintentings; for if them do mean no marriage and the breaking of mypretty's 'eart, never shall she set eyes agin on a double-faced Jonah, and--and--" Here Deborah gasped for breath and again shook Paul. 

"Deborah, " he said, in a quiet voice, releasing himself, "I love Sylviafor herself and not for her money. "

Deborah threw her brawny arms in the air and her apron over her redhead. "I knowed it--oh, yuss, indeed, " she sobbed in muffled tones. "SesI, I ses, Mr. Paul's a gentleman whatever his frantic par may be andmarry you, my own lovey, he will, though not able to afford the marriagefees, the same as will come out of Debby's pocket, though the laundry goby the board. 'Eaven knows what we'll live on all the same, pore wurkhusijets as me an' Bart are, not bein' able to make you an' Miss Sylvia'appy. Miss Sylvia Krill an' Norman both, " ended Deborah with emphasis, "whatever that smooth cat with the grin and the clawses may say, drather fur a slimy tabby--yah!"

"I see you know all, " said Paul, as soon as he could slip in a word. 

"Know all, " almost yelled Deborah, dragging down the apron and revealingflashing eyes, "and it's a mussy I ain't in Old Bailey this very day forscratching that monkey of a Pash. Oh, if I'd known wot he wos nevershould he 'ave got me the laundry, though the same may have to go, worseluck. Ho, yuss! he come, and she come with her kitting, as is almost asbig a cat as she is. Mrs. Krill, bless her, oh, yuss, Mrs. Krill, thesneakin', smiling Jezebel. "

"Did she see Sylvia?" asked Beecot, sharply. 

"Yuss, she did, " admitted Deborah, "me lettin' her in not knowin' herscratchin's. An' the monkey an' the kitting come too--a-spyin' out theland as you may say. W'en I 'eard the noos I 'owled Mr. Paul, but mypretty she turned white like one of them plaster stateys as boys sellcheap in the streets, and ses she, she ses, 'Oh Paul'--if you'll forgiveme mentioning your name, sir, without perliteness. "

"Bless her, my darling. Did she think of me, " said Beecot, tenderly. 

"Ah, when do she not think of you, sir? 'Eart of gold, though none inher pocket by means of that Old Bailey woman as is a good match fur myOld Bailey master. Ho! he wos a bad 'un, and 'ow Miss Sylvia ever cometo 'ave sich a par beats me. But I thank 'eaven the cat ain't mypretty's mar, though she do 'ave a daughter of her own, the painted, stuck-up parcel of bad bargains. "

Paul nodded. "Calling names won't do any good, Deborah, " he said sadly;"we must do the best we can. "

"There ain't no chance of the lawr gettin' that woman to the gallers I'spose, sir?"

"The woman is your late master's lawful wife. Pash seems to think so andhas gone over to the enemy"--here Deborah clenched her mighty fists andgasped. "Sylvia's mother was married later, and as the former wife isalive Sylvia is--"

"No, " shouted Deborah, flinging out her hand, "don't say it. "

"Sylvia is poor, " ended Paul, calmly. "What did you think I was about tosay, Deborah?"

"What that cat said, insulting of my pretty. But I shoved her out of thedoor, tellin' her what she were. She guv me and Bart and my own sunbeamnotice to quit, " gasped Deborah, almost weeping, "an' quit we will thisvery day, Bart bein' a-packin' at this momingt. 'Ear 'im knocking, and Iwish he wos a-knockin' at Mrs. Krill's 'ead, that I do, the flauntin'hussy as she is, drat her. "

"I'll go up and see Sylvia. No, Deborah, don't you come for a fewminutes. When you do come we'll arrange what is to be done. "

Deborah nodded acquiescence. "Take my lovely flower in your arms, sir, "she said, following him to the foot of the stairs, "and tell her as your'eart is true, which true I knowed it would be. "

Beecot was soon in the sitting-room and found Sylvia on the sofa, herface buried in her hands. She looked up when she recognized the belovedfootsteps and sprang to her feet. The next moment she was sobbing herheart out on Paul's faithful breast, and he was comforting her with allthe endearing names he could think of. 

"My own, my sweet, my dearest darling, " whispered Paul, smoothing thepretty brown hair, "don't weep. You have lost much, but you have me. "

"Dear, " she wept, "do you think it is true?"

"I am afraid it is, Sylvia. However, I know a young lawyer, who is afriend of mine, and I'll speak to him. "

"But Paul, though my mother may not have been married to my father--"

"She _was_, Sylvia, but Mrs. Krill was married to him earlier. Yourfather committed bigamy, and you, poor child, have to pay the penalty. "

"Well, even if the marriage is wrong, the money was left to us. "

"To you, dear, " said Beecot, leading her to the sofa, "that is, themoney was left in that loosely-worded will to 'my daughter. ' We allthought it was you, but now this legal wife has come on the scene, themoney must go to her daughter. Oh, Sylvia, " cried Paul, straining her tohis breast, "how foolish your father was not to say the money was leftto 'my daughter Sylvia. ' Then everything would have been right. But theabsence of the name is fatal. The law will assume that the testatormeant his true daughter. "

"And am I not his true daughter?" she asked, her lips quivering. 

"You are my own darling, Sylvia, " murmured Paul, kissing her hair;"don't let us talk of the matter. I'll speak to my lawyer friend, but Ifear from the attitude of Pash that Mrs. Krill will make good her claim. Were there a chance of keeping you in possession of the money, Pashwould never have left you so easily. "

"I am so sorry about the money on your account, Paul. "

"My own, " he said cheerily, "money is a good thing, and I wish we couldhave kept the five thousand a year. But I have you, and you have me, andalthough we cannot marry for a long time yet--"

"Not marry, Paul! Oh, why not?"

"Dearest, I am poor, I cannot drag you down to poverty. "

Sylvia looked at him wide-eyed. "I am poor already. " She looked roundthe room. "Nothing here is mine. I have only a few clothes. Mr. Pashsaid that Mrs. Krill would take everything. Let me marry you, darling, "she whispered coaxingly, "and we can live in your garret. I will cookand mend, and be your own little wife. "

Beecot groaned. "Don't tempt me, Sylvia, " he said, putting her away, "Idare not marry you. Why, I have hardly enough to pay the fees. No, dear, you must go with Debby to her laundry, and I'll work night and day tomake enough for us to live on. Then we'll marry, and--"

"But your father, Paul?"

"He won't do anything. He consented to our engagement, but solely, Ibelieve, because he thought you were rich. Now, when he knows you arepoor--and I wrote to tell him last night--he will forbid the match. "

"Paul!" She clung to him in sick terror. 

"My sweetest"--he caught her in his arms--"do you think a dozen fatherswould make me give you up? No, my love of loves--my soul, my heart ofhearts--come good, come ill, we will be together. You can stay withDebby at Jubileetown until I make enough to welcome you to a home, however humble. Dear, be hopeful, and trust in the God who brought ustogether. He is watching over us, and, knowing that, why need we fear?Don't cry, darling heart. "

"I'm not crying for crying, " sobbed Sylvia, hiding her face on hisbreast and speaking incoherently; "but I'm so happy--"

"In spite of the bad news?" asked Paul, laughing gently. 

"Yes--yes--to think that you should still wish to marry me. I ampoor--I--I--have--no name, and--"

"Dearest, you will soon have my name. "

"But Mrs. Krill said--"

"I don't want to hear what she said, " cried Paul, impetuously; "she is abad woman. I can see badness written all over her smiling face. Wewon't think of her. When you leave here you won't see her again. My owndear little sweetheart, " whispered Paul, tenderly, "when you leave thisunhappy house, let the bad past go. You and I will begin a new life. Come, don't cry, my pet. Here's Debby. "

Sylvia looked up, and threw herself into the faithful servant's arms. "Oh, Debby, he loves me still; he's going to marry me whenever he can. "

Deborah laughed and wiped Sylvia's tears away with her coarse apron, tenderly. "You silly flower, " she cried caressingly; "you foolish queenof 'oney bees, of course he have you in his 'eart. You'll be bride andI'll be bridesmaid, though not a pretty one, and all will be 'oney andsunshine and gates of pearl, my beauty. "

"Debby--I'm--I'm--so happy!"

Deborah placed her young mistress in Paul's arms. "Then let 'im make you'appier, pretty lily of the valley. Lor', as if anything bad 'ud evercome to you two while silly old Debby have a leg to stan' on an' arms towash. Though the laundry--oh, lor'!" and she rubbed her nose till itgrew scarlet, "what of it, Mr. Beecot, I do ask?"

"Have you enough money to pay a year's rent?"

"Yes, me and Bart have saved one 'undred between us. Rent and furnitureand taxes can come out of it, sure. And my washin's what I callwashin', " said Deborah, emphatically; "no lost buttings and tored sheetsand ragged collars. I'd wash ag'in the queen 'erself, tho' I ses it asshouldn't. Give me a tub, and you'll see if the money don't come in. "

"Well, then, Deborah, as I am too poor to marry Sylvia now, I want herto stop with you till I can make a home for her. "

"An' where else should she stop but with her own silly, foolish Debby, I'd like to know? My flower, you come an' be queen of the laundry. "

"I'll keep the accounts, Debby, " said Sylvia, now all smiling. 

"You'll keep nothin' but your color an' your dear 'eart up, " retortedDebby, sniffing; "me an' Bart 'ull do all. An' this blessed day we'll goto Jubileetown with our belongings. And you, Mr. Beecot?"

"I'll come and see you settled, Deborah, and then I return to earn anincome for Sylvia. I won't let you keep her long. "

"She'll stop as long as she have the will, " shouted Debby, huggingSylvia; "as to that Krill cat--"

"She can take possession as soon as she likes. And, Deborah, " addedPaul, significantly, "for all that has happened, I don't intend to dropthe search for your late master's murderer. "

"It's the Krill cat as done it, " said Debby, "though I ain't got noreason for a-sayin' of such a think. "

CHAPTER XIII

THE DETECTIVE'S VIEWS

As Paul expected, the next letter from his father contained a revocationof all that had pleased him in the former one. Beecot senior wrote manypages of abuse--he always did babble like a complaining woman whenangered. He declined to sanction the marriage and ordered his son atonce--underlined--to give up all thought of making Sylvia Norman hiswife. It would have been hard enough, wrote Beecot, to have received heras a daughter-in-law even with money, seeing that she had no positionand was the daughter of a murdered tradesman, but seeing also that shewas a pauper, and worse, a girl without a cognomen, he forbade Paul tobestow on her the worthy name of Beecot, so nobly worn by himself. Therewas much more to the same effect, which Paul did not read, and theletter ended grandiloquently in a command that Paul was to repair atonce to the Manor and there grovel at the feet of his injured father. 

To this despotic epistle the young man answered in a few lines. He saidthat he intended to marry Sylvia, and that nothing would make him giveher up, and that he would not meet his father again until that fatherremembered that his son was an Englishman and not a slave. Paul signedhis letter without the usual "your affectionate son, " for he felt thathe had small love for this imperious old man who declined to control hispassions. So he now, knew the worst. The breach between himself and hisfather was wider than ever, and he had only his youth and his brains todepend upon, in making a living for himself and a home for Sylvia. Strange to say, Paul's spirits rose, and he braced himself bravely to dobattle with fortune for his beloved. 

Sylvia, under the charge of Deborah, and escorted by Bart Tawsey, hadduly left Gwynne Street, bag and baggage, and she was now established inRose Cottage, Jubileetown. The house was a small one, and there was nota single rose in the garden around it. Indeed, as the cottage had beennewly erected, there was not even a garden, and it stood amidst a bareacre with a large drying-ground at the back. But the cottage, on theoutskirts of the new suburb, was, to all intents and purposes, in thecountry, and Sylvia's weary eyes were so gladdened by green fields andglorious trees that she forgot the nakedness of her immediatesurroundings. She was assigned the best room in the small abode, and oneof the first things she did was to write a letter to Paul asking him torepair to Rose Cottage to witness the marriage of Deborah and Bart. Thehandmaiden thought this was necessary, so that she could make full useof her intended husband. 

"If he wasn't here allays, " said the bride-elect, "he'd be gadding aboutidling. I know him. An' me getting a business together won't be easyunless I've got him at 'and, as you may say, to take round the bills, let alone that he ought to sleep in the 'ouse in case burgulars gits in. And sleep in the 'ouse without the blessin' of matrimony he can't, mypretty, so that's all about it. "

Deborah, as an American would say, was a "hustler, " and having made upher mind, she did not let grass grow under her feet. She called on thevicar of the parish and explained herself at great length, butsuppressed the fact that she had formerly lived in Gwynne Street. Shedid not want the shadow of the murder to cast a gloom over her new home, and therefore said nothing about the matter. All the vicar, good, easysoul, knew, was that Deborah had been a servant in a respectable family(whereabouts not mentioned); that the father and mother had died, andthat she had brought the only daughter of the house to live with her andbe treated like a lady. Then Deborah demanded that the banns should beput up, and arranged that Bart should take up his abode in the parishfor the necessary time. This was done, and for three Sundays Deborah hadthe pleasure of hearing the banns announced which foretold that BartTawsey and herself would soon be man and wife. Then the marriage tookplace. 

The future Mrs. Tawsey had no relatives, but Bart produced a snuffy oldgrandmother from some London slum who drank gin during thewedding-feast, much to the scandal of the bride. Paul acted as best manto Bart, and Sylvia, in her plain black dress, was bridesmaid. Mrs. Purr, the grandmother, objected to the presence of black at a wedding, saying it was unlucky, and told of many fearful incidents which hadafterwards occurred to those who had tolerated such a funeral garb. ButDeborah swept away all opposition. 

"What!" she shouted in her usual style, "not 'ave my own sweet pretty toarsk a blessing on my marriage, and she not able to git out of 'erblacks? I'm astonished at you, Mrs. Purr, and you an old woman asoughter know better. I doubt if you're Bart's granny. I've married intoan ijit race. Don't talk to me, Mrs. Purr, if you please. Live clean an'work 'ard, and there's no trouble with them 'usbands. As 'as to love, honor and obey you. "--And she sniffed. 

"Them words you 'ave t' saiy, " mumbled Mrs. Purr. 

"Ho, " said Deborah, scornfully, "I'd like to see me say 'em to sich ascrub as Bart. "

But say them she did at the altar, being compelled to do so by thevicar. But when the ceremony was over, the newly-made Mrs. Tawsey tookBart by the arm and shook him. He was small and lean and of a nervousnature, so he quivered like a jelly in his wife's tremendous grip. Deborah was really ignorant of her own strength. 

"You 'ark to me, Bart, " said she, while the best man and bridesmaidwalked on ahead talking lovingly. "I said them words, which you oughter'ave said, 'cause you ain't got no memory t' speak of. But they ain't mybeliefs, but yours, or I'll know the reason why. Jes' you say them now. Swear, without Billingsgate, as you'll allays love, honor an' obey yourlovin' wife. "

Bart, still being shaken, gasped out the words, and then gave his arm tothe lady who was to rule his life. Deborah kissed him in a loud, heartyway, and led him in triumph to the cottage. Here Mrs. Purr had prepareda simple meal, and the health of the happy pair was proposed by Paul. Mrs. Purr toasted them in gin, and wept as she did so. A dismal, tearfulold woman was Mrs. Purr, and she was about to open her mouth, in orderto explain what she thought would come of the marriage, when Mrs. Tawseystopped her. 

"None of them groans, " cried Deborah, with vigor. "I won't have myweddings made funerals. 'Old your tongue, Mrs. Purr, and you, Bart, jes'swear to love, honor an' obey my pretty as you would your own lawfulwife, and the ceremonies is hoff. "

Bart performed the request, and then Paul, laughing at the oddity of itall, took his leave. On walking to the gate, he was overtaken by Mrs. Purr, who winked mysteriously. "Whatever you do, sir, " said the lean oldcreature, with many contortions of her withered face, "don't havenothin' to do with Tray. "

"Tray, " echoed Paul in surprise. "Mr. Pash's office boy?"

"Him and none other. I knows his grandmother, as 'as bin up for drunktwo hundred times, and is proud of it. Stretchers is as common to her, sir, as kissings is to a handsome young gent like you. An' the boy takesarter her. A deep young cuss, " whispered Granny Purr, significantly. 

"But why should I beware of him?" asked Beecot, puzzled. 

"A nod's a wink to a blind 'un, " croaked Mrs. Purr, condensing theproverb, and turning away. "Jus' leave that brat, Tray, to his ownwickedness. They'll bring him to the gallers some day. "

"But I want to know--"

"Ah, well, then, you won't, sir. I ses what I ses, and I ses no more norI oughter say. So good-night, sir, " and Mrs. Purr toddled up thenewly-gravelled path, and entered the cottage, leaving an odor of ginbehind her. 

Beecot had half a mind to follow, so strange was the hint she had givenhim. Apparently, she knew something which connected him with Tray, andPaul wondered for the fiftieth time, if the boy had picked up the opalbrooch. However, he decided to leave the matter alone for the present. Mrs. Purr, whom Deborah had engaged to iron, was always available, andPaul decided, that should anything point to Tray's being implicated inthe finding of the opal serpent, that he would hand him over to Hurd, who would be better able to deal with such a keen young imp of thegutter. Thus making up his mind, Paul dismissed all thought of Mrs. Purr's mysterious utterance, and walked briskly to the nearestbus-stand, where he took a blue vehicle to the Bloomsbury district. Allthe way to his garret he dreamed of Sylvia, and poor though was thehome he had left her in, he was thankful that she was there in the safeshelter of Mrs. Deborah Tawsey's arms. 

It was five o'clock when Paul arrived at the door of the stairs leadingto his attic, and here he was touched on the shoulder by no less aperson than Mr. Billy Hurd. Only when he spoke did Paul recognize him byhis voice, for the gentleman who stood before him was not the brownindividual he knew as the detective. Mr. Hurd was in evening dress, withthe neatest of patent boots and the tightest of white gloves. He wore abrilliantly-polished silk hat, and twirled a gold-headed cane. Also hehad donned a smart blue cloth overcoat with a velvet collar and cuffs. But though his voice was the voice of Hurd, his face was that of quite adifferent person. His hair was dark and worn rather long, his moustacheblack and large, and brushed out _ŕ la Kaiser_, and he affected aneye-glass as immovable as that of Hay's. Altogether a wonderfullychanged individual. 

"Hurd, " said Paul, starting with surprise. 

"It's my voice told you. But now--" he spoke a tone higher in a shrillsort of way and with a foreign accent--"vould you me discover, mon ami?"he inquired, with a genuine Parisian shrug. 

"No. Why are you masquerading as a Frenchman, Hurd?"

"Not Hurd in this skin, Mr. Beecot. Comte de la Tour, ŕ votre service, "and he presented a thin glazed card with a coronet engraved on it. 

"Well, Count, " said Beecot, laughing, "what can I do for you?"

"Come up to your room, " said the pseudo count, mounting the stairs;"there's something to be talked over between us. "

"No bad news, I hope?"

"Ah, my poor friend, " said the detective, in his usual genial voice, "you have had enough bad news, I am aware. To lose a lovely wife and afine fortune at once. Eh, what a pity!"

"I have lost the money, certainly, " said Beecot, lighting his lamp, "butthe wife will be mine as soon as I can save sufficient to give her abetter home than this. "

Monsieur le Comte de la Tour sat down and gracefully flung open hisovercoat, so as to expose a spotless shirt front. "What?" he asked, lifting his darkened eyebrows, "so you mean to marry that girl?"

"Of course, " said Paul, angrily; "do you think I'm a brute?"

"But the money?"

"What does that matter. I love her, not the money. "

"And the name. Her birth--"

"I'll give her my own name and then we'll see who will dare to say aword against my wife. "

Hurd stretched out his hand, and, grasping that of Beecot's, shook itwarmly. "Upon my word you are a man, and that's almost better than beinga gentleman, " he said heartily. "I've heard everything from Mr. Pash, and I honor you Mr. Beecot--I honor you. "

Paul stared. "You must have been brought up in a queer way, Hurd, " hesaid drily, "to express this surprise because a man acts as a man andnot as a blackguard. "

"Ah, but you see in my profession I have mixed with blackguards, andthat has lowered my moral tone. It's refreshing to meet a straight, honorable man such as you are, Mr. Beecot. I liked you when first I seteyes on you, and determined to help you to discover the assassin ofAaron Norman--"

"Lemuel Krill you mean. "

"I prefer to call him by the name we both know best, " said Hurd, "butas I was saying, I promised to help you to find out who killed the man;now I'll help you to get back the money. "

Paul sat down and stared. "What do you mean?" he asked. "The money can'tbe got back. I asked a legal friend of mine, and put the case to him, since that monkey of a Pash has thrown us over. My friend said that asno name was mentioned in the will, Maud Krill would undoubtedly inheritthe money. Besides, I learn that the certificate of marriage is allright. Mrs. Krill undoubtedly married Aaron Norman under his rightfulname thirty years ago. "

"Oh, yes, that's all right, " said Hurd, producing a dainty silvercigarette case, which was part of his "get-up. " "Mrs. Krill is the widowof the murdered man, and the silly way in which the will has been madegives the five thousand a year to her daughter, whom Mrs. Krill hasunder her thumb. It's all right as I say. But I shouldn't be surprisedto learn that there were circumstances in Aaron Norman's past life whichled him to leave his wife, and which may lead Mrs. Krill into buyingsilence by giving Miss Norman half the income. You could live on twothousand odd a year, eh?"

"Not obtained in that way, " said Beecot, filling his pipe and passing amatch to Hurd. "If the money comes legally to Sylvia, well and good;otherwise she will have nothing to do with it. "

Hurd looked round the bleak garret expressively and shrugged hisshoulders again. "I think you are wrong, Mr. Beecot. You can't bring herhere. "

"No. But I may make enough money to give her a better home. "

"Can I help you?"

"I don't see how you can. I want to be an author. "

"Well, " said Hurd, whose British speech was in strange contrast to hisforeign appearance, "it's not a bad game to be an author if you get agood serial connection. Oh, don't look surprised. I know aboutnewspapers and publishers as I know about most things. See here, Mr. Beecot, have you ever tried your hand at a detective story?"

"No. I write on a higher level. "

"You won't write on a more paying level, " replied Hurd, coolly. "I knowa newspaper which will give you--if I recommend you, mind--one hundredpounds for a good detective yarn. You apply for it. "

"But I couldn't make up one of those plots--so intricate. "

"Pooh. It's a trick. You set your puppets in such and such a way andthen mix them up. I'll give you the benefit of my experience as a 'tec, and with my plot and your own writing we'll be able to knock up a storyfor the paper I talk of. Then, with one hundred pounds you'll have anest-egg to start with. "

"I accept with gratitude, " said Beecot, moved, "but I really don't knowwhy you should trouble about me. "

"Because you're a white man and an honorable gentleman, " said thedetective, emphatically. "I've got a dear little wife of my own, andshe's something like this poor Miss Norman. Then again, though youmightn't think so, I'm something of a Christian, and believe we shouldhelp others. I had a hard life, Mr. Beecot, before I became a detective, and many a time have I learned that prayers can be answered. But this isall beside the question, " went on Hurd quickly, and with that nervousshame with which an Englishman masks the better part of himself. "I'llsee about the story for you. Meanwhile, I am going to a card-party tomeet, incidentally, Mr. Grexon Hay. "

"Ah! You still suspect him?"

"I do, and with good reason. He's got another mug in tow. Lord GeorgeSandal, the son of Lord--well I needn't mention names, but Hay's tryingto clear the young ass out, and I'm on the watch. Hay will never know meas the Count de la Tour. Not he, smart as he is. I'm fly!"

"Do you speak French well?"

"Moderately. But I play a silent part and say little. I shut my mouthand open my eyes. But what I came here to say is, that I intend to findout the assassin of Aaron Norman. "

"I can't offer you a reward, Hurd, " said Paul, with a sigh. 

"Oh, that's all right. The widow, by the advice of Pash, has doubled thereward. One thousand pounds it is now--worth winning, eh?"

"Humph!" said Paul, moodily, "I shouldn't think she loved her husband somuch as that. "

Hurd's brown eyes shot a red flame which showed that he was excited, though he was cool enough externally. "Yes, " he admitted in a carelessmanner, "she certainly does act the weeping widow in rather anexaggerated fashion. However, she's got the cash now--or at least herdaughter has, which is the same thing. The two have taken up theirquarters in a fashionable hotel in the West End, and are looking for ahouse. The old woman manages everything, and she will be one too manyfor Mr. Hay. "

"What? Does he know Mrs. Krill? He said he didn't. "

"Quite right. He didn't when the ladies went first to Pash's office. ButHay, on the look-out for a rich wife, got Pash to introduce him to theladies, who were charmed with him. He's making up to the daughter, evenin the few weeks that have elapsed, and now is assisting them to find ahouse. The daughter loves him I fancy, but whether the mother willallow the marriage to take place I can't say. "

"Surely not on such a short acquaintance. "

Hurd bent forward as about to say something, then changed his mind. "Really, I don't know--Hay is fascinating and handsome. Have you been tosee him yet?"

"No. He asked me, but all these troubles have put him out of my head. Why do you ask?"

"Because next time he invites you, go. "

"You warned me against him. "

"And I warn you again, " said the detective, dryly. "Don't ask me toexplain, for I can't. But you go to see Hay when he invites you, andmake yourself agreeable, especially to Mrs. Krill. "

"Am I likely to meet her?" asked Paul, with repugnance. 

"Yes, I fancy so. After all, you are engaged to the daughter of the deadman, and Mrs. Krill--I don't count Maud, who is a tool--is a deucedlyclever woman. She will keep her eye on you and Miss Norman. "

"Why? She has the money and need take no further notice. "

Hurd closed one eye in a suggestive manner. "Mrs. Krill may not be sosure of the money, even though possession is nine points of the law. Youremember that scrap of paper found by the maid?"

"In which Norman warned Sylvia against allowing his real name to becomeknown? Yes. "

"Well, the letter wasn't finished. The old man was interrupted, Isuppose. But in the few lines of writing Norman says, " here Hurd took ascrap of paper--a copy--out of his book and read, "'If the name of Krillgets into the papers there will be great trouble. Keep it from thepublic, I can tell you where to find the reasons for this as I havewritten'--and then, " said Hurd, refolding the paper, "the writing ends. But you can see that Aaron Norman wrote out an account of his reasons, which could not be pleasant for Mrs. Krill to hear. "

"I still don't understand, " said Paul, hopelessly puzzled. 

"Well, " said the detective, rising and putting on his smart hat, "it'srather a muddle, I confess. I have no reason to suspect Mrs. Krill--"

"Good heavens, Hurd, you don't think she killed her husband?"

"No. I said that I have no reason to suspect her. But I don't like thewoman at all. Norman left his wife for some unpleasant reason, and thatreason, as I verily believe, has something to do with his death. I don'tsay that Mrs. Krill killed him, but I do believe that she knows ofcircumstances which may lead to the detection of the criminal. "

"In that case she would save her thousand pounds. "

"That's just where it is. If she does know, why does she double thereward? A straightforward woman would speak out, but she's a crookedsort of creature; I shouldn't like to have her for my enemy. "

"It seems to me that you do suspect her, " said Paul dryly, but puzzled. 

Hurd shrugged his shoulders. "No, but I'm in a fix, that's a truth, "said he, and sauntered towards the door. "I can't see my way. There'sthe clue of Mrs. Krill's past to be followed up, and the hint containedin this scrap of paper. The old man may have left a document behindlikely to solve the whole business. He hints as much here. "

"True enough, but nothing was found. "

"Then again, " went on Hurd, "the request for the jewels to be deliveredto that sailor chap was in Norman's handwriting and signed with hisname. "

"A forgery. "

"No. Pash, who knows his writing better than any other man, says thedocument is genuine. Now then, Mr. Beecot, what made Aaron Norman writeand sign those lines giving up his property--or a part of it--justbefore his death?"

"It may have been done in good faith. "

"No. If so, the messenger would not have cleared out when Pash startedfor Gwynne Street. That nautical gent knew what the lawyer would find atthe house, and so made himself scarce after trying to get the jewels. This scrap of paper, " Hurd touched his breast, "and that request for thejewels in Pash's possession. Those are my clues. "

"And the opal serpent?" asked Paul. 

Hurd shook his head gloomily. "It's connection with the matter is beyondme, " he confessed. 

CHAPTER XIV

MR. HAY'S LITTLE DINNER

The detective was as good as his word. In a few days Paul was introducedto the editor of a weekly publication and obtained a commission for astory to be written in collaboration with Mr. Hurd. It seemed that theeditor was an old acquaintance of Hurd's and had been extricated by himfrom some trouble connected with cards. The editor, to show hisgratitude, and because that Hurd's experiences, thrown into the form ofa story, could not fail to interest the public, was only too willing tomake a liberal arrangement. Also Paul was permanently engaged to supplyshort stories, to read those that were submitted to the editor, and, infact, he permanently became that gentleman's right hand. He was a kind, beery Bohemian of an editor, Scott by name, and took quite a fancy toPaul. 

"I'll give you three pounds a week, " said Scott, beaming through hislarge spectacles and raking his long gray beard with tobacco-stainedfingers, "you can live on that, and to earn it you can give me youropinion on the stories. Then between whiles you can talk to Hurd andwrite this yarn which I am sure will be interesting. Hurd has had somequeer experiences. "

This was quite true. Hurd had ventured on strange waters, but thestrangest he ever sailed on were those connected with the Gwynne Streetcase. These latter experiences he did not tell to Scott, who wasincapable of holding his tongue, and secrecy, as the detective impressedon Paul, was absolutely necessary to the conduct of the case. "If wekeep matters quiet, " argued Hurd, "and let those concerned in the matterfancy the case has been dropped, we'll be able to throw them off theirguard, and then they may betray themselves. "

"I wish you would say if you think there is one person or two, " saidPaul, irritably, for his nerves were wearing thin under the strain. "Youfirst talk of the assassin and then of the assassins. "

"Well, " drawled Hurd, smiling, "I'm in the dark, you see, and being onlya flesh and blood human being, instead of a creation of one of youauthors, I can only grope in the dark and look in every direction forthe light. One person, two persons, three, even four may be engaged inthis affair for all I know. Don't you be in a hurry, Mr. Beecot. Ibelieve in that foreign chap's saying, 'Without haste without rest. '"

"Goethe said that. "

"Then Goethe is a sensible man, and must have read his Bible. 'Make nohaste in time of trouble, ' says the Scriptures. "

"Very good, " assented Beecot; "take your own time. "

"I intend to, " said Hurd, coolly. "Bless you, slow and sure is my motto. There's no hurry. You are fixed up with enough to live on, and aprospect of making more. Your young lady is happy enough with thatgrenadier of a woman in spite of the humbleness of the home. Mrs. Krilland her daughter are enjoying the five thousand a year, and Mr. GrexonHay is fleecing that young ass, Lord George Sandal, as easily aspossible. I stand by and watch everything. When the time comes I'llpounce down on--"

"Ah, " said Paul, "that's the question. On whom?"

"On one or two or a baker's dozen, " rejoined Hurd, calmly. "My chickensain't hatched yet, so I don't count 'em. By the way, is your oldschool-fellow as friendly as ever?"

"Yes. Why, I can't understand; as he certainly will make no money out ofme. He's giving a small dinner to-morrow night at his rooms and hasasked me. "

"You go, " said the detective, emphatically; "and don't let on you haveanything to do with me. "

"See here, Hurd, I won't play the spy, if you mean that. "

"I don't mean anything of the sort, " replied Hurd, earnestly, "but ifyou do chance to meet Mrs. Krill at this dinner, and if she does chanceto drop a few words about her past, you might let me know. "

"Oh, I don't mind doing that, " said Beecot, with relief. "I am asanxious to find out the truth about this murder as you are, if not moreso. The truth, I take it, is to be found in Krill's past, before he tookthe name of Norman. Mrs. Krill will know of that past, and I'll try andlearn all I can from her. But Hay has nothing to do with the crime, andI won't spy on him. "

"Very good. Do what you like. But as to Hay, having nothing to do withthe matter, I still think Hay stole that opal brooch from you when youwere knocked down. "

"In that case Hay must know who killed Norman, " cried Paul, excited. 

"He just does, " rejoined Hurd, calmly; "and now you can understandanother reason why I take such an interest in that gentleman. "

"But you can't be certain?"

"Quite so. I am in the dark, as I said before. But Hay is a dangerousman and would do anything to rake in the dollars. He has something to dowith the disappearance of that brooch I am sure, and if so, he knowsmore than he says. Besides"--here Hurd hesitated--"No! I'll tell youthat later. "

"Tell me what?"

"Something about Hay that will astonish you and make you think he hassomething to do with the crime. Meanwhile, learn all you can from Mrs. Krill. "

"If I meet her, " said Paul, with a shrug. 

Undoubtedly Hurd knew more than he was prepared to admit, and not evento Paul, staunch as he knew him to be, would he speak confidentially. When the time came the detective would speak out. At present he held histongue and moved in clouds like a Homeric deity. But his eyes were onall those connected with the late Aaron Norman, indirectly or directly, although each and every one of them were unaware of the scrutiny. 

Paul had no scruples in learning all he could from Mrs. Krill. He didnot think that she had killed her husband, and probably might beignorant of the person or persons who had slain the poor wretch in socruel a manner. But the motive of the crime was to be found in Norman'spast, and Mrs. Krill knew all about this. Therefore, Paul was verypleased when he found that Mrs. Krill and her daughter were the guestsat the little dinner. 

Hay's rooms were large and luxuriously furnished. In effect, he occupieda small flat in the house of an ex-butler, and had furnished the placehimself in a Sybarite fashion. The ex-butler and his wife and servantslooked after Hay, and in addition, that languid gentleman possessed aslim valet, with a sly face, who looked as though he knew more than wasgood for him. Indeed, the whole atmosphere of the rooms was shady andfast, and Paul, simple young fellow as he was, felt the bad influencethe moment he stepped into the tiny drawing-room. 

This was furnished daintily and with great taste in color andfurnishing. It was more like a woman's room, and Mr. Hay had spared nocost in making it pleasing to the eye and comfortable to the body. Theprevailing tone was pale yellow, and the electric light suffused itselfthrough lemon-shaded globes. The Louis Quinze furniture was upholsteredin primrose, and there were many Persian praying mats and Easterndraperies about the place. Water-color pictures decked the walls, andnumerous mirrors reflected the dainty, pretty apartment. A brisk firewas burning, although the evening was not cold, and everything lookeddelightfully pleasant. Paul could not help contrasting all this luxuryand taste with his bare garret. But with Sylvia's love to warm hisheart, he would not have changed places with Grexon Hay for all hissplendor. 

Two ladies were seated by the fire. Mrs. Krill in black, majestic andcalm as usual. She wore diamonds on her breast and jewelled stars in hergray hair. Although not young, she was a wonderfully well-preservedwoman, and her arms and neck were white, gleaming and beautifullyshaped. From the top of her head to the sole of her rather large butwell-shod foot, she was dressed to perfection, and waved a languid fanas she welcomed Paul, who was presented to her by the host. "I am gladto see you, Mr. Beecot, " she said in her deep voice; "we had rather anunhappy interview when last we met. How is Miss Norman?"

"She is quite well, " replied Paul, in as cordial a tone as he couldcommand. For the sake of learning what he could, he wished to beamiable, but it was difficult when he reflected that this large, suave, smiling woman had robbed Sylvia of a fortune and had spoken of her in acontemptuous way. But Beecot, swallowing down his pride, held his littlecandle to the devil without revealing his repugnance too openly. Andapparently Mrs. Krill believed that his composure was genuine enough, for she was quite at her ease in his presence. 

The daughter was dressed like the mother, save that she wore pearls inplace of diamonds. She talked but little, as usual, and sat smiling, theyoung image of the older woman. Hay also introduced Paul to a handsomeyoung fellow of twenty-one with rather a feeble face. This was LordGeorge Sandal, the pigeon Hay was plucking, and although he had charmingmanners and an assumption of worldly wisdom, he was evidently one ofthose who had come into the world saddled and bridled for other folk'sriding. 

A third lady was also present, who called herself Aurora Qian, and Hayinformed his friend in a whisper that she was an actress. Paul thenremembered that he had seen her name in the papers as famous in lightcomedy. She was pretty and kittenish, with fluffy hair and an eternalsmile. It was impossible to imagine a greater contrast to the massivefirmness of Mrs. Krill than the lively, girlish demeanor of the littlewoman, yet Paul had an instinct that Miss Qian, in spite of herprofession and odd name and childish giggle, was a more shrewd personthan she looked. Everyone was bright and merry and chatty: all save MaudKrill who smiled and fanned herself in a statuesque way. Hay paid hergreat attention, and Paul knew very well that he intended to marry thesilent woman for her money. It would be hardly earned he thought, withsuch a firm-looking mother-in-law as Mrs. Krill would certainly prove tobe. 

The dinner was delightful, well cooked, daintily served, and leisurelyeaten. A red-shaded lamp threw a rosy light on the white cloth, theglittering crystal and bright silver. The number of diners was less thanthe Muses, and more than the Graces, and everyone laid himself orherself out to make things bright. And again Maud Krill may bementioned as an exception. She ate well and held her tongue, merelysmiling heavily when addressed. Paul, glancing at her serene face acrossthe rosy-hued table, wondered if she really was as calm as she looked, and if she really lacked the brain power her mother seemed to possess. 

"I am glad to see you here, Beecot, " said Hay, smiling. 

"I am very glad to be here, " said Paul, adapting himself tocircumstances, "especially in such pleasant company. "

"You don't go out much, " said Lord George. 

"No, I am a poor author who has yet to win his spurs. "

"I thought of being an author myself, " said the young man, "but it wassuch a fag to think about things. "

"You want your material supplied to you perhaps, " put in Mrs. Krill in acalm, contemptuous way. 

"Oh, no! If I wrote stories like the author johnnies I'd rake up myfamily history. There's lots of fun there. "

"Your family mightn't like it, " giggled Miss Qian. "I know lots ofthings about my own people which would read delightfully if Mr. Beecotset them down, but then--" she shrugged her dainty shoulders, "oh, dearme, what a row there would be!"

"I suppose there is a skeleton in every cupboard, " said Hay, suavely, and quite ignoring the shady tenant in his own. 

"There's a whole dozen cupboards with skeletons to match in my family, "said the young lord. "Why, I had an aunt, Lady Rachel Sandal, who wasmurdered over twenty years ago. Now, " he said, looking triumphantlyround the table, "which of you can say there's a murder in yourfamily--eh, ladies and gentlemen?"

Paul glanced sideways at Mrs. Krill, wondering what she would say, andwondering also how it was that Lord George did not know she was thewidow of the murdered Lemuel Krill, whose name had been so widelyadvertised. But Hay spoke before anyone could make a remark. "What anunpleasant subject, " he said, with a pretended shudder, "let us talk ofless melodramatic things. "

"Oh, why, " said Mrs. Krill, using her fan. "I rather like to hear aboutmurders. "

Lord George looked oddly at her, and seemed about to speak. Paul thoughtfor the moment that he did know about the Gwynne Street crime andintended to remark thereon. But if so his good taste told him that hewould be ill-advised to speak and he turned to ask for another glass ofwine. Miss Aurora Qian looked in her pretty shrewd way from one to theother. "I just love the Newgate Calendar, " she said, clasping her hands. "There's lovely plots for dramas to be found there. Don't you think so, Mr. Beecot?"

"I don't read that sort of literature, Miss Qian. "

"Ah, then you don't know what people are capable of in the way ofcruelty, Mr. Beecot. "

"I don't want to know, " retorted Paul, finding the subject distastefuland wondering why the actress pressed it, as she undoubtedly did. "Iprefer to write stories to elevate the mind. "

Miss Qian made a grimace and shot a meaning look at him. "It doesn'tpay, " she said, tittering, "and money is what we all want. "

"I fear I don't care for money overmuch. "

"No, " said Mrs. Krill to him in an undertone, "I know that from the wayyou spoke in Mr. Pash's office. "

"I was standing up for the rights of another. "

"You will be rewarded, " she replied meaningly, but what she did meanPaul could not understand. 

The rest of the dinner passed off well enough, as the subject waschanged. Lord George began to talk of racing, and Hay responded. Mrs. Krill alone seemed shocked. "I don't believe in gambling, " she saidicily. 

"I hope you are not very down on it, " said Hay. "Lord George and Ipropose to play bridge with you ladies in the next room. "

"Maud can play and Miss Qian, " said the widow. "I'll talk to Mr. Beecot, unless he prefers the fascination of the green cloth. "

"I would rather talk to you, " replied Paul, bowing. 

Mrs. Krill nodded, and then went out of the room with the youngerladies. The three gentlemen filled their glasses with port, and Haypassed round a box of cigars. Soon they were smoking and chatting, in amost amicable fashion. Lord George talked a great deal about racing andcards, and his bad luck with both. Hay said very little and every nowand then cast a glance at Paul, to see how he was taking theconversation. At length, when Sandal became a trifle vehement on thesubject of his losses, Hay abruptly changed the subject, by refillinghis glass and those of his companions. "I want you to drink to thehealth of my future bride, " he said. 

"What, " cried Paul, staring, "Miss Krill?"

"The same, " responded Hay, coldly. "You see I have taken your advice andintend to settle. Pash presented me to the ladies when next they came tohis office, and since then I have been almost constantly with them. MissKrill's affections were disengaged, and she, therefore, with hermother's consent, became my promised wife. "

"I wish you joy, " said Lord George, draining his glass and fillinganother, "and, by Jove! for your sake, I hope she's got money. "

"Oh, yes, she's well off, " said Hay, calmly, "and you, Paul?"

"I congratulate you, of course, " stammered Beecot, dazed; "but it's sosudden. You haven't known her above a month. "

"Five weeks or so, " said Hay, smiling, and sinking his voice lower, headded, "I can't afford to let grass grow under my feet. This young asshere might snap her up, and Mrs. Krill would only be too glad to securea title for Maud. "

"I say, " said Lord George suddenly, and waking from a brown study, "whois Mrs. Krill? I've heard the name. "

"It's not an uncommon name, " said Hay, untruthfully and quickly. "She isa rich widow who has lately come to London. "

"Where did she come from?"

"I can't tell you that. From the wilds of Yorkshire I believe. You hadbetter ask her. "

"Oh, by Jove, no, I wouldn't be so rude. But I seem to know the name. "Paul privately thought that if he read the papers, he ought certainly toknow the name, and he was on the point of making, perhaps an injudiciousremark, but Hay pointedly looked at him in such a meaning way, that heheld his tongue. More, when they left their wine for the society of theladies, Hay squeezed his friend's arm in the passage. 

"Don't mention the death, " he said, using a politer word by preference. "Sandal doesn't connect Mrs. Krill with the dead man. She wants to livethe matter down. "

"In that case she ought to leave London for a time. "

"She intends to. When I make Maud my wife, we will travel with hermother for a year or two, until the scandal of the murder blows over. Luckily the name of Lemuel Krill was not mentioned often in the papers, and Sandal hasn't seen a hand-bill that I know of. I suppose you agreewith me that silence is judicious?"

"Yes, " assented Paul, "I think it is. "

"And you congratulate me on my approaching marriage?"

"Certainly. Now, perhaps, you will live like Falstaff when he was made aknight. "

Hay did not understand the allusion and looked puzzled. However, he hadno time to say more, as they entered the drawing-room. Almost as soon asthey did, Mrs. Krill summoned Paul to her side. 

"And now, " she said, "let us talk of Miss Norman. "

CHAPTER XV

A NEW CLUE

"I don't wish to talk of Miss Norman, " said Paul, bluntly. 

"Then you can be no true lover, " retorted the widow. 

"I disagree with you. A true lover does not talk to all and sundryconcerning the most sacred feelings of his heart. Moreover, your remarksat our last meeting were not to my taste. "

"I apologize, " said Mrs. Krill, promptly, "and will not offend in thatway again. I did not know you then, but since Mr. Hay has spoken aboutyou to me, I know and appreciate you, Mr. Beecot. "

But Paul was not to be cajoled in this manner. The more suave the womanwas, the more he felt inclined to be on his guard, and he very wiselyobeyed the prompting of his instinct. "I fear you do _not_ know me, Mrs. Krill, " said he as coldly as Hay could have spoken, "else you wouldhardly ask me to discuss with you, of all people, the lady whom I intendto make my wife. "

"You are rather a difficult man to deal with, " she replied, drawing herthick white eyebrows together. "But I like difficult men. That is why Iadmire Mr. Hay: he is not a silly, useless butterfly like that younglord there. "

"Silly he is not, but I doubt his being useful. So far as I can see Haylooks after himself and nobody else. "

"He proposes to look after my daughter. "

"So I understand, " replied Beecot, politely, "but that is a matterentirely for your own consideration. "

Mrs. Krill still continued to smile in her placid way, but she wasrather nonplussed all the same. From the appearance of Beecot, she hadargued that he was one of those many men she could twist round herfinger. But he seemed to be less easily guided than she expected, andfor the moment she was silent, letting her hard eyes wander towards thecard-table, round which sat the four playing an eager and engrossinggame of bridge. "You don't approve of that perhaps?"

"No, " said Paul, calmly, "I certainly do not. "

"Are you a Puritan may I ask?"

Beecot shook his head and laughed. "I am a simple man, who tries to dohis duty in this world, " said he, "and who very often finds it difficultto do that same duty. "

"How do you define duty, Mr. Beecot?"

"We are becoming ethical, " said Paul, with a smile. "I don't know that Iam prepared with an answer at present. "

"Then the next time we meet. For I hope, " said Mrs. Krill, smoothing herface to a smile--it had grown rather sombre--"that we shall often meetagain. You must come and see us. We have taken a house in Kensington. "

"Chosen by Mr. Hay?"

"Yes! He is our mentor in London Society. I don't think, " added Mrs. Krill, studying his face, "that you like Mr. Hay. "

"As I am Mr. Hay's guest, " said Paul, dryly, "that is rather an unkindquestion to ask. "

"I asked no question. I simply make a statement. "

Beecot found the conversation rather embarrassing. In place of hispumping Mrs. Krill, she was trying to pump him, which reversal of hisdesign he by no means approved of. He changed the subject ofconversation by drawing a powerfully attractive red herring across thetrail. "You wish to speak to me about Miss Norman, " he remarked. 

"I do, " answered Mrs. Krill, who saw through his design, "but apparentlythat subject is as distasteful as a discussion about Mr. Hay. "

"Both subjects are rather personal, I admit, Mrs. Krill. However, if youhave anything to tell me, which you would like Miss Norman to hear, I amwilling to listen. "

"Ah! Now you are more reasonable, " she answered in a pleased tone. "Itis simply this, Mr. Beecot: I am very sorry for the girl. Through nofault of her own, she is placed in a difficult position. I cannot giveher a name, since her father sinned against her as he sinned in anotherway against me, but I can--through my daughter, who is guided byme--give her an income. It does not seem right that I should have allthis money--"

"That your daughter should have all this money, " interpolated Beecot. 

"My daughter and I are one, " replied Mrs. Krill, calmly; "when I speakfor myself, I speak for her. But, as I say, it doesn't seem right weshould be in affluence and Miss Norman in poverty. So I propose to allowher five hundred a year--on conditions. Will she accept, do you think, Mr. Beecot?"

"I should think her acceptance would depend upon the conditions. "

"They are very simple, " said Mrs. Krill in her deep tones, and lookingvery straightly at Paul. "She is to marry you and go to America. "

Beecot's face did not change, since her hard eyes were on it. But he waspuzzled under his mask of indifference. Why did this woman want Sylviato marry him, and go into exile? He temporized. "With regard to yourwish that Miss Norman should marry me, " said he, quietly, "it is ofcourse very good of you to interest yourself in the matter. I fail tounderstand your reason, however. "

"Yet the reason is patent, " rejoined Mrs. Krill, just as quietly andquite as watchful as before. "Sylvia Norman is a young girl without muchcharacter----"

"In that I disagree with you. "

"Well, let us admit she has character, but she certainly has noexperience. In the world, she is exposed to much trouble and, perhaps, may be, to temptation. Since her position is the fault of her father, and she is entirely innocent, I want her to have a happy life. For thatreason I wish her to marry you. "

Paul bowed, not believing a word of this philanthropic speech. "Again, Isay it is good of you, " said he with some irony; "but even were I out ofthe way, her nurse, Deborah Tawsey, would look after her. As mattersstand, however, she will certainly become my wife as soon as we canafford a home. "

"You can afford it to-morrow, " said Mrs. Krill, eagerly, "if you willaccept my offer. "

"A home in America, " said Paul, "and why?"

"I should think both of you would like to be away from a place where youhave seen such a tragedy. "

"Indeed. " Paul committed himself to no opinion. "And, supposing weaccept your offer, which I admit is a generous one, you suggest weshould go to the States. "

"Or to Canada, or Australia, or--in fact--you can go anywhere, so longas you leave England. I tell you, Mr. Beecot, even at the risk ofhurting your feelings, that I want that girl away from London. Myhusband treated me very badly--he was a brute always--and I hate tohave that girl before my eyes. "

"Yet she is innocent. "

"Have I not said that a dozen times, " rejoined Mrs. Krill, impatiently. "What is the use of further discussion. Do you accept my offer?"

"I will convey it to Miss Norman. It is for her to decide. "

"But you have the right since you are to be her husband. "

"Pardon me, no. I would never take such a responsibility on me. I shalltell Miss Norman what you say, and convey her answer to you. "

"Thank you, " said Mrs. Krill, graciously. But she was annoyed that hergolden bait had not been taken immediately, and, in spite of hersuavity, Paul could see that she was annoyed, the more so when she beganto explain. "Of course you understand my feelings. "

"I confess I don't quite. Naturally, the fact that you are connectedwith the murder in the public eyes--"

"Pardon me, " said the woman, swiftly, "but I am not. The name of Krillhas hardly been noticed. The public know that Aaron Norman was murdered. No one talks of Lemuel Krill, or thinks that I am the widow of themurdered man. Possibly I may come across some people who will connectthe two names, and look askance at me, but the majority of people--suchas Lord George there, " she pointed with her fan, "do not think of me inthe way you say. As he did, they will think they remember the name--"

"Lord George did not say that to you, " said Paul, swiftly. 

"No. But he did to Mr. Hay, who told me, " rejoined Mrs. Krill, quite asswiftly. 

"To-night?" asked Beecot, remembering that Hay had not spoken privatelyto Mrs. Krill since they came in from the dining-room. 

"Oh, no--on another occasion. Lord George has several times said that hehas a faint recollection of my name. Possibly the connection between meand the murder may occur to his mind, but he is really so very stupidthat I hope he will forget all about the matter. "

"I wonder you don't change your name, " said Paul, looking at her. 

"Certainly not, unless public opinion forces me to change it, " she saiddefiantly. "My life has always been perfectly open and above board, notlike that of my husband. "

"Why did he change his name?" asked Beecot, eagerly--too eagerly, infact, for she drew back. 

"Why do you ask?" she inquired coldly. 

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "An idle question, Mrs. Krill. I have nowish to force your confidence. "

"There is no forcing in the matter, " responded the woman. "I have takenquite a fancy to you, Mr. Beecot, and you shall know what I do. "

"Pray do not tell me if you would rather not. "

"But I would rather, " said Mrs. Krill, bluntly; "it will prevent yourmisconception of anything you may hear about us. My husband's real namewas Lemuel Krill, and he married me thirty years ago. I will be frankwith you and admit that neither of us were gentlefolks. We kept apublic-house on the outskirts of Christchurch in Hants, called 'The RedPig. '" She looked anxiously at him as she spoke. 

"A strange name. "

"Have you never heard of it before?"

"No. Had I heard the name it would have remained in my memory, from itsoddity. "

Paul might have been mistaken, but Mrs. Krill certainly seemed relieved. Yet if she had anything to conceal in connection with "The Red Pig, "why should she have mentioned the name. 

"It is not a first-class hotel, " she went on smoothly, and again withher false smile. "We had only farm laborers and such like as customers. But the custom was good, and we did very well. Then my husband took todrink. "

"In that respect he must have changed, " said Paul, quickly, "for all thetime I knew him--six months it was--I never saw him the worse for drink, and I certainly never heard from those who would be likely to know thathe indulged in alcohol to excess. All the same, " added Paul, with anafter-thought of his conversation with Sylvia in the Embankment garden, "I fancied, from his pale face and shaking hands, and a tightness of theskin, that he might drink. "

"Exactly. He did. He drank brandy in large quantities, and, strange tosay, he never got drunk. "

"What do you mean exactly?" asked Beecot, curiously. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Krill, biting the top of her fan and looking over it, "Lemuel--I'll call him by the old name--never grew red in the face, andeven after years of drinking he never showed any signs of intemperance. Certainly his hands would shake at times, but I never noticedparticularly the tightness of the skin you talk of. "

"A certain shiny look, " explained Paul. 

"Quite so. I never noticed it. But he never got drunk so as to lose hishead or his balance, " went on Mrs. Krill; "but he became a demon. "

"A demon?"

"Yes, " said the woman, emphatically, "as a rule he was a timid, nervous, little man, like a frightened rabbit, and would not harm a fly. Butdrink, as you know, changes a nature to the contrary of what it actuallyis. "

"I have heard that. "

"You would have seen an example in Lemuel, " she retorted. "When he drankbrandy, he became a king, a sultan. From being timid he became bold;from not harming anyone he was capable of murder. Often in his fits didhe lay violent hands on me. But I managed to escape. When sober, hewould moan and apologize in a provokingly tearful manner. I hated anddespised him, " she went on, with flashing eyes, but careful to keep hervoice from reaching the gamblers. "I was a fool to marry him. My fatherwas a farmer, and I had a good education. I was attracted by the goodlooks of Lemuel, and ran away with him from my father's farm inBuckinghamshire. "

"That's where Stowley is, " murmured Paul. 

"Stowley?" echoed Mrs. Krill, whose ears were very sharp. "Yes, I knowthat town. Why do you mention it?"

"The opal serpent brooch with which your husband's lips were fastenedwas pawned there. "

"I remember, " said Mrs. Krill, calmly. "Mr. Pash told me. It has neverbeen found out how the brooch came to fasten the lips--so horrible itwas, " she shuddered. 

"No. My father bought the brooch from the Stowley pawnbroker, and gaveit to my mother, who sent it to me. When I had an accident, I lost it, but who picked it up I can't say. "

"The assassin must have picked it up, " declared Mrs. Krill, decisively, "else it would not have been used in that cruel way; though why such abrooch should have been used at all I can't understand. I suppose myhusband did not tell you why he wanted to buy the brooch?"

"Who told you that he did?" asked Paul, quickly. 

"Mr. Pash. He told me all about the matter, but not the reason why myhusband wanted the brooch. "

"Pash doesn't know, " said Beecot, "nor do I. Your husband fainted whenI first showed him the brooch, but I don't know why. He said nothing. "

Again Mrs. Krill's face in spite of her care showed a sense of relief athis ignorance. "But I must get back to my story, " she said, in a hardtone, "we have to leave soon. I ran away with Lemuel who was thentravelling with jewellery. He knew a good deal about jewellery, youknow, which he turned to account in his pawnbroking. "

"Yes, and amassed a fortune, thereby. "

"I should never have credited him with so much sense, " said Mrs. Krill, contemptuously. "While at Christchurch he was nothing but a drunkard, whining when sober, and a furious beast when drunk. I managed all thehouse, and looked after my little daughter. Lemuel led me a dog's life, and we quarrelled incessantly. At length, when Maud was old enough to bemy companion, Lemuel ran away. I kept on 'The Red Pig, ' and waited forhim to return. But he never came back, and for over twenty years I heardnothing of him till I saw the hand-bills and his portrait, and heard ofhis death. Then I came to see Mr. Pash, and the rest you know. "

"But why did he run away?" asked Paul. 

"I suppose he grew weary of the life and the way I detested him, " washer reply. "I don't wonder he ran away. But there, I have told you all, so make what you can of it. Tell Miss Norman of my offer, and make hersee the wisdom of accepting it. And now"--she rose, and held out herhand--"I must run away. You will call and see us? Mr. Hay will give youthe address. "

"What's that, " said Hay, leaving the card-table, "does Beecot want youraddress? Certainly. " He went to a table and scribbled on a card. "Thereyou are. Hunter Street, Kensington, No. 32A. Do come, Beecot. I hopesoon to call on your services to be my best man, " and he cast a coldlyloving look on Maud, who simply smiled as usual. 

By this time the card-party had broken up. Maud had lost a few pounds, and Lord George a great deal. But Miss Qian and Hay had won. 

"What luck, " groaned the young lord. "Everything seems to go wrong withme. "

"Stop and we'll try another game when the ladies have gone, " suggestedHay, his impassive face lighting up, "then Beecot--"

"I must go, " said the young gentleman, who did not wish to be calledupon as a witness in a possible card scandal. 

"And I'll go too, " said Lord George. "Whenever I play with you, Hay, Ialways seem to lose. "

"What do you mean by that?" asked Grexon, fiercely. 

"Oh, he doesn't mean anything, " said Miss Qian, sweetly, and putting hercloak round her. "Mr. Beecot, just take me to my cab. "

"I'll take you to your carriage, " said Hay, offering an arm to Mrs. Krill, which she accepted graciously. 

Lord George followed, grumbling, with the ever-smiling Maud. Miss Qianskipped into a hansom, and offered Paul a drive back to town which herefused. As the cab was driving off she bent down and whispered, "Becareful, " with a side-glance at Hay. 

Paul laughed. Everyone seemed to doubt Hay. But that gentleman handedMrs. Krill and her daughter into their carriage, and looked towards LordGeorge. "You don't want your revenge to-night?" he asked. 

"No, confound you!" said the young man, sulkily. 

"In that case I'll drive into Kensington with Mrs. Krill, and borrow hercarriage for a trip to Piccadilly. Good-night, Sandal. Good-night, Beecot. "

He waved his hand, and the ladies waved theirs, and then the three droveaway. Lord George lighted a cigar, and putting his arm within that ofBeecot, strolled down the road. "Come to my club, " he said. 

"No, thank you, " answered Paul, politely, "I must get home. "

"But I wish you'd come. I hate being by myself and you seem such a goodsort of chap. "

"Well, " said Beecot, thinking he might say a word in season to thisyoung fool, "I don't gamble. "

"Oh, you cry down that, do you?"

"Well, I think it's foolish. "

"It is, " assented Lord George, frankly, "infernally foolish. And Hay hasall the luck. I wonder if he plays square. "

This was dangerous ground, and Paul shied. "I really can't say, " he saidcoldly, "I don't play cards. "

"But what do you know of Hay?" asked Sandal. 

"Only that he was at school with me at Torrington. We met by accidentthe other day, and he asked me to dinner. "

"Torrington. Yes. I had a brother at that school once, " said LordGeorge, "but you and Hay wouldn't get on well together, I should think. You're straight, and he's--"

"You forget, we have been dining with him, " said Paul, quickly. 

"What of that. I've dined often and have paid pretty dearly for theprivilege. I must have lost at least five thousand to him within thelast few months. "

"In that case I should advise you to play cards no more. The remedy iseasy, " said Paul, dryly. 

"It isn't so easy to leave off cards, " rejoined Sandal, gloomily. "I'mthat fond of gambling that I only seem to live when I've got the cardsor dice in my hand. I suppose it's like dram-drinking. "

"If you take my advice, Lord George, you'll give up card-playing. "

"With Hay, do you mean?" asked the other, shrewdly. 

"With anyone. I know nothing about Hay beyond what I have told you. "

"Humph, " said Sandal, "I don't think you're a chap like him at all. Imay look a fool, but I ain't, and can see through a brick wall same asmost Johnnies. "

"Who can't see at all, " interpolated Paul, dryly. 

"Ha! ha! that's good. But I say about this Hay. What a queer lot he hadthere to-night. "

"I can't discuss that, " said Paul, stiffly. He was not one to eat aman's bread and salt and then betray him. 

Sandal went on as though he hadn't heard him. "That actress is a jollylittle woman, " said he. "I've seen her at the Frivolity--a ripping finesinger and dancer she is. But those other ladies?"

"Mrs. And Miss Krill. "

The young lord stopped short in the High Street. "Where have I heardthat name?" he said, looking up to the stars; "somewhere--in the countrymaybe. I go down sometimes to the Hall--my father's place. I don'tsuppose you'd know it. It's three miles from Christchurch. "

"In Hants, " said Paul, feeling he was on the verge of a discovery. 

"Yes. Have you been there?"

"No. But I have heard of the place. There's an hotel there called 'TheRed Pig, ' which I thought--"

"Ha!" cried young Sandal, stopping again, and with such a shout thatpassers-by thought he was drunk. "I remember the name. 'The Red Pig'; awoman called Krill kept that. "

"She can hardly be the same, " said Paul, not wishing to betray the lady. 

"No. I guess not. She'd hardly have the cheek to sit down with me if shedid. But Krill. Yes, I remember--my aunt, you know. "

"Your aunt?"

"Yes, " said Sandal, impatiently, "she was murdered, or committed suicidein that 'Red Pig' place. Rachel Sandal--with her unlucky opals. "

"Her unlucky opals! What do you mean?"

"Why, she had a serpent set with opals she wore as a brooch, and itbrought her bad luck. "

CHAPTER XVI

Sylvia's theory

It was close upon midnight when Paul reached his garret. Sandal drovehim in a hansom as far as Piccadilly Circus, and from that place Beecotwalked through Oxford Street to Bloomsbury. He had not been able toextract further information of any importance from the young lord. Itappeared that Lady Rachel Sandal, in love with an inferior, hadquarrelled with her father, and had walked to Christchurch one nightwith the intention of joining the man she wished to marry in London. Butthe night was stormy and Lady Rachel was a frail woman. She took refugein "The Red Pig, " intending to go the next morning. But during the nightshe was found strangled in the bedroom she had hired. Sandal could giveno details, as the events happened before he was born, and he had onlyheard scraps of the dreadful story. 

"Some people say Lady Rachel was murdered, " explained Sandal, "andothers that she killed herself. But the opal brooch, which she wore, certainly disappeared. But there was such a scandal over the affair thatmy grandfather hushed it up. I can't say exactly what took place. But Iknow it happened at a small pub kept by a woman called Krill. Do youthink this woman is the same?"

"It's hardly likely, " said Paul, mendaciously. "How could a woman whokept a small public house become suddenly rich?"

"True, " answered Lord George, as they stopped in the Circus, "and she'dhave let on she knew about my name had she anything to do with thematter. All the same, I'll ask her. "

"Do so, " said Paul, stepping out of the cab. He was perfectly satisfiedthat Mrs. Krill was quite equal to deceiving Sandal. The wonder was, that she had not held her peace to him about "The Red Pig. "

"You won't come on to my club?" asked Sandal, leaning out of the cab. 

"No, thank you, " replied Paul. "Good-night, " and he walked away. 

The fact is Beecot wished to put on paper all that he had heard thatnight and send it to Hurd. As soon as he reached his attic he set towork and wrote out a detailed account of the evening. 

 "You might find out if Lady Rachel committed suicide or whether she was strangled by someone else, " ended Beecot. "Certainly the mention of the serpent brooch is curious. This may be the event in Norman's past life which led him to change his name. "

Paul wrote much more and then went out to post the letter. It was aftermidnight when he did, so there was not much chance of Hurd getting theletter before the second or third post the next day. But Paul felt thathe had done his duty, and had supplied the information as speedily aspossible, so he went to sleep with a quiet mind, in spite of theexcitement of the evening. But next morning he was unable to sit down tohis desk as usual, and felt disinclined to go to the newspaper office, so he walked to Jubileetown to see how Sylvia was getting along. Deborahmet him at the gate. 

"Well I never, Mr. Beecot, " said Mrs. Tawsey, with her red arms akimboin her usual attitude; "this is a sight for sore eyes. Won't my prettybe 'appy this day, say what you may. She's a-makin' out bills fur themas 'ad washin' done, bless her 'eart for a clever beauty. "

"How is business?" asked Paul, entering the gate, which Deborah opened. 

"Bless you, Mr. Beecot, I'll be a lady of forting soon, " answered theproprietress of the laundry, "the way washing 'ave come in is jestamazin'. One 'ud think folk never 'ad no linen done up afore, and thatthey never did 'ave, " said Deborah, rubbing her nose hard, "in my way, which _is_ a way. If you'd only send along your shirts, Mr. Beecot, I'dbe proud to show you what can be done with fronts, an' no thumbnailsdown them to spile their loveliness. "

Paul did not reply to this, but laughed absently. He was wondering ifDeborah had ever heard her master drop any hint as to his having comefrom the place where Mrs. Krill resided, and asked the question on thespur of the moment. 

"Do you know Christchurch in Hants?"

Deborah rubbed her nose harder and looked at him doubtfully. 

"Me as said as I'd no relatives must tell the truth now, as I 'ave, "said she rather incoherently, "for my sister, Tilly Junk, worked forsomeone in that there place for years. But we never got on well, shebeing upsettin' and masterful, so arsk her to my weddin' I didn't, anddenied relatives existing, which they do, she bein' alive ten years agowhen she larst wrote. "

"You have not heard from her since?" asked Paul, inquisitively. 

"Sir, you may burn me or prison me or put me in pillaries, " said Mrs. Tawsey, "but deceive you I won't. Me an' Tilly not bein' of 'appymatchin' don't correspond. We're Londing both, " exclaimed Deborah, "father 'avin' bin a 'awker, but why she went to the country, or why Istopped in Gwynne Street, no one knows. And may I arsk, Mr. Beecot, whyyou arsk of that place?"

"Your late master came from Christchurch, Mrs. Tawsey. Did you neverhear him mention it?"

"That I never did, for close he was, Mr. Beecot, say what you like. Inever knowed but what he'd pawned and sold them bookses all his blessedlife, for all the talkin' he did. If I'd ha' knowd, " added Deborah, lifting her red finger, "as he'd bin maried afore and intended to castout my lovely queen, I'd ha' strangled him myself. "

"He had no intention of casting out Sylvia, " said Paul, musingly; "hecertainly left the money to her. "

"Then why 'ave that other got it?"

"Sylvia's name wasn't mentioned, and Miss Krill is legally entitled asthe legitimate daughter. "

"Call her what you like, she's a cat as her mother is afore her, " saidMrs. Tawsey, indignantly, "and not young at that. Thirty and over, asI'm a livin' woman. "

"Oh, I don't think Miss Krill is as old as that. "

"Being a man you wouldn't, sir, men bein' blind to wrinklings and paint. But paint she do, the hussey, and young she ain't. Over thirty--if I diefor the sayin' of it. "

"But Mrs. Krill was married to your master only thirty years ago. "

"Then more shame to 'er, " snapped Deborah, masterfully; "for she ain'tan honest woman if the signs of age is believing. Will I write to mysister Tilly, as I don't love Mr. Beecot, and arsk if she knowed masterwhen he wos in that there place, which she can't 'ave, seeing she's binthere but ten year, and he away twenty?"

"No, Deborah, you'd better say nothing. The case is in Hurd's hands. I'll tell him what you say, and leave the matter to him. But you must bedeceived about Miss Krill's age. "

"I've got two eyes an' a nose, " retorted Mrs. Tawsey, "so don't talk ofdeceivin's. Thirty and more she is, the hussey, let her Jezebel of a marlie as she like, an' can say what you will, Mr. Beecot. But there's mypretty smilin' from the winder and the tub's a-waitin'; so you go in andsmooth 'er to affections, while I see that Mrs. Purr irons the shirts, which she do lovely there's no denyin'. Hoh!" and Deborah plunged roundthe corner of the house, rampant and full of corn. 

Paul walked through the newly-created garden, in which he saw manyproofs of Sylvia's love for flowers, and reached the door in time totake the girl in his arms. She was flushed and joyful, and her eyes wereas bright as stars. "Paul, darling, " she said, as they entered thesitting-room, where she was struggling with the accounts, "I'm so gladyou are here. What's nine times nine?"

"Eighty-one, " said Paul, looking at the long list of figures Sylvia hadbeen trying to add up. "Why do you make your head ache with theseaccounts, darling?"

"I must help Debby, Paul, and I get on very well with the aid of anarithmetic. " And she pointed to a small school book which she hadevidently been studying. 

"Let me take the burden from your shoulders, " said her lover, smiling, and sat down at the table which was strewn with bills. In about an hourhe had arranged all these, and had made them out neatly to Deborah'svarious customers. Then he directed the envelopes, and Sylvia sealedthem up. All the time they laughed and chatted, and despite the dulltoil thoroughly enjoyed themselves. "But I am glad to see, Sylvia, " saidBeecot, pointing to three library volumes lying on the sofa, "that youenjoy yourself occasionally. "

"Oh!" said Sylvia, pouncing on these, "I'm so glad you spoke, Paul; Iwanted to say something to you. _The Confessions of a Thug_, " she readout, and looked at Paul. "Have you read it?"

Beecot nodded. "By Colonel Meadows Taylor. A very interesting book, butrather a bloodthirsty one for you, dearest. "

"Debby got it, " confessed Miss Norman, "along with some other books froma literary customer who could not pay his bill. It is very strange, Paul, that _The Confessions of a Thug_ should be amongst the books. "

"Really I don't see why, " smiled Beecot, fingering the old-fashionedvolumes. 

"It's the finger of Fate, Paul, " said Sylvia, solemnly. Then seeing herlover look puzzled, "I mean, that I should find out what goor is?"

"Goor?" Paul looked more puzzled than ever. 

"It's an Indian word, " explained Sylvia, "and means coarse sugar. TheThugs eat it before they strangle anyone. "

"Oh, " laughed Beecot, "and you think your father was strangled by aThug? My dear child, the Thugs were stamped out years ago. You'll readall about it in the preface of that book, if I remember. But it's longsince I read the work. Besides, darling, " he added, drawing her to himcaressingly, "the Thugs never came to England. "

"Paul, " said Sylvia, still more solemnly and resenting the laugh, "doyou remember the Thug that came into the shop--"

"Oh, you mean the street-hawker that Bart spoke of. Yes, I remember thatsuch an Indian entered, according to Bart's tale, and wanted to sellboot-laces, while that young imp, Tray, was dancing on poor Bart's body. But the Indian wasn't a Thug, Sylvia. "

"Yes, he was, " she exclaimed excitedly. "Hokar, he said he was, andHokar was a Thug. Remember the handful of coarse brown sugar he left onthe counter? Didn't Bart tell you of that?"

Paul started. "Yes, by Jove! he did, " was his reply. 

"Well, then, " said Sylvia, triumphantly, "that sugar was goor, and theThugs eat it before strangling anyone, and father was strangled. "

Beecot could not but be impressed. "It is certainly very strange, " hesaid, looking at the book. "And it was queer your father should havebeen strangled on the very night when this Indian Hokar left the sugaron the counter. A coincidence, Sylvia darling. "

"No. Why should Hokar leave the sugar at all?"

"Well, he didn't eat it, and therefore, if he was a Thug, he would havedone so, had he intended to strangle your father. "

"I don't know, " said Sylvia, with a look of obstinacy on her prettyface. "But remember the cruel way in which my father was killed, Paul. It's just what an Indian would do, and then the sugar--oh, I'm quitesure this hawker committed the crime. "

Beecot shook his head and strove to dissuade her from entertaining thisidea. But Sylvia, usually so amenable to reason, refused to discard hertheory, and indeed Paul himself thought that the incident of the sugarwas queer. He determined to tell Hurd about the matter, and then thehawker might be found and made to explain why he had left the goor onthe counter. "But the sect of the Thugs is extinct, " argued Paul, quickly; "it can't be, Sylvia. "

"But it is, " she insisted, "I'm sure. " And from this firm opinion hecould not move her. Finally, when he departed, he took the books withhim, and promised to read the novel again. Perhaps something might comeof Sylvia's fancy. 

The lovers spent the rest of the time in talking over their future, andBeecot looked hopefully towards making sufficient money to offer Sylviaa home. He also described to her how he had met Mrs. Krill and relatedwhat she was prepared to do. "Do you think we should accept the fivehundred a year, Paul, " said Sylvia, doubtfully; "it would put everythingright, and so long as I am with you I don't care where we live. "

"If you leave the decision to me, darling, " said Paul, "I think it willbe best to refuse this offer. Something is wrong, or Mrs. Krill wouldnot be so anxious to get you out of the country. "

"Oh, Paul, do you think she knows anything about the murder?"

"No, dear. I don't think that. Mrs. Krill is far too clever a woman toput her neck in danger. But there may be a chance of her daughter losingthe money. Sylvia, " he asked, "you saw Maud Krill. How old would youtake her to be?"

"Oh, quite old, Paul, " said Sylvia, decisively; "she dresses well andpaints her face; but she's forty. "

"Oh, Sylvia, not so much as that. "

"Well, then, thirty and over, " insisted Sylvia. "Debby thinks the sameas I do. "

"Don't you think Debby's zeal may lead her to exaggerate?"

"It doesn't lead me to exaggerate, " said Sylvia, slightly offended; "andI have eyes in my head as well as Debby. That girl, or that woman, Ishould say, is over thirty, Paul. "

"In that case, " said Beecot, his color rising, "I fancy I see the reasonof Mrs. Krill's desire to get you out of the country. Maud, " he addeddeliberately, "may not be your father's daughter after all. "

"What makes you think that?"

"Well. According to the marriage certificate, and to Mrs. Krill'sadmission, she was married to your father thirty years ago. If Maud isover thirty--can't you see, Sylvia?"

"Yes. " Sylvia colored. "You mean she may be the same as I am?"

"Not exactly, dear, " replied Paul, soothing her. "I mean that Mrs. Krillmay have been a widow and have had her little girl with her when shemarried your father. In that case Maud certainly could not get themoney, and so Mrs. Krill wants you to leave England. "

"In case I would get it, " said Sylvia, excited. 

Paul looked puzzled and rather sad. "I can't say, dear, " he replieddoubtfully. "Certainly the money is left to 'my daughter, ' but as themarriage with your mother unfortunately is void, I fear you would notinherit. However, " he said grimly, "there would be a certain pleasure intaking the money from that woman. Maud is a mere puppet in her hands, "he laughed. "And then Hay would marry a poor bride, " he endedmaliciously. 

Sylvia could not quite understand all this, and gave up trying to solvethe problem with a pretty gesture of indifference. "What will you do, Paul?" she asked. 

"I'll see Hurd and tell him what you and Deborah say about the age ofMaud Krill. "

"Why not see Mr. Pash?"

"Because he is a traitor, " replied Beecot, darkly, "and, knowing he haslost your confidence, he will certainly try and give Maud Krillpossession of the money. No, I'll speak to Hurd, who is my friend andyours. He is clever and will be able to unravel this tangle. "

"Tell him about the goor also, Paul. "

"Yes. I'll explain everything I can, and then I'll get him to go down toChristchurch and see what happened there, when your father lived withMaud's mother. "

"What did happen, Paul?" asked Sylvia, anxiously. 

"Nothing, " he replied with an assumption of carelessness, for he did notwant to tell the girl about the fate of Lady Rachel Sandal, "but we mayfind in your father's past life what led to his murder. "

"Do you think Mrs. Krill had anything to do with it?"

"My own, you asked that question before. No, I don't. Still, one neverknows. I should think Mrs. Krill is a dangerous woman, although I fancy, too clever to risk being hanged. However, Hurd can find out if she wasin town on the night your father was killed. "

"That was on the sixth of July, " said Sylvia. 

"Yes. And he was murdered at twelve. "

"After twelve, " said Sylvia. "I heard the policeman on his beat at aquarter-past, and then I came down. Poor father was strangled before ourvery eyes, " she said, shuddering. 

"Hush, dear. Don't speak of it, " said Paul, rising. "Let us talk of moreinteresting subjects. "

"Paul, I can think of nothing till I learn who killed my poor father, and why he was killed so cruelly. "

"Then we must wait patiently, Sylvia. Hurd is looking after the matter, and I have every confidence in Hurd. And, by Jove!" added Beecot, withan after-thought, "Mrs. Krill doubled the reward. Were she concerned inthe matter she would not risk sharpening the wits of so clever a man asHurd. No, Sylvia, whosoever strangled your father it was not Mrs. Krill. "

"It was this Indian, " insisted Sylvia, "and he's a Thug. "

Paul laughed although he was far from thinking she might be wrong. Ofcourse it seemed ridiculous that a Thug should strangle the old man. Inthe first place, the Thugs have been blotted out; in the second, if anysurvived, they certainly would not exercise their devilish religion inEngland, and in the third, Hokar, putting aside his offering strangledvictims to Bhowanee, the goddess of the sect, had no reason for slayingan unoffending man. Finally, there was the sailor to be accountedfor--the sailor who had tried to get the jewels from Pash. Paul wonderedif Hurd had found out anything about this individual. "It's all verydifficult, " sighed Beecot, "and the more we go into the matter the moredifficult does it get. But we'll see light some day. Hurd, if anyone, will unravel the mystery, " and Sylvia agreed with him. 

CHAPTER XVII

HURD'S INFORMATION

For the next day or two Paul was kept closely to work in the office, reading a number of tales which were awaiting his judgment. After hours, he several times tried to see Billy Hurd, but was unable to meet him. Heleft a note at the Scotland Yard office, asking if Hurd had received hiscommunication regarding Mrs. Krill, and if so, what he proposed to doconcerning it. Hurd did not reply to this note, and Paul was growingpuzzled over the silence of the detective. At length the answer came, not in writing, but in the person of Hurd himself, who called on Beecot. 

The young man had just finished his frugal meal and was settling down toan evening's work when there came a knock to the door. Hurd, dressed inhis usual brown suit, presented himself, looking cool and composed. Buthe was more excited than one would imagine, as Paul saw from theexpression of his eyes. The detective accepted a cup of coffee andlighted his pipe. Then he sat down in the arm-chair on the opposite sideof the fireplace and prepared to talk. Paul heaped on coals with alavish hand, little as he could afford this extravagance, as the nightwas cold and he guessed that Hurd had much to say. So, on the whole, they had a very comfortable and interesting conversation. 

"I suppose you are pleased to see me?" asked Hurd, puffing meditativelyat his briar. 

Paul nodded. "Very glad, " he answered, "that is, if you have doneanything about Mrs. Krill?"

"Well, " drawled the detective, smiling, "I have been investigating thatmurder case. "

"Lady Rachel Sandal's?" said Beecot, eagerly. "Is it really murder?"

"I think so, though some folks think it suicide. Curious you should havestumbled across that young lord, " went on Hurd, musingly, "and morecurious still that he should have been in the room with Mrs. Krillwithout recollecting the name. There was a great fuss made about it atthe time. "

"Oh, I can understand Lord George, " said Beecot, promptly. "The murder, if it is one, took place before he was born, and as there seems to havebeen some scandal in the matter, the family hushed it up. This youngfellow probably gathered scraps of information from old servants, butfrom what he said to me in the cab, I think he knows very little. "

"Quite enough to put me on the track of Lemuel Krill's reason forleaving Christchurch. "

"Is that the reason?"

"Yes. Twenty-three years ago he left Christchurch at the very time LadyRachel was murdered in his public-house. Then he disappeared for a time, and turned up a year later in Gwynne Street with a young wife whom hehad married in the meantime. "

"Sylvia's mother?"

"Exactly. And Miss Norman was born a year later. She's nearlytwenty-one, isn't she?"

"Yes. She will be twenty-one in three months. "

Hurd nodded gravely. "The time corresponds, " said he. "As the crime wascommitted twenty-three years back and Lord George is only twenty, I canunderstand how he knows so little about it. But didn't he connect Mrs. Krill with the man who died in Gwynne Street?"

"No. She explained that. The name of Krill appeared only a few times inthe papers, and was principally set forth with the portrait, in thehand-bills. I shouldn't think Lord George was the kind of young man tobother about hand-bills. "

"All the same, he might have heard talk at his club. Everyone isn't sostupid. "

"No. But, at all events, he did not seem to connect Mrs. Krill with thedead man. And even with regard to the death of his aunt, he fancied shemight not be the same woman. "

"What an ass he must be, " said Hurd, contemptuously. 

"I don't think he has much brain, " confessed Paul, shrugging hisshoulders; "but he asked me if I thought Mrs. Krill was the same as thelandlady of 'The Red Pig, ' and I denied that she was. I don't liketelling lies, but in this case I hope the departure from truth will bepardoned. "

"You did very right, " said the detective. "The fewer people know aboutthese matters the better--especially a chatterbox like this young fool. "

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, under the name of the Count de la Tour. But I know of him inanother way, which I'll reveal later. Hay is still fleecing him?"

"He is. But Lord George seems to be growing suspicious of Hay, " and Paulrelated the conversation he had with the young man. 

Hurd grunted. "I'm sorry, " he said. "I want to catch Hay red-handed, andif Lord George grows too clever I may not be able to do so. "

"Well, " said Paul, rather impatiently, "never mind about that fellowjust now, but tell me what you have discovered. "

"Oh, a lot of interesting things. When I got your letter, of course I atonce connected the opal serpent with Aaron Norman, and his change ofname with the murder. I knew that Norman came to Gwynne Street overtwenty years ago--that came out in the evidence connected with hisdeath. Therefore, putting two and two together, I searched in thenewspapers of that period and found what I wanted. "

"A report of the case?"

"Precisely. And after that I hunted up the records at Scotland Yard forfurther details that were not made public. So I got the whole storytogether, and I am pretty certain that Aaron Norman, or as he then was, Lemuel Krill, murdered Lady Rachel for the sake of that preciousbrooch. "

"Ah, " said Paul, drawing a breath, "now I understand why he fainted whenhe saw it again. No wonder, considering it was connected in his mindwith the death of Lady Rachel. "

"Quite so. And no wonder the man kept looking over his shoulder in theexpectation of being tapped on the shoulder by a policeman. I don'twonder also that he locked up the house and kept his one eye on theground, and went to church secretly to pray. What a life he must haveled. Upon my soul, bad as the man was, I'm sorry for him. "

"So am I, " said Paul. "And after all, he is Sylvia's father. "

"Poor girl, to have a murderer for a father!"

Beecot turned pale. "I love Sylvia for herself, " he said, with aneffort, "and if her father had committed twenty murders I would not lether go. But she must never know. "

"No, " said Hurd, stretching his hand across and giving Paul a friendlygrip, "and I knew you'd stick to her. It wouldn't be fair to blame thegirl for what her father did before she was born. "

"We must keep everything from her, Hurd. I'll marry her and take herabroad sooner than she should learn of this previous murder. But how didit happen?"

"I'll tell you in a few minutes. " Hurd rose and began to pace the narrowlimits of the attic. "By the way, do you know that Norman was a secretdrinker of brandy?"

Paul nodded, and told the detective what he had learned from Mrs. Krill. Hurd was much struck with the intelligence. "I see, " said he; "what Mrs. Krill says is quite true. Drink does change the ordinary nature into theopposite. Krill sober was a timid rabbit; Krill drunk was a murderer anda thief. Good lord, and how he drank!"

"How do you know?"

"Well, " confessed Hurd, nursing his chin, "Pash and I went to search theGwynne Street house to find, if possible, the story alluded to in thescrap of paper Deborah Junk found. We couldn't drop across anything ofthat sort, but in Norman's bedroom, which nobody ever entered, we foundbrandy bottles by the score. Under the bed, ranged along the walls, filling cupboards, stowed away in boxes. I had the curiosity to countthem. Those we found, ran up to five hundred, and Lord knows how manymore he must have got rid of when he found the bottles crowding himinconveniently. "

"I expect he got drunk every night, " said Paul, thinking. "When helocked up Sylvia and Deborah in the upper room--I can understand now whyhe did so--he could go to the cellar and take possession of the shop keyleft on the nail by Bart. Then, free from all intrusion, he could drinktill reeling. Not that I think he ever did reel, " went on Beecot, mindful of what Mrs. Krill had said; "he could stand a lot, and I expectthe brandy only converted him into a demon. "

"And a clever business man, " said Hurd. "You know Aaron Norman was notclever over the books. Bart sold those, but from all accounts he was aShylock when dealing, after seven o'clock, in the pawnbroking way. Iunderstand now. Sober, he was a timid fool; drunk, he was a bold, clevervillain. "

"My poor Sylvia, what a father, " sighed Paul; "but this crime--"

"I'll tell you about it. Lemuel Krill and his wife kept 'The Red Pig' atChristchurch, a little public house it is, on the outskirts of the town, frequented by farm-laborers and such-like. The business was pretty good, but the couple didn't look to making their fortune. Mrs. Krill was afarmer's daughter. "

"A Buckinghamshire farmer, " said Paul. 

"How do you know? oh!"--on receiving information--"Mrs. Krill told youso? Well, considering the murder of Lady Rachel, she would have donebetter to hold her tongue and have commenced life with her deadhusband's money under a new name. She's a clever woman, too, " musedHurd, "I can't understand her being so unnecessarily frank. "

"Never mind, go on, " said Paul, impatiently. 

Hurd returned to his seat and re-filled his pipe. "Well, then, " hecontinued, "Krill got drunk and gave his wife great trouble. Sometimeshe thrashed her and blacked her eyes, and he treated their daughterbadly too. "

"How old was the daughter?"

"I can't say. Why do you ask?"

"I'll tell you later. Go on, please. "

"Well, then, Mrs. Krill always revenged herself on her husband when hewas sober and timid, so the couple were evenly matched. Krill was masterwhen drunk, and his wife mistress when he was sober. A kind of see-sawsort of life they must have led. "

"Where does Lady Rachel come in?"

"What an impatient chap you are, " remonstrated Hurd, in a friendly tone. "I'm coming to that now. Lady Rachel quarrelled with her father oversome young artist she wanted to marry. He would not allow the lover tocome to the Hall, so Lady Rachel said she would kill herself rather thangive him up. "

"And she did, " said Paul, thinking of the suicide theory. 

"There you go again. How am I to tell you all when you interrupt. "

"I beg your pardon. I won't do so again. "

Hurd nodded smilingly and continued. "One night--it was dark andstormy--Lady Rachel had a row royal with her father. Then she ran out ofthe Hall saying her father would never see her alive again. She may haveintended to commit suicide certainly, or she may have intended to joinher lover in London. But whatever she intended to do, the rain cooledher. She staggered into Christchurch and fell down insensible at thedoor of 'The Red Pig. ' Mrs. Krill brought her indoors and laid her on abed. "

"Did she know who the lady was?"

Hurd shook his head. "She said in her evidence that she did not, butliving in the neighborhood, she certainly must have seen Lady Rachelsometimes. Krill was drunk as usual. He had been boozing all the daywith a skipper of some craft at Southampton. He was good for nothing, soMrs. Krill did everything. She declares that she went to bed at elevenleaving Lady Rachel sleeping. "

"Did Lady Rachel recover her senses?"

"Yes--according to Mrs. Krill--but she refused to say who she was, andmerely stated that she would sleep at 'The Red Pig' that night and wouldgo on to London next morning. Mrs. Krill swore that Lady Rachel had noidea of committing suicide. Well, about midnight, Mrs. Krill, who sleptin one room with her daughter, was awakened by loud shouts. She sprangto her feet and hurried out, her daughter came also, as she had beenawakened and was terrified. Mrs. Krill found that her husband was ravingmad with drink and smashing the furniture in the room below. Theskipper--"

"What was the skipper's name?"

"Jessop--Jarvey Jessop. Well, he also, rather drunk, was retiring to bedand stumbled by chance into Lady Rachel's room. He found her quite deadand shouted for assistance. The poor lady had a silk handkerchief shewore tied tightly round her throat and fastened to the bedpost. WhenJessop saw this, he ran out of the inn in dismay. Mrs. Krill descendedto give the alarm to her neighbors, but Krill struck her down, andstruck his daughter also, making her mouth bleed. An opal brooch thatLady Rachel wore was missing, but Mrs. Krill only knew of that the nextday. She was insensible from the blow given by Krill, and the daughterran out to get assistance. When the neighbors entered, Krill was gone, and notwithstanding all the search made for him he could not be found. "

"And Jessop?"

"He turned up and explained that he had been frightened on finding thewoman dead. But the police found him on his craft at Southampton, and hegave evidence. He said that Krill when drunk, and like a demon, as Mrs. Krill told you, had left the room several times. The last time he cameback, he and the skipper had a final drink, and then Jessop retired tofind--the body. It was supposed by the police that Krill had killed LadyRachel for the sake of the brooch, which could not be discovered--"

"But the brooch--"

"Hold on. I know what you are about to say. We'll come to that shortly. Let me finish this yarn first. It was also argued that, from LadyRachel's last words to her father, and from the position of thebody--tied by the neck to the bedpost--that she had committed suicide. Mrs. Krill, as I said, declared the deceased lady never mentioned theidea of making away with herself. However, Krill's flight and the chancethat, being drunk, he might have strangled the lady for the sake of thebrooch while out of the room, made many think he was the culprit, especially as Jessop said that Krill had noticed the brooch andcommented on the opals. "

"He was a traveller in jewels once, according to his wife. "

"Yes, and left that to turn innkeeper. Afterwards he vanished, as I say, and became a pawnbroker in Gwynne Street. Well, the jury at the inquestcould not agree. Some thought Lady Rachel had committed suicide, andothers that Krill had murdered her. Then the family didn't want ascandal, so in one way and another the matter was hushed up. The jurybrought in a verdict of suicide by a majority of one, so you can see howequally they were divided. Lady Rachel's body was laid in the familyvault, and nothing more was heard of Lemuel Krill. "

"What did Mrs. Krill do?"

"She stopped on at the inn, as she told you. People were sorry for herand helped her, so she did very well. Mother and daughter have lived at'The Red Pig' all these years, highly respected, until they saw thehand-bills about Krill. Then the money was claimed, but as thecircumstance of Lady Rachel's fate was so old, nobody thought ofmentioning it till this young lord did so to you, and I--as yousee--have hunted out the details. "

"What is your opinion, Hurd?" asked Paul, deeply interested. 

"Oh, I think Krill murdered the woman and then cut to London. Thataccounts for his looking over his shoulder, etc. , about which wetalked. "

"But how did he get money to start as a bookseller? Premises are notleased in Gwynne Street for nothing. "

"Well, he might have got money on the brooch. "

"No. The brooch was pawned by a nautical gentleman. " Paul started up. "Captain Jessop, perhaps. You remember?" he said excitedly. 

"Ah, " said Hurd, puffing his pipe with satisfaction, "I see youunderstand. I mentioned that about the brooch to hear what you wouldsay. Yes, Jessop must have pawned the brooch at Stowley, and it musthave been Jessop who came with the note for the jewels to Pash. "

"Ha, " said Paul, walking excitedly about the room. "Then it would seemthat Jessop and Krill were in league?"

"I think so, " said Hurd, staring at the fire. "And yet I am not sure. Jessop may have found that Krill had killed the woman, and then havemade him give up the brooch, which he afterwards pawned at Stowley. Though why he should go near Mrs. Krill's old home, I can't understand. "

"Is Stowley near her old home?"

"Yes--in Buckinghamshire. However, after pawning the brooch I expectJessop lost sight of Krill till he must have come across him a few daysbefore the crime. Then he must have made Krill sign the paper orderingthe jewels to be given up by Pash, so that he might get money. "

"A kind of blackmail in fact. "

"Well, " said Hurd, doubtfully, "after all, Jessop might have killedKrill himself. "

"But how did Jessop get the brooch?"

"Ah, that I can't tell you, unless Norman himself picked it up in thestreet. We must find these things out. I'm going to Christchurch tomake inquiries. I'll let you know what I discover, " and Hurd rose. 

"One minute, " said Paul, hastily. "Do you think Miss Krill is the deadman's child?"

"Of course. She's as like her mother as two peas. Why do you ask?"

Paul detailed what Sylvia and Deborah had said. "So if she is overthirty, " said Beecot, "she can't be Krill's child, or else she must havebeen born before Krill married his wife. In either case, she has noright to the money. "

"It's strange, " said Hurd, musingly. "I'll have to look into that. Meanwhile, I've got plenty to do. "

"There's another thing I have to say. "

"You'll confuse me, Beecot. What is it?"

"The sugar and that hawker, " and Paul related what Sylvia had said aboutThuggism. Hurd sat down and stared. "That must be bosh, " he said, looking at the novel, "and yet it's mighty queer. I say, " he took thethree volumes, "will you lend me these?"

"Yes. Be careful. They are not mine. "

"I'll be careful. But I can't dip into them just yet, nor can I go intothe Hindoo business, let alone this age of Miss Krill. The first thing Ihave to do is to go to Christchurch and see--"

"And see if Mrs. Krill was at home on the night of the sixth of July. "

Hurd started. "Oh, " said he, dryly, "the night the crime was committed, you mean? Well, I didn't intend to look up that point, as I do not seehow Mrs. Krill can be implicated. However, I'll take a note of that, "and this he did, and then continued. "But I'm anxious to find Jessop. Ishouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he committed the doublecrime. "

"The double crime?"

"Yes. He might have strangled Lady Rachel, and twenty years later havekilled Krill. I can't be sure, but I think he is the guilty person. "

CHAPTER XVIII

AT CHRISTCHURCH, HANTS

The next afternoon Hurd was on his way to the former abode of Mrs. Krill. During the journey he glanced at his notes and arranged whatinquiries he should make. It struck him as strange that Mrs. Krillshould have told Paul of her association with "The Red Pig, " consideringthe reputation of the place, in connection with Lady Rachel Sandal'smurder--or suicide. It would have been better had Mrs. Krill changed hername by letters patent and have started a new life on her dead husband'smoney. The detective could not understand the reason for thisunnecessary frankness. 

Before leaving town he took the precaution to call on Pash and note downa description of the sailor--presumably Jessop--who had tried to obtainpossession of the jewels on the morning after the crime had beencommitted in Gwynne Street. He learned that the man (who had given noname) was tall and stout, with the flushed skin of a habitual drinker ofstrong waters, and reddish hair mixed with grey. He also had a scarrunning from his right temple to his mouth, and although this was partlyconcealed by a beard, yet it was distinctly visible. The man was dressedin blue serge, carried his large hands slightly clenched, and rolled inhis gait. Hurd noted these things down, and had little doubt but what hewould recognize the man if he came across him. Connecting him with theindividual who had pawned the brooch at Stowley, Hurd fancied he mightbe Jessop. He resolved to look for him in Southampton, as, judging fromthe evidence given at the inquest on Lady Rachel's remains, that was theport of call for the mariner. 

At the station immediately before that of Christchurch, Hurd glanced ata telegram which he produced out of his pocket-book, and then leaned outof the carriage window. A pretty, daintily-dressed little woman saw himand at once entered the carriage with a gay laugh. She was Miss AuroraQian, and Paul would have been considerably astonished had he overheardher conversation with Mr. Hurd. But the detective and the actress hadthe compartment to themselves, and talked freely. 

"It's the safest place to talk in, " explained Miss Qian, producing a bagof chocolate and eating during the conversation. "Of course, I told thelandlady at 'The Red Pig' that my brother was coming down, so we can gothere right enough. But walls have ears. I don't think railway carriageshave, though, and we have much to say, Billy. "

"Have you found out anything, Aurora?" asked Hurd. 

Miss Qian nodded. "A great deal considering I have been in the placeonly twenty-four hours. It's a good thing I'm out of an engagement, Billy, or I shouldn't have time to leave London or to look after thatman Hay. I _am_ a good sister. "

"Well, you are. But there's money in the business also. If I can getthat thousand pounds, you'll have your share. "

"I know you'll treat me straight, Billy, " said the actress, with muchsatisfaction. "I always say that my brother is as square a man as Iknow. "

"The deuce you do, " said Hurd, rather vexed. "I hope you don't gotelling everyone that I am your brother, Aurora?"

"Only one or two special friends--not Hay, you may be sure. Nor doesthat nice Mr. Beecot know that we are brother and sister. "

"You'd best keep it dark, and say nothing, Aurora. It's just as well youleft the private detective business and went on the stage. You talk toomuch. "

"Oh, no, I don't, " retorted Miss Qian, eating a sweet. "Don't be nasty, Billy, or I'll tell you nothing. "

Her brother shrugged his shoulders. He was very fond of Aurora, but hesaw her many faults, and she certainly had too long a tongue for oneengaged in private matters. "What about Hay?" he asked. 

Aurora raised her eyes. "I thought you wanted to know of my discoveriesat Christchurch, " she said, pouting. 

"Well, I do. But Hay?--"

"Oh, he's all right. He's going to marry Miss Krill and her money, andis getting cash together by fleecing young Sandal. That fool _will_play, and keeps losing his money, although I've warned him. "

"Then don't warn him. I wish to catch Hay red-handed. "

"Ah, " Miss Qian nodded, "you may catch him red-handed in a worse matterthan gambling. "

"Aurora, you don't mean to say he has anything to do with the murder ofAaron Norman?"

"Well, I don't go so far as to say that, Billy. But when I got settledin the private sitting-room of 'The Red Pig' on the plea that I had comedown for a change of air, and expected my brother--"

"Which you do without any lies. "

"Yes, that's all right, Billy, " she said impatiently. "Well, the firstthing I clapped eyes on was a portrait of Grexon Hay in a silver frameon the mantelpiece. "

"Hum, " said Hurd, nursing his chin in his hand, "he may have given thatto Miss Krill during the engagement. "

"I daresay, " rejoined the actress, tartly, "for he has been engaged formany a long day--say two years. "

"I thought so, " said Hurd, triumphantly. "I always fancied the meetingat Pash's office was a got-up thing. "

"What made you think so?"

"Because, when disguised as the Count de la Tour, I overheard Hayaddress Miss Krill as Maud, and it was the first time she and her mothercame to his rooms. Sandal was there, and gambling went on as usual. Ilost money myself, " said Hurd, with a grimace, "in order to make Haythink I was another pigeon to pluck. But the mention of the Christianname on so short an acquaintance showed me that Hay and Miss Krill hadmet before. I expect the meeting at Pash's office was a got-up game. "

"You said that before, Billy. How you repeat yourself! Yes. There's aninscription on the portrait--'From Grexon to Maud with muchlove'--sweet, isn't it? when you think what an icicle the man is. Thereis also a date--two years ago the photograph was given. I admired thephotograph and asked the landlady who was the swell. "

"What's the landlady's name?"

"Matilda Junk. "

Hurd almost jumped from his seat. "That's queer, " he said, "the womanwho is devoted to Miss Norman and who nursed her since she was a baby iscalled Deborah Junk. "

"I know that, " said Aurora, "I'm not quite a fool, Billy. I mentionedDeborah Junk, whom I saw at the inquest on Norman's body. The landladysaid she was her sister, but she had not heard of her for ages. And thisMatilda is just like Deborah in looks--a large Dutch doll with beadyeyes and a badly painted face. "

"Well, that's a point, " said Hurd, making a note. "What did she sayabout the photograph?"

"Oh, that it was one of Mr. Hay who was Miss Krill's young man, and thatthey had been engaged for two years--"

"Matilda seems to be a chatterbox. "

"She is. I got a lot out of her. "

"Then there can be nothing to conceal on the part of Mrs. Krill?"

"Well, " said Aurora, throwing the empty sweetmeat bag out of the windowand brushing her lap, "so far as I can discover, Mrs. Krill is aperfectly respectable person, and has lived for thirty years as thelandlady of 'The Red Pig. ' Matilda acknowledged that her mistress hadinherited the money of Lemuel Krill, and Matilda knows all about themurder. "

"Matilda is wrong, " said the detective, dryly; "Miss Krill gets themoney. "

Aurora smiled. "From what I heard, Miss Krill has to do what her mothertells her. She's nobody and her mother is all the world. Matildaconfessed that her mistress had behaved very well to her. When the moneycame, she gave up 'The Red Pig' to Matilda Junk, who is now thelandlady. "

"With a proviso she should hold her tongue. "

"No. Mrs. Krill, so far as I can learn, has nothing to conceal. Even ifit becomes known in London that she was the landlady of a small pub, Idon't think it will matter. "

"Did you ask questions about Lady Rachel's murder?"

"No. You gave me only a hint when you sent me down. I didn't like toventure on ground I wasn't sure of. I'm more cautious than you. "

"Well, I'll tell you everything now, " said Hurd, and gave a rapid sketchof what he had learned from the newspapers and the Scotland Yard papersrelative to the Sandal affair. Aurora nodded. 

"But Matilda Junk said nothing of that. She merely stated that Mr. Lemuel Krill had gone to London over twenty years ago, and that his wifeknew nothing of him until she saw the hand-bills. "

"Hum, " said Hurd again, as the train slowed down to the Christchurchstation, "it seems all fair and above board. What about Jessop?"

"Knowing so little of the Lady Rachel case, I didn't inquire about him, "said Aurora. "I've told you everything. "

"Anyone else stopping at the inn?"

"No. And it's not a bad little place after all. The rooms are clean andthe food good and the charges low. I'd rather stop at 'The Red Pig, 'small as it is, than at the big hotel. The curries--oh, they aredelightfully hot!" Miss Qian screwed her small face into a smile ofecstasy. "But, then, a native makes them. "

Hurd started. "Curries--a native?"

"Yes--a man called Hokar. "

"Aurora, that's the man who left the sugar on the counter of Norman'sshop. I forgot you don't know about that, " and Hurd rapidly told her ofthe episode. 

"It's strange, " said Miss Qian, nodding with a faraway look. "It wouldseem that Mrs. Krill knew of the whereabouts of her husband before shesaw the hand-bills. "

"And possibly about the murder also, " said Hurd. 

Brother and sister looked at one another; the case was becoming more andmore interesting. Mrs. Krill evidently knew more than she chose toadmit. But at this moment the train stopped, and they got out. Hurd tookhis handbag and walked into the town with his pretty sister trippingbeside him. She gave him an additional piece of information before theyarrived at "The Red Pig. " "This Hokar is not at all popular, " she said;"they say he eats cats and dogs. Yes. I've talked to several old women, and they say they lost their animals. One cat was found strangled in theyard, and--"

"Strangled!" interrupted the detective. "Hum, and the man's an Indian, possibly a Thug. "

"What's a Thug?" asked Aurora, staring. 

Hurd explained. "I ran through the book lent by Beecot last night, " headded, "and was so interested I sat up till dawn--"

"You do look chippy, " said his sister, candidly, "but from what you say, there are no Thugs living. "

"No, the author says so. Still, it's queer, this strangling, and thenthe cruel way in which the man was murdered. Just what a Hindoo woulddo. The sugar too--"

"Oh, nonsense! Hokar left the sugar by mistake. If he had intended tomurder Norman he wouldn't have given himself away. "

"I expect he never thought anyone would guess he was a Thug. The novelis not one usually read nowadays. It was the merest chance that MissNorman came across it and told Beecot. "

"I don't believe in such coincidences, " said Aurora, dryly; for in spiteof her fluffy, kittenish looks, she was a very practical person. "Buthere we are at 'The Red Pig. ' Nice and comfy, isn't it?"

The inn was certainly very pretty. It stood on the very verge of thetown, and beyond stretched fields and hedgerows. The house itself was awhite-washed, thatched, rustic cottage, with a badly painted sign of alarge red sow. Outside were benches, where topers sat, and the windowswere delightfully old-fashioned, diamond-paned casements. Quite aDickens inn of the old coaching days was "The Red Pig. "

But Hurd gave the pretty, quaint hostel only a passing glance. He wasstaring at a woman who stood in the doorway shading her eyes with thepalm of her hand from the setting sun. In her the detective saw theimage of Deborah Junk, now Tawsey. She was of the same gigantic build, with the same ruddy face, sharp, black eyes and boisterous manner. Butshe had not the kindly look of Deborah, and of the two sisters Hurdpreferred the one he already knew. 

"This is my brother, Miss Junk, " said Aurora, marching up to the door;"he will only stay until to-morrow. "

"You're welcome, sir, " said Matilda in a loud and hearty voice, whichreminded the detective more than ever of her sister. "Will you pleasewalk in and 'ave some tea?"

Hurd nodded and repaired to the tiny sitting-room, where he saw thephotograph of Hay on the mantelpiece. Aurora, at a hint from herbrother, went to her bedroom to change her dress, and Hurd spoke toMatilda, when she brought in the tray. "I know your sister, " said he. 

Miss Junk nearly dropped the tray. "Lor', now, only think! Why, we ain'twrote to one another for ten years. And I left London eleven years back. And how is she, sir? and where is she?"

"She is well; she has a laundry in Jubileetown near London, and she ismarried to a fellow called Bart Tawsey. "

"Married!" cried Matilda, setting down the tray and putting her armsakimbo, just like Deborah, "lor', and me still single. But now I've gotthis 'ouse, and a bit put by, I'll think of gittin' a 'usband. I ain'ta-goin' to let Debby crow over me. "

"Your sister was in the service of Mr. Norman before she took up thelaundry, " observed Hurd, pouring out a cup of tea. 

"Was she, now? And why did she leave?"

The name of Norman apparently was unknown to Matilda, so Hurd tried theeffect of another bombshell. "Her master was murdered under the name ofLemuel Krill. "

"Mercy, " Matilda dropped into a chair, with a thud which shook the room;"why, that's my ladies' husband and father. "

"What ladies?" asked Hurd, pretending ignorance. 

"My ladies, Mrs. Krill and Miss Maud. They had this 'ouse, and kep' itfor years respectable. I worked for 'em ten, and when my ladies comes infor a forting, for a forting there is, they gave me the goodwill of 'TheRed Pig. ' To think of Debby being the servant of poor Mr. Krill as waskilled. Who killed 'im?"

"Doesn't your mistress know?"

"She, " cried Matilda, indignantly, and bouncing up. "Why, she was alwaysa-lookin' for him, not as she loved him over much. And as he is dead, sir, it's no more as what he oughter be, seeing as he killed a poor ladyin this very 'ouse. You'll sleep in 'er room to-night, " added Matilda, as if that was a pleasure. "Strangled, she was. "

"I think I heard of that. But Lady Rachel Sandal committed suicide. "

Matilda rubbed her nose, after the Deborah fashion. "Well, sir, myladies were never sure which it was, and, of course, it was before mytime considerable, being more nor twenty year back. But the man as didit is dead, and lef' my ladies his money, as he oughter. An' Miss Maud'sa-goin' to marry a real gent"--Matilda glanced at the photograph--"Iallays said he wos a gent, bein' so 'aughty like, and wearing eveningdress at meals, late. "

"Was he ever down here, this gentleman?"

"He's been comin' and goin' fur months, and Miss Maud loves 'imsomethin' cruel. But they'll marry now an' be 'appy. "

"I suppose your ladies sometimes went to see this gent in town?"

"Meanin' Mr. Hay, " said Matilda, artlessly. "Well, sir, they did, one ata time and then together. Missis would go and miss would foller, an'miss an' missus together would take their joy of the Towers an' shopsand Madame Tusord's and sich like, Mr. Hay allays lookin' after 'em. "

"Did they ever visit Mr. Hay in July?"

"No, they didn't, " snapped Matilda, with a change of tone which did notescape Hurd; "and I don't know, sir, why you arsk them questions. "

"My good woman, I ask no questions. If I do, you need not reply. Let uschange the subject. My sister tells me you make good curries in thishotel. "

"Hokar do, me bein' but a plain cook. "

"Oh! He's an Indian?"

"Yes, he is, sir. A pore Indian castaway as missus took up with when hecome here drenched with rain and weary. Ah, missus was allays good andkind and Christian-like. "

Privately Hurd thought this description did not apply very well to thelady in question, but he was careful not to arouse Matilda's suspicionsagain by contradicting her. He pretended to joke. "I wonder you don'tmarry this Indian, and keep him here always to make the curries I haveheard of. "

"Me marry a black!" cried Matilda, tossing her rough head. "Well, sir, Inever, " her breath failed her, "an' him goin' about the country. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I say, " said Miss Junk; "he'll stop here, Christian-like, fordays, and then go orf to sell things as a 'awker. My par was a 'awker, sir, but a white, white man of the finest. "

Hurd was about to ask another question when a husky voice was heardsinging somewhat out of tune. "What's that?" asked Hurd, irritably. 

"Lor', sir, wot nervses you 'ave. 'Tis only Cap'n Jessop makin' hisself'appy-like. "

"Captain Jessop, " Hurd laughed. He had run down his man at last. 

CHAPTER XIX

CAPTAIN JESSOP

Apparently Matilda Junk was quite ignorant of anything being wrong abouther ladies, although she did shirk the question regarding their possiblevisit to London in July. However, Hurd had learned that Grexon Hay notonly was an old friend, but had been engaged to Maud for many months. This information made him the more certain that Hay had robbed Beecot ofthe opal brooch at the time of the accident, and that it had passed fromMr. Hay's hands into those of the assassin. 

"I wonder if Mrs. Krill murdered her husband in that cruel way, " thoughtthe detective, sitting over his tea; "but what could have been herobject? She could have gone up on learning from Hay that Aaron Normanwas her husband--as I believe she did--and could then have made him giveher the money, by threatening him with the murder of Lady Rachel. Idaresay Aaron Norman in his Krill days did strangle that lady to get theopal brooch and his wife could have used what she knew to govern him. There was no need of murder. Hum! I'll see about getting the truth outof Hay. Aurora, " he cried. "Oh, there you are, " he added, as she enteredthe room. "I want you to go back to town this night. "

"What for, Billy?"

"Can you get Hay into trouble?"

Aurora nodded. "I have proofs of his cheating Lord George and others, if that's what you mean, " she said; "but you didn't want them used. "

"Nor do I. He's such an eel, he may wriggle out of our clutches. Butcan't you give a party and invite Lord George and Hay, and then get themto play cards. Should Hay cheat, denounce him to George Sandal. "

"What good would that do?" asked Miss Qian, with widely open eyes. 

"It will make Hay confess about the brooch to save himself from publicshame. His reputation is his life, remember, and if he is caughtred-handed cheating, he'll have to clear out of town. "

"Pooh, as if that mattered. He's going to marry Miss Krill. "

"If Miss Krill keeps the money, and I doubt if she will. "

"But, Billy--"

"Never mind. Don't ask me any more questions, but go and pack. ThisCaptain Jessop is in the bar drinking. I may probably have to arresthim. I got a warrant on the chance of finding him here. I can arrest himon suspicion, and won't let him go until I get at the truth. Yourbusiness is to bring Hay to his knees and get the truth out of him aboutthe opal serpent. You know the case?"

"Yes, " grumbled Aurora, "I know the case. But I don't like this longjourney to-night. "

"Every moment is precious. If I arrest Jessop, Matilda Junk will tellher ladies, who will speak to Hay, and then he may slip away. As thebrooch evidence is so particular, and, as I believe he can give it, ifforced, you can see the importance of losing no time. "

Miss Qian nodded and went away to pack. She wanted money and knew Billywould give her a goodly share of the reward. In a few minutes Miss Junk, of "The Red Pig, " learned that Miss Qian was suddenly summoned to townand would leave in an hour. Quite unsuspectingly she assisted her topack, and shortly Aurora was driving in a hired vehicle to the railwaystation on her way to trap Grexon Hay. 

When she was safely off the premises, Hurd walked to the telegraphoffice, and sent a cipher message to the Yard, asking for a couple ofplain clothes policemen to be sent down. He wanted to have Hokar andMiss Matilda Junk watched, also the house, in case Mrs. Krill and herdaughter should return. Captain Jessop he proposed to look afterhimself. But he was in no hurry to make that gentleman's acquaintance, as he intended to arrest him quietly in the sitting-room after dinner. Already he had informed Matilda that he would ask a gentleman to joinhim at the meal and taste Hokar's curry. 

The thought of the curry brought the Indian to his mind, and when he gotback to the Red Pig, he strolled round the house, inspecting the place, but in reality keeping eyes and ears open to talk to the Hindoo. Thinking he might meet the man some time, Hurd had carefully learned afew phrases relating to Thuggism--in English of course, since he knewnothing of the Indian tongues. These he proposed to use in the course ofconversation with Hokar and watch the effect. Soon he found the mansitting cross-legged under a tree in the yard, smoking. Evidently hiswork for the day was over, and he was enjoying himself. Remembering thedescription given by Bart, the detective saw that this was the very manwho had entered the shop of Aaron Norman. He wore the same dress andlooked dirty and disreputable--quite a waif and a stray. 

"Hullo, " said Hurd, casually, "what are you doing. Talk English, eh?"

"Yes, sir, " said Hokar, calmly. "I spike good Englis. Missionary teachHokar Englis. "

"I'm glad of that; we can have a chat, " said Hurd, producing his pipe. He also produced something else with which he had provided himself onthe way back from the post-office. In another minute Hokar was staringat a small parcel of coarse brown sugar. With all his Oriental phlegmthe man could not keep his countenance. His eyes rolled until theythreatened to drop out of his head, and he looked at Hurd with a certainamount of fear. "Goor, " said that gentleman, pointing to the sugar withthe stem of his pipe, "goor!"

Hokar turned green under his dark skin, and half-rose to go away, buthis legs failed him, and he sat still trying to recover himself. "So youworship Bhowanee?" went on his tormentor. 

The Indian's face expressed lively curiosity. "The great goddess. "

"Yes. Kalee, you know. Did you make Tupounee after you used your roomalon Aaron Norman?"

Hokar gave a guttural cry and gasped. Tupounee is the sacrifice made bythe Thugs after a successful crime, and roomal the handkerchief withwhich they strangled their victims. All this was information culled fromColonel Meadow Taylor's book by the accomplished detective. "Well, " saidHurd, smoking placidly, "what have you to say, Mr. Hokar?"

"I know nozzin', " said the man, sullenly, but in deadly fear. 

"Yes, you do. Sit still, " said Hurd, with sudden sternness. "If you tryto run away, I'll have you arrested. Eyes are on you, and you can't takea step without my knowing. "

Some of this was Greek to the Indian, owing to his imperfect knowledgeof English. But he understood that the law would lay hold of him if hedid not obey this Sahib, and so sat still. "I know not anysing, " herepeated, his teeth chattering. 

"Yes, you do. You're a Thug. "

"Zer no Thug. "

"I agree with you, " said Hurd; "you are the last of the Mohicans. I wantto know why you offered Aaron Norman to Bhowanee?"

Hokar made a strange sign on his forehead at the mention of the sacredname, and muttered something--perhaps a prayer--in his native tongue. Then he looked up. "I know nozzing. "

"Don't repeat that rubbish, " said Hurd, calmly; "you sold boot laces inthe shop in Gwynne Street on the day when its master was killed. And hewas the husband of the lady who helped you--Mrs. Krill. "

"You say dat, " said Hokar, stolidly. 

"Yes, and I can prove it. The boy Tray--and I can lay my hands onhim--saw you, also Bart Tawsey, the shopman. You left a handful ofsugar, though why you did so instead of eating it, I can't understand. "

Hokar's face lighted up, and he showed his teeth disdainfully. "Oh, youSahibs know nozzin'!" said he, spreading out his lean brown hands. "Zeshops--ah, yis. I there, yis. But I use no roomal. "

"Not then, but you did later. "

Hokar shook his head. "I use no roomal. Zat Sahib one eye--bad, ver bad. Bhowanee, no have one eye. No Bhungees, no Bhats, no--"

"What are you talking about?" said Hurd, angrily. His reading had nottold him that no maimed persons could be offered to the goddess of theThugs. Bhungees meant sweepers, and Bhats bards, both of which classeswere spared by the stranglers. "You killed that man. Now, who told youto kill him?"

"I know nozzin', I no kill. Bhowanee no take one-eye mans. "

For want of an interpreter Hurd found it difficult to carry on theconversation. He rose and determined to postpone further examinationtill he would get someone who understood the Hindoo tongue. But in themeantime Hokar might run away, and Hurd rather regretted that he hadbeen so precipitate. However, he nodded to the man and went off, prettysure he would not fly at once. 

Then Hurd went to the village police-office, and told a bucolicconstable to keep his eye on Miss Junk's "fureiner, " as he learned Hokarwas called. The policeman, a smooth-faced individual, promised to do so, after Hurd produced his credentials, and sauntered towards "The RedPig, " at some distance from the detective's heels. A timely questionabout the curry revealed, by the mouth of Miss Junk, that Hokar wasstill in the kitchen. "But he do seem alarmed-like, " said Matilda, laying the cloth. 

"Let's hope he won't spoil the curry, " remarked Hurd. Then, knowingHokar was safe, he went into the bar to make the acquaintance of hisother victim. 

Captain Jarvey Jessop quite answered to the description given by Pash. He was large and sailor-like, with red hair mixed with grey and a redbeard that scarcely concealed the scar running from temple to mouth. Hehad drunk enough to make him cheerful and was quite willing to fall intoconversation with Hurd, who explained himself unnecessarily. "I'm acommercial gent, " said the detective, calling for two rums, plain, "andI like talking. "

"Me, too, " growled the sailor, grasping his glass. "I'm here on whatyou'd call a visit, but I go back to my home to-morrow. Then it's ho forCallao, " he shouted in a sing-song voice. 

Hurd knew the fierce old chanty and sized Captain Jarvey up at once. Hewas of the buccaneer type, and there was little he would not do to makemoney and have a roaring time. Failing Hokar, with his deadlyhandkerchief, here was the man who might have killed Aaron Norman. "Drink up, " shouted Hurd in his turn, "we'll have some more. 

 "On no condition, is extradition, Allowed in Callao. "

"Gum, " said Captain Jessop, "you know the chanty. "

Hurd winked. "I've bin round about in my time. "

Jessop stretched out a huge hand. "Put it there, mate, " said he, with aroar like a fog-horn, "and drink up along o' me. My treat. "

Hurd nodded and became jovial. "On condition you join me at dinner. Theymake good curries here. "

"I've had curry, " said Captain Jessop, heavily, "in Colombo andHong-Kong frequent, but Hokar's curries are the best. "

"Ah!" said Hurd in a friendly curious way, "so you know this shanty?"

Jessop looked at him with contempt. "Know this shanty, " said he, with agrin, "why, in coorse, I do. I've been swinging my hammock here time inand out for the last thirty year. "

"You'll be a Christchurch man, then?"

"Not me, mate. I'm Buckinghamshire. Stowley born. "

Hurd with difficulty suppressed a start. Stowley was the place where theall-important brooch had been pawned by a nautical man, and here was theman in question. "I should have thought you'd lived near the sea, " hesaid cautiously, "say Southampton. "

"Oh, I used t'go there for my ship, " said the captain, draining hisglass, "but I don't go there no more. "

"Retired, eh?"

Jessop nodded and looked at his friend--as he considered Hurd, since theinvitation to dinner--with a blood-shot pair of eyes. "Come storm, comecalm, " he growled, "I've sailed the ocean for forty years. Yes, sir, you bet. I was a slip of a fifteen cabin-boy on my first cruise, andthen I got on to being skipper. Lord, " Jessop smacked his knee, "thethings I've seen!"

"We'll have them to-night after dinner, " said Hurd, nodding; "but now, Isuppose, you've made your fortune. "

"No, " said the captain, gloomily, "not what you'd call money. I've got astand-by, though, " and he winked. 

"Ah! Married to a rich wife?"

"Not me. I've had enough of marriage, having been the skipper of amermaid with a tongue. No, sir, " he roared out another line of some songfloating in his muzzy head, "a saucy bachelor am I, " then changed togruff talk, "and I intends being one all my days. Stand-by, Ihave--t'ain't a wife, but I can draw the money regular, and no questionsasked. " Again he winked and drank another glass. 

Hurd reflected that perhaps Jessop had killed Aaron Norman for Mrs. Krill, and she was paying him blood-money. But he did not dare to pressthe question, as Jessop was coming perilously near what the Irish call"the cross drop. " He therefore proposed an adjournment to thesitting-room. Jessop agreed quite unsuspectingly, not guessing he wasbeing trapped. The man was so large and uncouth that Hurd felt behindhis waist to see that his revolver was loose and could be used shouldoccasion arise. 

Miss Junk brought in the dinner with her own fair hands, and explainedthat Hokar had made the curry, but she didn't think it was as good asusual. "The man's shakin' like a jelly, " said Matilda. "I don't knowwhy. "

The detective nodded, but did not encourage conversation. He was quitesure that Hokar was being watched by the smooth-faced policeman, andcould not get away. Besides, he wished to talk to Captain Jessop. MissJunk, seeing that she was not needed, retreated, after bringing in thecurry, and left the gentlemen to help themselves. So here was Hurd in apleasant room, seated before a well-spread table, and with a roaringfire at his back, waiting his opportunity to make Captain Jarvey Jessopconfess his share in the dual murders of Lady Rachel Sandal and AaronNorman. 

CHAPTER XX

PART OF THE TRUTH

Captain Jessop ate as greedily as he drank strong waters, and did fulljustice to the curry, which was really excellent. Hurd did not broachany unpleasant topic immediately, as he wished the man to enjoy hismeal. If Jessop was guilty, this dainty dinner would be the last of itskind he would have for many a long day. Moreover, Hurd wished to learnmore of the mariner's character, and plied him with questions, which theunsuspecting sailor answered amiably enough. 

"Me an' you might become mates, as it were, " said Jessop, extending hislarge hand again and again. "Put it there. "

"Well, we'd want to know something more about one another to become realmates, " laughed Hurd. 

"Oh, you're a commercial traveller, as you say, and I'm the captain ofas fine a barkey as ever sailed under Capricorn. Leastways I was, aforeI gave up deep-sea voyages. "

"You must miss the ocean, living at Stowley. "

"Inland it is, " admitted the mariner, pulling out a dirty clay pipe, atthe conclusion of the meal, "and ocean there ain't round about furmiles. But I've got a shanty there, and live respectable. "

"You are able to, with the stand-by, " hinted Hurd. 

Jessop nodded and crammed black tobacco, very strong and rank, into thebowl of his pipe with a shaking hand. "It ain't much, " he admitted;"folks being stingy. But if I wants more, " he struck the table hard, "Ican get it. D'ye see, Mister Commercial?"

"Yes, I see, " replied Hurd, coolly. Jessop was again growing cross, andthe detective had to be careful. He knew well enough that next morning, when sober, Jessop would not be so disposed to talk, but being muzzy, heopened his heart freely. Still, it was evident that a trifle more liquorwould make him quarrelsome, so Hurd proposed coffee, a proposition towhich the sailor graciously assented. 

"Cawfee, " he observed, lighting his pipe, and filling the room withevil-smelling smoke, "clears the 'ead, not as mine wants clearing, mindyou. But cawfee ain't bad, when rum ain't t' be 'ad. "

"You'll have more rum later, " hinted Hurd. 

"Put it there, " said Jessop, and again the detective was forced to winceat the strong grip of a horny hand. 

Miss Junk appeared in answer to the tinkle of the bell and removed thefood. Afterwards she brought in coffee, hot and strong and black, andJessop drank two cups, with the result that he became quieter. Then thetwo men settled down for a pleasant conversation. At least, Jessopthought so, for he frequently expressed the friendliest sentimentstowards his host. Then Matilda appeared with a bottle of rum, a kettleand two glasses. When she departed, Hurd intimated that he would notrequire her services again that night. This he whispered to her at thedoor, while Jessop was placing the kettle on the fire, and beforereturning to his seat, he quietly turned the key. So he had the marinerentirely to himself and got to business at once while the kettle boiled. 

"You have known this place for years I believe, " said Hurd, taking achair opposite to that of Jessop. "Did you ever drop across a man, whoused to live here, called Lemuel Krill?"

The other man started. "Whatever makes you arsk that?" he inquired in ahusky voice. 

"Well, you see, as a commercial I trade in books, and had to do with asecond-hand bookseller in Gwynne Street, Drury Lane. It seems that hewas murdered, " and he eyed Jessop attentively. 

The sailor nodded and composed himself with a violent effort. "Yes, "said he in his husky voice, "so I heard. But what's he got to do withLemuel Krill?"

"Oh, " said Hurd, carelessly, "it is said Aaron Norman was Krill. "

"Might ha' bin. I don't know myself, " was the gruff reply. 

"Ah! Then you did not know Lemuel Krill?"

"Well, " admitted the captain, reluctantly, "I did. He wos the landlordof this here pub, and a cuss to drink. Lor', 'ow he could drink, and didtoo. But he run away from his wife as used to keep this shanty, and shenever heard no more of him. "

"Until she found he was rich and could leave her five thousand a year, "said Hurd, absently; "so like a woman. "

"You seem to know all about it, mister?" said the sailor, uneasily. 

"Yes, I read the papers. A queer case that of Norman's death. I expectit was only right he should be strangled seeing he killed Lady RachelSandal in the same way. "

Jessop, resting his hands on the arms of his chair, pushed it back andstared with a white face. "You know of that?" he gasped. 

"Why not? It was public talk in this place over twenty years ago. Iunderstand you have been here-abouts for thirty years, " went on Hurd, carelessly, "possibly you may recollect the case. "

Jessop wiped his forehead. "I heard something about it. That there ladycommitted suicide they say. "

"I know what they say, but I want to know what you say?"

"I won't be arsked questions, " shouted the captain, angrily. 

"Don't raise your voice, " said the detective, smoothly; "we may as wellconduct this conversation pleasantly. "

"I don't converse no more, " said Jessop in a shaky voice, and staggeredto his feet, rapidly growing sober under the influence of a deadly fear. Hurd did not move as the man crossed the room, but felt if the key wassafe in his pocket. The sailor tried to open the door, and then realizedthat it was locked. He turned on his host with a volley of bad language, and found himself facing a levelled revolver. 

"Sit down, " said Hurd, quietly; "go back to your chair. "

Jessop, with staring eyes and outspread hands, backed to the wall. "Whoare you anyhow?" he demanded, hardly able to speak. 

"Perhaps that will tell you, " said Hurd, and threw the warrant on thetable. Jessop staggered forward and looked at it. One glance wassufficient to inform him what it was, and he sank back into his chairwith a groan, leaving the warrant on the table. Hurd picked it up andslipped it into his pocket. He thought Jessop might destroy it; butthere was no fight in the mariner. 

"And now that we understand one another, " said Hurd, putting away hisweapon, "I want to talk. "

"Sha'n't talk, " said Jessop, savagely. 

"Oh, yes, I think so; otherwise I can make things unpleasant for you. "

"You can't arrest me. I've done nothing. "

"That may be so, but arrest you I can and I have done so now. To-morrowmorning you will go to London in charge of a plain-clothes policeman, while I go to Stowley. "

"To my crib. No, I'm blest if you do. "

"I sha'n't go immediately to your crib, " rejoined Hurd, dryly, "though Imay do so later. My first visit will be to that old pawnbroker. I thinkif I describe you--and you are rather a noticeable man, CaptainJessop--he will recognize the individual who pawned an opal serpentbrooch with him shortly after the death of Lady Rachel Sandal, to whomthe said brooch belonged. "

"It's a lie, " said Jessop hoarsely, and sober enough now. 

"Quite so, and perhaps it is also a lie that a man resembling yourselftried to get certain jewellery from a lawyer called Pash--"

Jessop lost his self-control, which he was trying desperately topreserve, and rose to his feet, white-faced and haggard. "Who are you?"he shouted, "who are you?"

"Doesn't the warrant tell you, " replied his companion, not at all upset. "My name is Billy Hurd. I am the detective in charge of the Normanmurder case. And I've been looking for you for a long time, Mr. Jessop. "

"I know nothing about it. "

"Yes, you do; so sit down and talk away. "

"I'll break your head, " cried the captain, swinging his huge fists. 

"Try, " Hurd whipped out his revolver, but did not rise, "at the risk ofgetting a bullet through you. Pshaw, man, don't be a fool. I'm makingthings as easy for you as possible. Create a disturbance, and I'll handyou over to the police. A night in the village lock-up may cool yourblood. Sit down I tell you. "

The sailor showed his teeth like those of a snarling dog and made as tostrike the seated detective; but suddenly changing his mind, for he sawwell enough in what danger he stood, he dropped into his chair, and, covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud. Hurd put away hisrevolver. "That's better, " said he, pleasantly; "take a tot of rum andtell me all you know. "

"I'm innocent, " groaned Jessop. 

"Every man is innocent until convicted by a jury, " said Hurd, calmly. "Consider me a jury and I'll size up your case, when I hear all. Are youinnocent of both murders?"

"Lady Rachel committed suicide, " said Jessop, raising a haggard face. "Yes--I stick to that, sir. As to Krill's death in London, I didn'ttouch him; I swear I didn't. "

"But you saw him on that night?"

"How can you prove that?"

"Very simply. Norman--or Krill if you prefer the old name--took certainjewellery to Pash for safe keeping shortly before his death. Youpresented to Pash a paper, undeniably written and signed by the old man, saying that the jewellery was to be given up to bearer. Now, beforetaking the jewellery to Pash, Krill could not have written that paper, so you must have seen him during the few hours which elapsed between hisvisit to Pash and his death. "

This was clearly argued, and Jessop could not contradict. "I left himquite well and hearty. "

"In the cellar in Gwynne Street?"

"Yes, in the cellar, " admitted Jessop. 

"At what time?"

"About half-past eight--say between eight and nine. "

"Well, what happened?" asked Hurd, smoking quietly. 

The sailor twisted his big hands and groaned. Then he laid his head onthe table and began to sob, talking brokenly and huskily. "I'm donefor, " he gasped. "I'd know'd it would come--no--I ain't sorry. I've hada nightmare of a time. Oh--since I pawned that brooch--"

"Ah. Then you did pawn the brooch at Stowley?"

Jessop sat up and wiped his eyes. "Yes, I did. But I pulled my cap downover my eyes and buttoned up my pea-jacket. I never thought old Tinkerwould ha' knowed me. "

"Wasn't it rather rash of you to pawn the brooch in a place where youwere well known?"

"I wasn't well known. I only come at times, and then I went away. OldTinker hadn't seen me more nor once or twice, and then I pulled down mycap and--" Jessop, badly shaken, was beginning to tell the episode overagain, when Hurd stopped him. 

"See here, " said the detective. "You say that you are innocent?"

"I swear that I am, " gasped Jessop. 

"Well, then, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. My business is notto hang innocent people. Take a glass of rum and tell me all you know, beginning with your first meeting with Krill and running down throughthe death of Lady Rachel to your last meeting in the Gwynne Streetcellar. "

"And when you know all?"

"Then I'll see what is to be done. "

"Will you arrest me?"

"I have arrested you. Don't make conditions with me, man, " said Hurd, with a stern face. "The night is growing late and I want to get to thebottom of this business before we go to bed. Take some rum. "

Seeing there was nothing for it but to make a clean breast, CaptainJarvey Jessop wasted no further time in useless lamentation. He couldhave smashed Hurd easily enough, even though there was the risk of beingshot. But the fracas would bring others on the scene, and Jessop knew hecould not deal with the police. Therefore, he took a stiff peg andbecame quieter. In fact, when once started on his confession, heappeared to be rather relieved. 

"It's been a nightmare, " said he, wiping his forehead. "I'm glad it'scome to the lawr, that I am. I met Krill, as he wos then, sometwenty-five year back by chance, as you may say"--he cast a strange lookat the detective, which the latter noted--"yes, by chance, Mr. Hurd. Ifound he kep' the pub here, and this bein' no distance from SouthamptonI took to runnin' down here when the barkey was at anchor. Me an' Krillbecame great mates, and I'd what you might call free quarters here--yes, sir--it's a frozen fact. "

"Very generous of Mr. Krill, " remarked Hurd, dryly, and wondering whatthe man was keeping back. 

"Oh, he was right enough as a mate when not drunk; but the liquor made ahowling dorg of him. I've seen many drunk in many places, " said Jessop, "but anyone who held his liquor wuss nor Krill I never did see. He'dknife you as soon as look at you when drunk. "

"But he evidently preferred strangling. "

"Hold on, mate, " said Jessop, with another deep pull at the rum. "I'mcomin' to that night. We wos both on the bust, as y'may say, and Mrs. Krill she didn't like it, so got to bed with the child. "

"How old was the child?"

"Maud? Oh, you might say she was thirteen or fifteen. I can't be sure ofher age. What's up?"

For Hurd, seeing in this admission a confirmation that Maud was eithernot Krill's child or was illegitimate, and could not inherit the money, had showed his feelings. However, he made some trivial excuse, notwishing to be too confidential, and begged Jessop to proceed. 

"Well, mate, " said the captain, filling another glass of rum, "y'seethe lady had come earlier and had been put to bed by the missus. I neversaw her myself, being drinking in this very room along o' Krill. But_he_ saw her, " added Jessop, emphatically, "and said as she'd a fineopal brooch, which he wish he'd had, as he wanted money and the missuskept him tight. "

"Krill was a judge of jewels?"

"Travelled in jewels once, " said the captain. "Bless you, he could sizeup a precious stone in no time. But he sat drinking with me, and everynow and then got out of the room, when he'd stop away for perhaps aquarter of an hour at the time. "

"Did he mention the opal brooch again?"

"No, " said Jessop, after reflection, "he didn't. But he got so drunkthat he began to show fight, as he always did when boozy, though a timidchap when sober. I concluded, wishing no row, to git to my hammock, andcut up stairs. Then I went by mistake into the room of that pore lady, carrying a candle, and saw her tied to the bedpost stone dead, with asilk handkerchief round her neck. I shouted out blue murder, and Mrs. Krill with the kid came tumbling down. I was so feared, " added Jessop, wiping his forehead at the recollection, "that I ran out of doors. "

"What good would that do?"

"Lor', I dunno, " confessed the man, shivering, "but I wos skeered out ofmy life. It wos rainin' pitchforks, as y'might say, and I raced onthrough the rain for an hour or so. Then I thought, as I wos innocent, I'd make tracks back, and I did. I found Krill had cut. "

"Did his wife tell you?"

"Oh, she wos lying on the floor insensible where he'd knocked her down. And the kid--lor', " Jessop spat, "she was lying in the corner with herlips fastened together with the brooch. "

"What?" cried Hurd, starting to his feet. "The same as her--the same asNorman's was?"

Jessop nodded and drank some rum. "Made me sick it did. I took th'brooch away and slipped it into my pocket. Then the kid said her fatherhad fastened her lips together and had knocked her mother flat when sheinterfered. I brought Mrs. Krill round and then left her with the kid, and walked off to Southampton. The police found me there, and I toldthem what I tell you. "

"Did you tell about the brooch?"

"Well, no, I didn't, " confessed Jessop, coolly, "an' as the kid and themother said nothing, I didn't see why I shouldn't keep it, wantin'money. So I went to Stowley and pawned it, then took a deep sea voyagefor a year. When I come back, all was over. "

"Do you think Krill murdered the woman?" asked Hurd, passing over forthe moment the fact that Jessop had stolen the brooch. 

"He said he didn't, " rejoined the man with emphasis, "but I trulybelieve, mister, as he did, one of them times, when mad with drink andout of the room. He wanted the brooch, d'ye see, though why he shouldhave lost the loot by sealin' the kid's mouth with it I can't say. "

"When did you come across Krill again?"

"Ho, " said Jessop, drawing his hand across his mouth, "'twas this way, d'ye see. I come round here lots, and a swell come too, a cold--"

"Grexon Hay, " said Hurd, pointing to the photograph. 

"Yes. That's him, " said Jessop, staring, "and I hated him just, with hiseye-glass and his sneerin' ways. He loved the kid, now a growed, finegal, as you know, and come here often. In June--at the end of itanyhow--he comes and I hears him tells Mrs. Krill, who was alwayslooking for her husband, that a one-eyed bookseller in Gwynne Street, Drury Lane, had fainted when he saw the very identical brooch showed himby another cove. "

"Beecot. I know. Didn't you wonder how the brooch had left thepawnshop?" asked Hurd, very attentive. 

"No, I didn't, " snarled Jessop, who was growing cross. "I knew oldTinker's assistant had sold the brooch and he didn't oughter t' havedone it, as I wanted it back. Mrs. Krill asked me about the brooch, andwanted it, so I said I'd get it back. Tinker said it was gone, but wroteto the gent as bought it. "

"Mr. Simon Beecot, of Wargrove, in Essex. "

"That wos him; but the gent wouldn't give it back, so I 'spose he'dgiven it to his son. Well, then, when Mrs. Krill heard of the one-eyedman fainting at sight of the brooch, she knew 'twas her husband, as he'done eye, she having knocked the other out when he was sober. "

"Did she go up and see him?"

"Well, " said Jessop, slowly, "I don't rightly know what she did do, butshe went up. I don't think she saw Krill at his shop, but she might haveseen that Pash, who was Mr. Hay's lawyer, and a dirty little ape o'sorts he is. "

"Ha, " said Hurd, to himself, "I thought Pash knew about the womenbeforehand. No wonder he stuck to them and gave poor Miss Norman thego-bye, " he rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Well, we'll see what willcome of the matter. Go on, Jessop. "

"There ain't much more to tell, " grumbled the captain. "I heard of this, and I wasn't meant to hear. But I thought I'd go up and see if I couldget money out of Krill by saying I'd tell about the murder of LadyRachel. "

"You _are_ a scoundrel, " said Hurd, coolly. 

"I wos 'ard up, " apologized the captain, "or I wouldn't, not me. I'mstraight enough when in cash. So I went up in July. "

"On the sixth of July?"

"If that was the day of the murder--yes. I went up and loafed rounduntil it wos dark, and then slipped through that side passage at eighto'clock to see Krill. "

"How did you know where to find him?"

"Why, that Hay knew about the chap, and said as he did business in acellar after eight. So Krill let me in, thinking, I 'spose, I wos acustomer. He'd been drinking a little and was bold enough. But when Isaid, as I'd say, he'd killed Lady Rachel, he swore he was an innercentbabe, and cried, the drink dyin' out of him. "

"The same as it died out of you lately, " said Hurd, smiling. 

"Go slow, " grunted the captain, in a surly tone. "I ain't afraid now, asI ain't done nothing. I said to Krill I'd say nothin' if he'd give memoney. He wouldn't, but said he'd placed a lot of pawned things withPash, and I could have them. He then gave me a paper saying I was tohave the things, and I went to Pash the next morning and had trouble. But I heard by chance, " again Jessop cast a strange look at Hurd, "thatKrill had been murdered, so I didn't wait for the lawyer to come back, but cut down to Southampton and went on a short voyage. Then I come hereand you nabbed me, " and Jessop finished his rum. "That's all I know. "

"Do you swear you left Aaron Norman alive?"

"Meaning Krill? I do. He wasn't no use to me dead, and I made him giveme the jewels Pash had, d'ye see. "

"But who warned you of the death when you were waiting?"

Jessop seemed unwilling to speak, but when pressed burst out, "'Twas ameasily little kid with ragged clothes and a dirty face. "

"Tray, " said Hurd. "Hum! I wonder how he knew of the murder before itgot into the papers?"

CHAPTER XXI

MISS QIAN'S PARTY

Hurd's sister was a clever young woman who in her time had played manyparts. She began her career along with Hurd as a private detective, butwhen her brother joined the official service, Miss Hurd thought shewould better her position by appearing on the stage, and, therefore, took the rather queer name of Aurora Qian. In her detective capacity shehad often disguised herself when employed in obtaining evidence, and wasremarkably talented in changing her face and figure. This art she usedwith great success in her new profession, and speedily made her mark asan impersonator of various characters out of novels. As Becky Sharp, asLittle Dorrit, she was said to be inimitable, and after playing underseveral managements, she started, in the phrase of the profession, "ashow of her own, " and rapidly made money. 

But her great faults amongst others were vanity and extravagance, so shewas always in need of money, and when chance offered, through herbrother, to make any, she was not averse to returning to the spybusiness. Thus it came about that she watched Mr. Grexon Hay for many along day and night, and he never suspected the pretty, fluffy, kittenishMiss Qian was in reality an emissary of the law. Consequently, whenAurora asked him to a card-party at her rooms, Hay accepted readilyenough, although he was not in need of money at the time. 

Miss Qian occupied a tiny flat on the top of a huge pile of buildings inKensington, and it was furnished in a gimcrack way, with more show thanreal value, and with more color than taste. Every room was of adifferent hue, with furniture and hangings to match. The drawing-roomwas pink, the dining-room green, her bedroom blue, the entrance hallyellow, and the extra sleeping apartment used by her companion, MissStably, was draped in purple. Some wit called the flat "the paint-box, "and indeed so varied were its hues that it was not a bad title to giveit. 

Like the Becky Sharp whom she impersonated with such success, Miss Qianpossessed a sheep-dog, not because she needed one, being very well ableto look after herself, but because it sounded and looked respectable. Miss Stably, who filled this necessary office, was a dull old lady whodressed excessively badly, and devoted her life to knitting shawls. Whatshe did with these when completed no one ever knew: but she was alwaysto be found with two large wooden pins rapidly weaving the fabric forsome unknown back. She talked very little, and when she did speak, itwas to agree with her sharp little mistress. To make up for speakinglittle, she ate a great deal, and after dinner with her eternal knittingin her bony hands and a novel on her lap, was entirely happy. She wasone of those neutral-tinted people, who seem not good enough for heavenand not sufficiently bad for the other place. Aurora often wondered whatwould become of Miss Stably when she departed this life, and left herknitting behind her. The old lady herself never gave the matter athought, but lived a respectable life of knitting and eating and novelreading, with a regular visit to church on Sunday where she worshippedwithout much idea of what the service was about. 

This sort of person exactly suited Miss Qian, who wanted a sheep-dog whocould neither bark nor bite, and who could be silent. Thesequalifications were possessed by the old lady, and for some years shehad trailed through a rather giddy world at Aurora's heels. In her owndull way she was fond of the young woman, but was far from suspectingthat Aurora was connected in an underhand manner with the law. Thatknowledge would indeed have shaken Miss Stably to the soul, as she had aholy dread of the law, and always avoided the police-court column whenshe read the newspapers. 

This was the old lady who sat in the pink drawing-room to play proprietyfor Miss Qian. Lord George Sandal was present, looking rather washedout, but as gentlemanly as ever. Hay, with his fixed eye-glass andeternally cold smile was there, and a third young man, who adored MissQian, thinking her to be merely an actress, simpered across thecard-table at his goddess. The four were playing a game which involvedthe gaining and losing of much money, and they had been engaged forabout an hour. Miss Stably having eaten a good dinner and commenced anew shawl was half dosing in the corner, and paying absolutely noattention to the players. 

"It's a good thing we're hanging on our own hooks in this game, " saidMiss Qian, who smoked a dainty cigarette. "Were I your partner, Sandal, "she always addressed her friends in this free-and-easy fashion, "I'd belosing money. What luck you have!"

"I never do seem to win, " lamented Lord George. "Whenever I think I'vegot a good hand, the thing pans out wrong. "

"Hay has got all the money, " said the simpering admirer who answered tothe name of Tempest. "He and you, Miss Qian, are the winners. "

"I've made very little, " she replied. "Hay's raking in the dollars handover fist. "

"Lucky in love, unlucky at cards, " said Hay, who did not like his goodfortune to be commented upon, for reasons which Miss Qian knew. "It'sthe reverse with me--I'm lucky at cards--"

"And lucky in love, too, " interrupted Aurora, with a grimace, "seeingyou're going to marry that Krill heiress--if she is an heiress. "

"What do you mean?" asked Hay, who was dealing a new round. 

"Go on with the game and don't ask questions, " said Miss Qian, in asaucy manner. "Sandal, don't stare round, but keep your eye on thecards, " and she winked stealthily at the young lord, while Hay wasexchanging a word with Tempest. The young man, who had spoken privatelyto her immediately before the dinner, knew well what she meant. Had Haybeen likewise "in the know, " he would scarcely have done what he did do, and which Sandal saw him do in a few minutes. 

Hay was rapidly dealing, and the cards were flying like leaves. A pileof gold stood beside Hay's elbow, and some silver near Tempest. The gamecommenced, and soon the players were engrossed, heedless of the patentsnoring of Miss Stably, who, poor old thing, had succumbed to thelateness of the hour. Suddenly Lord George, who had been very vigilant, felt his foot touched under the table by Miss Qian. He rose at once andsnatched up the gold standing near Hay. 

"What's that for?" demanded Hay, angrily. 

"You're cheating, " said Sandal, "and I don't play with you any more. "

"That's a lie. I did not cheat. "

"Yes, you did, " cried Miss Qian, bending forward and seizing the cards;"we've been watching you. Tempest--"

"I saw it all right, " said the other. "You took up that king--"

"And it's marked, " said Aurora. "I believe Hay's got cards up hissleeve. Examine the cards. "

Hay, very pale, but still keeping his countenance, tried to object, butthe two young men seized and held him, while Miss Qian, with a dexterityacquired in detective circles, rapidly searched his pockets. 

"Here's another pack, " she cried, and shook an ace and two kings out ofthe detected swindler's sleeve, "and these cards--"

Sandal took one and went to the lamp. "Marked, by Jove!" he cried, butwith a stronger oath; "here's a pin-prick. "

"You are mistaken, " began Hay, quite pale. 

"No, " said Tempest, coolly, "we're not. Miss Qian told us you cheated, and we laid a trap for you. You've been trying this double card andmarked card dodge several times this very evening. "

"And he's tried it lots of times before, " said Aurora, quickly. "I havebeen at several places where Hay scooped the pool, and it was allcheating. "

"If it was, " said Hay, with quivering lips, "why didn't you denounce methen and there?"

"Because I denounce you now, " she said; "you're cooked, my man. Theseboys will see that the matter is made public. "

"By Jove, yes!" cried Sandal, with a look of abhorrence at Hay, "andI'll prosecute you to get back those thousands you won off me. "

"I never did--"

"You've been rooking this boy for months, " cried Miss Qian. "Here, Tempest, get a constable. We'll give him in charge for swindling. "

"No! no!" cried Hay, his nerve giving way under the threatenedexposure; "you'll have your money back, Sandal, I swear. "

"Lord George to you now, you blackguard; and how can you pay me themoney when I know you haven't got a cent?"

"He intends to get it from the heiress, " sniggered Aurora. 

"Oh, dear me!" rose the plaintive voice of the sheep-dog, "what is it, Aurora? Anything wrong?"

"We've caught Hay cheating, that's all, and the police--"

"Oh, Aurora, don't bring up the police. "

"No, don't, " said Hay, who was now trembling. "I'll do whatever youlike. Don't show me up--I'm--I'm going to be married soon. "

"No, you sha'n't marry, " cried Tempest, sharply; "I'll see this girlmyself and save her from you. "

"You can't prove that I cheated, " said Hay, desperately. 

"Yes, we can, " said George. "I, and Miss Qian, and Tempest all saw youcheat, and Miss Qian has the marked cards. "

"But don't expose me. I--I--" Hay broke down and turned away with a lookof despair on his face. He cursed himself inwardly for having venturedto cheat when things, by the marriage with Maud Krill, would have soonbeen all right for him. "Miss Qian, " he cried in a tone of agony, "giveme another chance. "

Aurora, playing her own game, of which the two young men were ignorant, appeared to repent. She beckoned to Miss Stably. "Take Mr. Hay into thedining-room, " she said, "and I'll see what I can do. But you try andbolt, Hay, and the news will be all over the West End to-morrow. "

"I'll stop, " said Hay, whose face was colorless, and, without anotherword, he followed the sheep-dog into the dining-room in an agony of mindbetter imagined than described. Then Miss Qian turned her attention toher guests:

"See here, boys, " she said frankly, "this is a dirty business, and Idon't want to be mixed up with it. "

"But Hay should be exposed, " insisted Sandal; "he's been rooking me, Ido believe, for months. "

"Serve you jolly well right, " said Aurora, heartlessly. "I warned youagain and again against him. But if there's a row, where do I come in?"

"It won't hurt you, " said Tempest, eagerly. 

"Oh, won't it? Gambling in my flat, and all the rest of it. You boys maythink me free and easy but I'm straight. No one can say a word againstme. I'm not going to be made out an adventuress and a bad woman for thesake of that swindler, Hay. So you boys will just hold your tongues. "

"No, " said Sandal, "my money--"

"Oh, bother your money. One would think you were a Jew. I'll see thatHay pays it back. He's going to marry this Krill girl, and she's able tosupply the cash. "

"But the girl shouldn't be allowed to marry Hay, " said Tempest. 

"Don't you burn your fingers with other people's fire, " said Aurora, sharply. "This girl's in love with him and will marry him in spite ofeverything. But I don't care a cent for that. It's myself I'm thinkingof. If I get your money back, Sandal, will you hold your tongue?"

Lord George, thinking of what his noble father would say were heinvolved in a card scandal connected with an actress, thought it just aswell to agree. "Yes, " said he, hesitatingly, "I'll not say a word, ifyou get the money back. But don't you let Hay speak to me again inpublic or I'll kick him. "

"That's your affair and his, " said Aurora, delighted at having gainedher point; "but you hold your tongue, and you, Tempest?"

"I'll not say a word either, " said the young man, with a shrug, "thoughI don't see why you should save this blackguard's reputation. "

"It's my own I'm thinking of, so don't you make any mistake. And now Ihave both your promises?"

"Yes, " said Sandal and Tempest, thinking it best to hush the matter up;"but Hay--"

"I'll see to him. You two boys clear out and go home to bed. "

"But we can't leave you alone with Hay, " said Tempest. 

"I'll not be alone with him, " cried the little woman, imperiously; "mycompanion is with me. What do you mean?"

"He might do you some harm. "

"Oh! might he? You take me for a considerable idiot, I suppose. You getalong, boys, and leave me to fix up things. "

Both young men protested again; but Aurora, anxious for her conversationwith Hay, bundled them out of the flat and banged the door to, when sheheard them whistling below for a hansom. Then she went to thedining-room. 

"You come along to the drawing-room, " she said to Hay. "Miss Stably, stop here. "

"I haven't got my shawl, " bleated the old lady. 

"Oh, bother, " Aurora ran to the other room, snatched up the shawl andsaw Miss Stably sitting down to knit, while she led Hay back into thedrawing-room. He looked round when he entered. 

"Where are they?" he asked, sitting down. 

"Gone; but it's all right. I've made them promise not to say--"

Grexon Hay didn't let her finish. He fell on his knees and kissed herhand. His face was perfectly white, but his eyes were full of gratitudeas he babbled his thanks. No one could have accused him of being coldthen. But Miss Qian did not approve of this emotion, natural though itwas. 

"Here, get up, " she said, snatching her hand away. "I've got to speakstraight to you. I've done a heap for you, now you've got to do a heapfor me. "

"Anything--anything, " said Hay, whose face was recovering its normalcolor. "You have saved me--you have. "

"And much of a thing you are to save. You'll be cheating again in a weekor so. "

"No, " cried Hay, emphatically, "I swear I'll not touch a card again. I'll marry Maud and turn respectable. Oh, what a lesson I've had! Youare sure those fellows won't speak?"

"No. That's all right. You can go on swindling as before, only, " MissQian raised a finger, "you'll have to pay Sandal back some cash. "

"I'll do that. Maud will lend me the money. Does he want all?"

"Oh, a couple of thousand will shut his mouth. I'll not see you left. It's all right, so sit up and don't shake there like a jelly. "

"You're very kind to me, " said Hay, faintly. 

"Don't you make any mistake. So far as I am concerned you might stick inthe mud forever. I helped you, because I want you to help me. I'm inwant of money--"

"I'll give you some. "

"Picked from that girl's pockets, " said Aurora, dryly, "no, thank you. It might dirty my fingers. Listen--there's a reward offered for thediscovery of the murderer of Aaron Norman. I want to get that thousandpounds, and you can help me to. "

Hay started to his feet with amazement. Of all the requests she waslikely to make he never thought it would be such a one. "Aaron Norman'smurder, " he said, "what do you know of that?"

"Very little, but you know a lot. "

"I don't, I swear I don't. "

"Pish, " said Miss Qian, imperiously, "remember I've got the whip-hand, my boy. Just you tell me how Mrs. Krill came to strangle the--"

"Mrs. Krill?" Hay turned white again, and his eye-glass fell. "She hadnothing to do with the matter. I swear--"

"Strikes me you swear too much, Mr. Hay. What about that opal brooch youstole from Beecot when he had the smash?"

"I didn't steal it. I never saw it at the time of the accident. "

"Then you got that boy Tray to steal it. "

"I knew nothing about the boy. Besides, why should I steal that opalserpent brooch?"

"You wanted to buy it from Beecot, anyhow?"

Hay looked puzzled. "Yes, for a lady. "

"Mrs. Krill?"

"I admit that Mrs. Krill wanted it. She had associations connected withthat brooch. "

"I know, " interrupted Aurora, glancing at the clock, "don't waste timein talking of Lady Rachel Sandal's death--"

"How do you know about that?" stammered Hay, completely nonplussed. 

"I know a mighty lot of things. I may as well tell you, " added MissQian, coolly, "since you daren't split, that I've got a lot to do withthe secret detective service business. I'm helping another to hunt outevidence for this case, and I guess you know a lot. "

The man quailed. He knew that he did not stand well with the police anddreaded what this little fluffy woman should do. Aurora read histhoughts. "Yes, " she said, "we know a heap about you at the ScotlandYard Office, and if you don't tell me all you know, I'll make things hotfor you. This cheating to-night is only one thing. I know you are 'aman on the market, ' Mr. Hay. "

"What do you wish to hear?" asked Hay, collapsing. 

"All about Mrs. Krill's connection with this murder. "

"She has nothing to do with it. Really, she hasn't. Aaron Norman was herhusband right enough--"

"And he ran away from her over twenty years ago. But who told Mrs. Krillabout him?"

"I did, " confessed Hay, volubly and seeing it was best for him to make aclean breast of it. "I met the Krills three years ago when I was atBournemouth. They lived in Christchurch, you know. "

"Yes. Hotel-keepers. Well, what then?"

"I fell in love with Maud and went to Christchurch to stop at 'The RedPig. ' She loved me, and in a year we became engaged. But I had no moneyto marry her, and she had none either. Then Mrs. Krill told me of herhusband and of the death of Lady Rachel. "

"Murder or suicide?"

"Suicide, Mrs. Krill said, " replied Hay, frankly. "She told me alsoabout the opal brooch and described it. I met Beecot by chance andgreeted him as an old school-fellow. He took me to his attic and to mysurprise showed me the opal brooch. I wanted to buy it for Mrs. Krill, but Beecot would not sell it. When next I met him, he told me that AaronNorman had fainted when he saw the brooch. I thought this odd, andinformed Mrs. Krill. She described the man to me, and especially saidthat he had but one eye. I went with Beecot to the Gwynne Street shop, and a single glance told me that Aaron Norman was Lemuel Krill. I toldhis wife, and she wanted to come up at once. But I knew that Aaron wasreported rich--which I had heard through Pash--and as he was my lawyer, I suggested that the Krills should go and see him. "

"Which they did, before the murder?"

"Yes. Pash was astonished, and when he heard that Mrs. Krill was thereal wife, he saw that Aaron Norman, as he called himself, had committedbigamy, and that Sylvia--"

"Yes, you needn't say it, " said Miss Qian, angrily, "she's worth a dozenof that girl you are going to marry. But why did you pretend to meetMrs. Krill and her daughter for the first time at Pash's?"

"To blind Beecot. We were standing at the door when the two came out, and I pretended to see them for the first time. Then I told Beecot thatI had been introduced to Maud at Pash's office. He's a clever chap, Beecot, and, being engaged to Sylvia Norman, I thought he might find outtoo much. "

"About the murder?"

Hay rose and looked solemn. "I swear I know nothing of that, " he saiddecidedly, "and the Krills were as astonished as I, when they heard ofthe death. They were going to see him by Pash's advice, and Mrs. Krillwas going to prosecute him for bigamy unless he allowed her a goodincome. Death put an end to all that, so she made up the story of seeingthe hand-bills, and then of course the will gave the money to Maud, whowas engaged to me. "

"The will or what was called a will, gave the money to Sylvia, " saidAurora, emphatically; "but this brooch--you didn't take it?"

"No, I swear I didn't. Mrs. Krill wanted it, but I never knew it was ofany particular importance. Certainly, I would never have risked robbingBeecot, and I never told that boy Tray to rob either. "

"Then who took the brooch. "

"I can't say. I have told you all I know. "

"Hum, " said Aurora, just like her brother, "that will do to-night; butif I ask any more questions you'll have to answer, so now you can go. Bythe way, I suppose the brooch made you stick to Beecot?"

"Yes, " said Hay, frankly; "he was of no use to me. But while he had thebrooch I stuck to him to get it for Mrs. Krill. "

"Queer, " said Aurora. "I wonder why she wanted it so much!" but thisquestion Hay was unable to answer. 

CHAPTER XXII

FURTHER EVIDENCE

After all, Hurd did not send Jessop to town as he threatened to do. Evidently the captain had told him all he knew, and appeared to beinnocent of Krill's death. But, in spite of his apparent frankness thedetective had an idea that something was being kept back, and what thatsomething might be, he determined to find out. However, his thoughtswere turned in another direction by a note from Beecot addressed to himat "The Red Pig, " asking him to come at once to the Jubileetown Laundry. "I believe we have discovered the person who stole the opal brooch fromme, " wrote Paul, "and Deborah has made a discovery connected with Normanwhich may prove to be of service. "

Wondering what the discovery might be, and wondering also who had takenthe brooch, Hurd arranged that Jessop and Hokar should remain atChristchurch under the eyes of two plain-clothes officials. Thesemanaged their duties so dexterously that Matilda Junk was far fromguessing what was going on. Moreover, she informed the detective, whoshe thought was a commercial gent, that she intended to pay a visit toher sister, Mrs. Tawsey, and demanded the address, which Hurd gavereadily enough. He thought that if Matilda knew anything--such as theabsence of Mrs. Krill from the hotel during the early part ofJuly--Deborah might induce her to talk freely. 

Hokar had proved a difficult subject. Whether he was too grateful toMrs. Krill to speak out, or whether he really did not understand whatwas asked of him, he certainly showed a talent for holding his tongue. However, Hurd saw well enough that the man was afraid of the Sahib'slaw, and when matters came to a crisis would try and prove his innocenceeven at the cost of implicating others. Therefore, with an easy mind thedetective left these two witnesses being watched at Christchurch andrepaired to town, where Aurora informed him of the interview with Hay. Billy approved of the way in which his sister had managed matters. 

"I guessed that Hay was the man who put Mrs. Krill on the track of herhusband, " he said, with satisfaction; "but I wasn't quite sure how hespotted the man. "

"Oh, the one eye identified him, " said Aurora, who was eating chocolateas usual, "and Norman's fainting at the sight of the brooch confirmedHay's belief as to who he was. I wonder he didn't make a bargain withNorman on his own. "

Hurd shook his head. "It wouldn't have paid so well, " said he, wisely. "Norman would have parted only with a small sum, whereas this murderwill bring in Hay a clear five thousand a year when he marries the girl. Hay acted cleverly enough. "

"But I tell you Hay has nothing to do with the murder. "

"That may be so, though I don't trust him. But Mrs. Krill might havestrangled her husband so as to get the money. "

"What makes you think she did?" asked Aurora, doubtfully. 

"Well, you see, from what Jessop says, Mrs. Krill is devotedly attachedto Maud, and she may have been anxious to revenge her daughter on Krill. He acted like a brute and fastened the child's lips together, so Mrs. Krill treated him in the same way. "

"Hum, " said Miss Qian, reflectively, "but can you prove that Mrs. Krillwas in town on the night of the murder?"

"That's what I'm going to find out, " said Hurd. "All you have to do isto keep your eyes on Hay--"

"Oh, he won't cut, if that's what you mean. He thinks everything issquare, now that I've got those boys to stop chattering. He'll marryMaud and annex the money. "

"He may marry Maud, " said Hurd, emphatically, "but he certainly won'tget the five thousand a year. Miss Norman will. "

"Hold on, " cried Aurora, shrewdly. "Maud may not be Lemuel Krill'schild, or she may have been born before Krill married the mother, but inany case, Sylvia Norman isn't the child of a legal marriage. Krillcertainly committed bigamy, so his daughter Sylvia can't inherit. "

"Well, " said Hurd, "I can't say. I'll see Pash about the matter. Afterall, the will left the money to 'my daughter, ' and that Sylvia is beyonddoubt, whatever Maud may be. And I say, Aurora, just you go down toStowley in Buckinghamshire. I haven't time to look into matters theremyself. "

"What do you want me to do there?"

"Find out all about the life of Mrs. Krill before she married Krill andcame to Christchurch. She's the daughter of a farmer. You'll find thename in this. " Hurd passed along a copy of the marriage certificatewhich Mrs. Krill had given to Pash. "Anne Tyler is her maiden name. Findout what you can. She was married to Krill at Beechill, Bucks. "

Miss Qian took the copy of the certificate and departed, grumbling atthe amount of work she had to do to earn her share of the reward. Hurd, on his part, took the underground train to Liverpool Street Station, andthen travelled to Jubileetown. He arrived there at twelve o'clock andwas greeted by Paul. 

"I've been watching for you all the morning, " said Beecot, who lookedflushed and eager. "Sylvia and I have made such a discovery. "

Hurd nodded good-humoredly as he entered the house and shook hands withthe girl. 

"Miss Norman has been doing some detective business on her own account, "he said, smiling. "Hullo, who is this?"

He made this remark, because Mrs. Purr, sitting in a corner of the roomwith red eyes, rose and dropped a curtsey. 

"I'm called to tell you what I do tell on my Bible oath, " said Mrs. Purr, with fervor. 

"Mrs. Purr can give some valuable evidence, " said Paul, quickly. 

"Oh, can she? Then I'll hear what she has to say later. First, I mustclear the ground by telling you and Miss Norman what I have discoveredat Christchurch. "

So Mrs. Purr, rather unwillingly, for she felt the importance of herposition, was bundled out of the room, and Hurd sat down to relate hislate adventures. This he did clearly and slowly, and was interruptedfrequently by exclamations of astonishment from his two hearers. "Sothere, " said the detective, when finishing, "you have the beginning ofthe end. "

"Then you think that Mrs. Krill killed her husband?" asked Paul, dubiously. 

"I can't say for certain, " was the cautious reply; "but I think so, onthe face of the evidence which you have heard. What do you say?"

"Don't say anything, " said Sylvia, before Paul could reply. "Mr. Hurdhad better read this paper. It was found by Deborah in an old boxbelonging to my father, which was brought from Gwynne Street. "

She gave the detective several sheets of blue foolscap pinned togetherand closely written in the shaky handwriting of Aaron Norman. Hurdlooked at it rather dubiously. "What is it?" he asked. 

"The paper referred to in that unfinished scrap of writing which wasdiscovered behind the safe, " explained Paul. "Norman evidently wrote itout, and placed it in his pocket, where he forgot it. Deborah found itin an old coat, she discovered in a box of clothes brought from GwynneStreet. They were Norman's clothes and his box, and should have beenleft behind. "

"Debby won't hear of that, " said Sylvia, laughing. "She says Mrs. Krillhas got quite enough, and she took all she could. "

"What's all this writing about?" asked Hurd, turning over theclosely-written sheets. "To save time you had better give me a précis ofthe matter. Is it important?"

"Very I should say, " responded Paul, emphatically. "It contains anaccount of Norman's life from the time he left Christchurch. "

"Hum. " Hurd's eyes brightened. "I'll read it at my leisure, but at thepresent moment you might say what you can. "

"Well, you know a good deal of it, " said Paul, who did the talking at asign from Sylvia. "It seems that Norman--we'd better stick to the oldname--left Christchurch because he was afraid of being accused ofmurdering Lady Rachel. "

"Was she really murdered?"

"Norman doesn't say. He swears he knows nothing about the matter. Thefirst intimation he had was when Jessop came down with the news afterblundering into the wrong bedroom. But he hints that Mrs. Krill killedher. "

"Can he prove that?"

"No. He can't give any proof, or, at all events, he doesn't. He declaresthat when his wife and daughter--"

"Oh! does he call Maud his daughter?"

"Yes! We can talk of that later, " said Paul, impatiently. "Well, then, Norman says he went fairly mad. Jessop had bolted, but Norman knew hewould not give the alarm, since he might be accused himself of killingLady Rachel. Maud, who had seen the body, wanted to run out and call theneighbors. "

"How old does Norman say she was?"

"About fifteen; quite old enough to make things unpleasant. "

"Then she can't inherit the money, " said Hurd, decisively. 

"No, " cried Beecot, quickly, "both Sylvia and I think so. But to go onwith Norman's confession. He would not let Maud go. She began to scream, and he feared lest she should alarm the neighbors. He tied ahandkerchief across her lips, but she got free, and again began toscream. Then he cruelly fastened her lips together with the opalbrooch. "

"Where did he get that, if innocent?"

"He declared that he spied it on the floor of the sitting-room, near hiswife's feet, and then hints that she strangled Lady Rachel to get it andturn it into money as she was desperately in need of cash for Maud. Mrs. Krill idolized the child. "

"I know that, " snapped Hurd. "Go on. "

"When Norman fastened the child's lips together, Mrs. Krill threwherself on him in a rage. He knocked her insensible, and then ran away. He walked through the night, until, at dawn, he came to a distantrailway station. There he took a ticket and went to London. Heconcealed himself until there was no chance of his being discovered, andbesides, saw the verdict of the jury in the newspapers. But he wasdetermined he would not go back to his wife, because she threatenedhim. "

"In what way?"

"Ah, " said Paul, while Sylvia shuddered, "in a strange way. When hefastened the child's lips together, Mrs. Krill said that she would dothe same to him one day and with the same brooch. "

Hurd uttered an exclamation. "So that was why she wanted the brooch somuch?" he exclaimed eagerly. 

"Yes. And she told Hay she wanted it though she did not reveal herreason. She said if she got the brooch he would be allowed to marryMaud, with whom Hay was deeply in love. Hay stumbled across me byaccident, and I happened to have the brooch. The rest you know. "

"No, " said Hurd, "I don't know how the brooch came into the possessionof Mrs. Krill again, to use in the cruel way she threatened. "

"Well, " said Sylvia, quickly, "we aren't sure if Mrs. Krill _did_ getthe brooch. "

"The evidence is against her, " said Hurd; "remember the threat--"

"Yes, but wait till you hear Mrs. Purr, " said Paul, "but just a moment, Hurd. You must learn how Norman laid the foundations of his fortune. "

"Ah, I forget! Well?" and the detective settled himself to listenfurther. 

"He was hard up and almost starving for a long time after he came toLondon, " explained Paul, "then he got a post in a second-hand bookshopkept by a man called Garner in the Minories. He had a daughter, Lillian--"

"My mother, " put in Sylvia, softly. 

"Yes, " went on Beecot, quickly, "and this girl being lonely fell inlove with Norman, as he now called himself. He wasn't an attractive manwith his one eye, so it is hard to say how Miss Garner came to love him. But she married him in the end. You'll find everything explained atlength in the paper we gave you. Then old Garner died, and Lillianinherited a considerable sum of money, together with the stock. Herhusband removed the books to Gwynne Street and started business. Butwith the money he began to trade in jewels, and you know how he got on. "

"That's all plain enough, " said Hurd, putting the confession of Normaninto his pocket. "I suppose the man dreaded lest his first wife shouldturn up. "

"Yes! And that's why he fainted when he saw the brooch. Not knowing thatJessop had removed it from Maud's mouth and pawned it--"

"I'm not so sure of that, " said Hurd, quickly. "Bart overheard himtalking of Stowley and the pawnbroker there. "

"Well, " said Paul, with a shrug, "he says nothing about it in theconfession. Perhaps he did trace the brooch to the Stowley shop, but ifso, I wonder he did not get it, seeing he wanted it. But when he saw itin my possession, he thought I might know of Mrs. Krill and might puther on the track. Hence his fainting. Later, he learned how I becamepossessed of it, and tried to buy it. Then came the accident, and Ireally believed for a time that Hay had stolen it. "

"Aurora says he swore he did not. "

"And he didn't, " said Paul, going to the door. "Mrs. Purr!"

"You don't mean to say that old woman prigged it?" asked Hurd. 

"No. But she warned me against that boy Tray on the day Deborah wasmarried. Later, I asked her what she meant, and she then told me thatshe had learned from Tray's grandmother, a drunken old thief, how theboy brought home the opal brooch, and--"

Here Mrs. Purr, who had entered and was dropping curtseys to the majestyof the law, as represented by Hurd, thought an undue advantage was beingtaken of her position. She wished to talk herself, and interrupted Paul, in a shrill voice. 

"Granny Clump, she is, " said Mrs. Purr, folding her hands under herapron. "Tray's gran'mother, as 'is name is Tray Clump, I swear on myBible oath. A wicked old woman as is famous for drink--"

"I've heard of her, " said the detective, remembering; "she's been upheaps of times. "

"And grows no better, " wailed Mrs. Purr, bibulously, for she had beenstrengthening herself for the interview with frequent libations of gin. "Oh, what a thing strong drink is, sir! But Granny Clump, bein' ill withthe lungses, and me bein' 'elpful in sich cases, 'aving bin a nuss, whenyoung, as I won't deceive you by denying, called on me to be a goodSmart 'un. And I wos, though she swore awful, saying she wanted gin an'jellies, an' could 'ave 'ad them, if that limb--so did she name Tray, gentlemen both--'ad only 'anded to 'er the rich brooch he brought 'ome, just afore he went to earn a decent livin' at the lawr orfice, which 'isname is Pash--"

"Ha, " said Hurd, thoughtfully, "I'll see the boy. "

"You can see him now, " said Beecot, unexpectedly. "When I learned thisfrom Mrs. Purr and knew you were coming, I sent a message to Pash'soffice for the boy. He came up quite unsuspectingly, but he refused tospeak. I shut him up in a back room, and Deborah has been watchinghim--"

"An' the languige of that blessed limb!" exclaimed Mrs. Purr, raisingher hands. 

"Bring him in, " said Hurd. "Miss Norman, if the boy uses bad language, you needn't stay. "

Sylvia, having heard what Tray could do in this way, needed no furtherhint. She left the room gladly, and told Deborah to bring along herprisoner. Shortly, the noise of kicking and strong language was heardcoming nearer, and Deborah, with a red face and a firm mouth, appearedat the door, holding aloft a small boy who was black in the face withrage. "There, " said Deborah, flinging Tray in a heap at the detective'sfeet, "if me an' Bart 'ave sich a brat, I 'ope he dies in his cradle, instead of growing to a galler's thief in th' use of words which make meshudder, let alone my pretty. Ugh!" she shook her fist at Tray. "You OldBailey viper, though young at that. "

"Here, " said Tray, rising, much dishevelled, but with a white face, "letme go. I'll 'ave the lawr of you. "

"I'll attend to that, my lad, " said Hurd, dryly. "Now, then, where didyou get that brooch?"

"Sha'n't tell, " snapped the boy, and put his tongue out. 

Hurd gave him a smack with an open hand on the side of his face, andMaster Clump began to blubber. 

"Assalting me--oh, won't you ketch it, " he raged in his puny wrath. "Mymaster's a law-cove, and he'll 'ave y' up before the beak. "

"You answer my questions, " said Hurd, sternly, "or you'll get anotherclout. You know who I am well enough. Make a clean breast of it, youimp, or I'll lock you up. "

"If I make a clean breast will you let me cut?" asked Tray, beginning towhimper, but with a cunning gleam in his eyes. 

"I'll see, when I know what you have to say. "

Tray looked round the room to see if there was any way of escape. ButPaul guarded the closed window and Deborah, itching to box his ears, stood before the door. Before him was the stern-faced detective withwhom Tray knew well enough he dare not trifle. Under these circumstanceshe made the best of a bad job, and told what he knew although heinterpolated threats all the time. "Wot d'y want with me?" he demandedsulkily. 

"Where did you find that brooch?"

"I prigged it from Mr. Beecot's pocket when he wos smashed. "

"Did Mr. Hay tell you to steal it?"

"No, he didn't. "

"Then how did you know the brooch was in my pocket?" asked Paul. 

"I was a-dodgin' round the shorp, " snapped Tray, "and I 'eard Mr. Normanan' Mr. Beecot a-talkin' of the brooch; Mr. Beecot said as he 'ad thebrooch in 'is pocket--"

"Yes, I certainly did, " said Paul, remembering the conversation. 

"Well, when the smash come, I dodged in and prigged it. T'wos easy'nough, " grinned Tray, "for I felt it in 'is bres' poket and collaredit. I wanted to guv it t' th' ole man, thinkin' he'd pay fur it, as hesaid he would. But arter the smash I went 'ome t' m' grann' and hid thebrooch. W'en I wos a-lookin' at it at night, I sawr 'er a-lookin' at it, and she grabbed it. I cut away with m'own property, not wishin' to berobbed by the ole gal. "

"What did you do then?"

Tray wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "I 'eard that Mr. Norman wos dead--"

"Yes, and you told Jessop so in the office. How did you know?"

"'Cause I went to the shorp in th' mornin' to sell the brooch to th' oleman. He was a goner, so I cut to Mr. Pash, as wos his lawyer, and saidI'd sell 'im the brooch. "

"What?" cried Hurd, rising. "You gave the brooch to Mr. Pash?"

"Yuss. He said he'd 'ave me up for stealin', and wouldn't guv me even abob fur it. But he said I'd be his noo orfice boy. I thought I'd berespectable, so I went. And now, " ended Master Clump in a sullen manner, "you knows all, and I ain't done nothin', so I'm orf. "

Deborah caught him by the tail of his jacket as he made a dart at thedoor and swung him into the middle of the room. Hurd laid hands on him. "You come along with me, " he said. "I'll confront you with Pash. "

Tray gave a howl of terror. "He'll kill me, " he shouted, "as he killedthe old cove. Yuss. _He_ did it. Pash did it, " and he howled again. 

CHAPTER XXIII

WHAT PASH SAID

In a smoking compartment, which the three had to themselves, Hurdresumed his examination of Tray. They were now on their way to LiverpoolStreet and thence the detective intended to convey the boy to Pash'soffice in Chancery Lane. Paul sat in one corner much excited over theturn events had taken. He began to think that the assassin of AaronNorman would be found after all. More, he believed that Sylvia would yetinherit the five thousand a year she was entitled to, morally, if notlegally. Hurd, in another corner, pulled Tray roughly towards him, andshook his finger in the lad's face. The boy was sulky and defiant, yetthere was a trace of fear in his eyes, and the reason of this Hurdwished to learn. 

"You're a young liar, " said Hurd, emphatically, "and not a clever oneeither. Do you think to play the fool with me?"

"I've tole you all straight, " grumbled Tray. 

"No, you haven't. Anyone can see that you've made a mistake. I leave itto Mr. Beecot yonder. "

"I was about to draw your attention to the mistake, " said Paul; "youmean the discrepancy in time. "

Master Clump started and became more sulky than ever. He cast down hiscunning eyes and shuffled with his feet while Hurd lectured him. "Youknow well enough, " said the detective, sharply, "that the brooch wasboned by you on the very evening when the murder took place. It wasthen that Mr. Beecot met with his accident. Therefore, you could nothave given the brooch to Mr. Pash the _next_ morning, as it had beenused on the previous night. "

"Sha'n't say anythin' more, " retorted Tray, defiantly. 

"Oh, won't you?" cried Hurd, ironically, "we'll see about that. You toldthat lie about the time to account for your knowing of the murder beforeanyone else did. "

"No, " said Tray, decidedly, "I did go to the shorp in th' mornin'. "

"That you may have done, but not to sell the brooch. Mr. Pash had takenit from you on the previous night. "

"He didn't, " denied the boy. 

"Then in that case you've told a lie. Pash never had the brooch, and hasnothing to do with the murder. "

"He _did_ prig the brooch from me, and he _did_ kill the ole cove. "

"Well, we'll see what Mr. Pash will say when you accuse him, " said Hurd;"but I don't believe one word of it. It's my opinion that you gave thatbrooch to a third party on the same evening as you stole it. Now, then, who did you give it to?"

"Mr. Pash, " persisted Tray. 

"On the same evening?"

There was no reply to this. Tray set his lips firmly and refused tospeak. Hurd shook an admonitory finger again. "You can't play fast andloose with me, my lad, " he said grimly; "if you didn't part with thatbrooch, you must be mixed up in the crime yourself. Perhaps you pinnedthe poor wretch's mouth together. It's just the sort of cruel thing ayoung Cain like you would do. "

"I didn't, " said Master Clump, doggedly; "you take me to master, andI'll tell him what I tells you. He's the one. "

Hurd shook the boy to make him talk more, but Tray simply threw himselfon the floor of the carriage and howled. The detective therefore pickedhim up and flung him into a corner. "You stop there, you littleruffian, " he said, seriously annoyed at the boy's recalcitrants; "we'llspeak again when we are in Mr. Pash's office. " So Tray curled up on thecushion, looked savagely at the detective and held his tongue. 

"What do you think will be the end of all this?" asked Paul, when MasterClump was thus disposed of. 

"Lord knows, " replied Hurd, wiping his face. "I never had a harder caseto deal with. I thought Hay had a hand in it, but it seems he hadn't, bad lot as he is, asking your pardon, Mr. Beecot, since you're hisfriend. "

"That I am not, " disclaimed Beecot, emphatically; "there's a younglawyer I know, Ford is his name. I went to see him as to what chancesSylvia had of getting the money. He was at school with me, andremembered Hay. He said that Hay was dismissed from Torrington Schoolfor stealing. "

"Didn't you know that yourself. "

"No, I had left the school--I was ill at home with scarlet fever. ButHay apparently always has been a bad lot. He and that Krill pair arewell matched, for I believe the mother is bad, even if the daughter Maudisn't. By the way her age--?"

Hurd nodded. "I believe she was fifteen at the time of the death of LadyRachel. If so, she can't be legitimate or may not be the daughter ofAaron Norman. However, I've asked my sister to look up Mrs. Krill's pastlife in Stowley, where she comes from. "

"But she wasn't married to Krill at Stowley?"

"No. But she lived there as Anne Tyler. From the certificate she wasmarried to Krill at a small parish church twenty miles from Stowley, soAurora will go there. But I want her to stop at Stowley first and learnall she can about Anne Tyler. "

"Beechill's the name of the parish in which she was married to Krillbefore she came to Christchurch, " said Paul, musingly, "so I expect theylived there. Miss Qian might search also for the certificate of MaudKrill's birth. "

"I told her to, and, failing that, she's to search in Christchurch. Wemust get the certificate of birth somehow. "

"Hurd, " said Paul, rather diffidently, "I hope you won't be annoyed, butI have already asked my friend Ford to give notice to Pash to producethe certificate. "

"Well, " replied the detective, "you might have told me; but no greatharm is done. What does Pash say?"

"I don't know. Ford has not let me know yet. Here we are. "

This remark was caused by the stopping of the train at Liverpool StreetStation. A number of people were returning from their employment in thecity to the country, and the platforms were crowded. Hurd grasped MasterClump by the arm and marched him along. But in the confusion of findinghis ticket at the barrier, he happened to let go, almost withoutthinking. In a moment Tray had darted through the barrier and was lostin the crowd. Hurd sprang after him, and left Paul to explain. Hehurriedly did so, and then went out to see if the detective had caughtthe boy. 

Hurd was nowhere to be seen, neither was Tray. The crowd was increasingthick, and Beecot was at a loss what to do. After waiting for an hourwithout finding the pair, he thought he would go to Pash's office. Itmight be that Hurd, having caught Tray, would take him there at once, leaving Beecot to follow. So Paul got on to the metropolitan railway andalighted at the Temple Station. Thence he walked up to the office inChancery Lane. 

"Where's Tray?" asked Paul, of the one clerk in the outer room, who waswriting for dear life. 

"I don't know, sir, " said the clerk; "he went out this morning andhasn't been back all day. Mr. Pash is very angry with him. "

Apparently Hurd had not caught the boy yet, or if he had, did not intendto bring him to the office. "Can I see Mr. Pash?" asked Paul, thinkinghe might as well make some use of his time. 

The clerk inquired if the solicitor would see Beecot, and presentlyushered him into the inner room, where Pash sat looking more like amonkey than ever. He did not appear at all pleased to see the young man, and sucked in his cheek with a crabbed air. 

"Well, Mr. Beecot, what can I do for you?" he snarled. 

"You might be civil in the first place, " said Paul quietly, taking achair. "You haven't behaved over well to Miss Norman and me. "

"Oh, " said Pash, coolly, "have you come to reproach me with that?"

"I never waste time, " rejoined Paul, equally coolly. "I'll leave you toyour conscience. "

Pash shrugged his shoulders and put his feet on the rungs of his chair. "I think my conscience can stand that, " he said; "it's business, Mr. Beecot, business. By the way, I have received a request from Mr. Ford ofCheapside to produce the certificate of birth of Miss Krill. What is themeaning of that?"

"I think you know very well, Mr. Pash. "

"I profess my ignorance, " said Pash, ironically, although he lookeduneasy, and was apparently lying. 

"In that case you had better wait till you hear from Mr. Ford. "

"Are you employing Mr. Ford, may I ask?"

Paul nodded. "On behalf of Miss Norman, " said he, coldly. 

"Ah, " sneered the monkey, "you think you'll get the money. "

"Wait till you hear from Mr. Ford, " retorted Paul again, and enjoyed thebaffled expression on Mr. Pash's wrinkled face. "By the way, sir, whydid you not tell Hurd that Tray gave you the opal brooch?"

Pash turned all the colors of the rainbow. "Does that brat I took intomy office out of charity dare to say that he did. "

"He does, and what is more, Mr. Hurd is bringing him here to make thestatement, face to face with you. I am determined to get to the bottomof this case, sir, for Miss Norman's sake. And the possession of thebrooch forms an important link. "

"How so?"

"The person who had that brooch on the evening of the sixth of Julymurdered Norman, " said Paul, calmly. 

Pash jumped up and chattered like a baboon in a rage. "Do you mean toaccuse me?" he demanded. "Take care--take care. "

"I don't accuse you. Tray does. "

"It's a lie--a lie--"

"Don't excite yourself, Mr. Pash. You'll need all your wits to convinceHurd. Tray accuses you, and Hurd suspects you. I have nothing to do withthe matter. "

"You put Hurd up to this, " foamed Pash, hardly able to speak. 

"Pardon me. Hurd is working for the reward offered by your client. Don'tyou think it was rather foolish of her to offer such a large reward, Mr. Pash, even though she did so to avert suspicion?"

The solicitor changed color again. "I don't understand you. "

Paul shrugged his shoulders and rose to go. "Perhaps Mr. Hurd willexplain, " he said, and made for the door. 

Pash, with his monkey face much perplexed, sat hunched in his chair, biting his fingers. As Paul laid his hand on the knob, he called himback. "I can explain, " he said nervously. 

"Not to me, " said Paul, coldly. 

"I prefer to do so to you, " said the lawyer, hurriedly. 

"Why to me particularly. "

"Because I don't think I have acted very well towards Miss Norman, and, as you are to marry her, you may be able to arrange--"

"To make peace I suppose you mean, " burst out Beecot; "no, Mr. Pash, youhave acted like a scoundrel. You left that poor girl in the lurch assoon as you found that Miss Krill was--as you thought--legally entitledto the money. "

"What do you mean by hinting she isn't?"

"Because you know very well what her age is, " retorted Paul. "Thismatter will be shifted to the bottom, Mr. Pash, by my friend Ford, andif things are as I think they are, Miss Krill won't keep that money. Youknow very well--"

"Miss Norman won't get the money either, " snarled Pash, "I know thatvery well. Leastways, " he added, "without my assistance. "

"More of your crooked ways, " said Paul, indignantly. "Tell what you liketo Hurd. I refuse to listen. "

As he spoke he opened the door and found himself facing Hurd who was redand hot. The detective stepped into the office, and as he passed Paul, whispered, "Hold your tongue about the boy, " then he turned to Mr. Pash. "Well, sir, " he puffed, "I have had a job catching up Mr. Beecot. Nodoubt you know why I have come?"

"No, " said Pash, dryly; "I don't see Tray. "

"Tray will keep. I've got him safe under lock and key. Before bringingyou face to face with him I thought it best to give you an opportunityof clearing yourself. "

"Of what?" asked Pash, in a brazen manner. 

Hurd looked at Beecot who spoke. "Mr. Pash knows very well that Trayaccuses him of the crime, " he said. "I told him so, and he professed hisreadiness to explain to you. "

"Ah, " said Hurd, "shut the door, Mr. Beecot. No need to let all Londonknow the truth. "

"_I_ don't know it, " said Pash, as Paul closed the door and returned tohis seat. 

"Very good, " rejoined the detective, calmly, "we'll assume for the sakeof argument that you did not strangle Norman. "

"That I certainly did not. "

"Then you know who did. Come, sir, " Hurd became stern; "this boy Traysays he gave the opal brooch to you. And I believe he did. You would nothave taken him into your office--a boy off the streets, and with a badcharacter at that--unless you wanted to bribe him to hold his tongue. "

"I had no need to bribe, " said Pash, gnawing his finger nails and rathercowed by this direct attack. "The boy _did_ show me the opal brooch, andI took it from him to return to Norman. "

"When did you receive it?" asked Hurd, pulling out his book. "Becareful, Mr. Pash, I'll take down what you say. "

"I have nothing to conceal, " said Pash, in quite an unnecessarilyinjured manner. "I had employed the boy on several errands, and he knewI was Norman's lawyer. On the evening of the sixth of July--"

"And the evening of the murder, " said Hurd; "are you sure?"

"I'll take my oath on it. The boy told me that Mr. Beecot had met withan accident and that a blue velvet case containing a brooch had fallenout of his pocket. "

"It was stolen, " said Beecot, hastily. 

"Tray was not such a fool as to tell me that, " replied the lawyer, dryly; "he said that he picked the case up out of the mud, and took ithome to his garret. His grandmother, who is a notorious thief, wanted toget it, and pawn it for drink, but Tray ran away with it and came to meabout five o'clock. He gave me the brooch and asked me to take charge ofit, as he expected to get money for it from Aaron Norman who wanted it. "

"Tray overheard my conversation with Norman, " said Paul, angrily, "andknew the brooch was mine--so did you, Mr. Pash. "

"Well, " said the solicitor, coolly, "what of that? Norman was my clientand wanted the brooch. I intended to keep it and then see you, so that asale might be arranged. Norman spoke to me about the brooch severaltimes and wanted it for reasons you may not know. "

"Oh, yes, we know, " said Hurd, sardonically; "we know much more than yougive us credit for, Mr. Pash. Well, you saw Norman about the jewel laterthat evening. I suppose you intend to tell us you gave him the broochthen. "

"I intend to tell nothing of the sort, " retorted Pash, after a fewmoments' thought. "I see that things are coming to a crisis, and I wouldlike to see Miss Norman reinstated in her rights. "

"Oh, " said Paul, indignantly, "and you did your best to give the moneyto Maud Krill!"

"Because I believed she was legally entitled to it, " explained Pash, lamely; "but since--no, " he broke off, "I'll say nothing just now. Ialone can put the matter right, and I refuse to do so unless I have MissNorman's promise that I shall keep the business. "

Paul would have refused then and there, but Hurd, more astute, interrupted his angry speech. "We'll see about that later, Mr. Pash, " hesaid, soothingly; "meanwhile, what did you do with the brooch?"

"I laid it on the table there. The case was open, as I had been lookingat it. I sent Tray out of the room and attended to my usual business. Several clients came and went, and I forgot about the opal serpent. ThenI went to see my clerk outside about a deed. I was with him for someminutes. When I recollected the brooch before I went home--for Iintended to take it with me--"

"Stop, " interrupted Hurd, "you were here till Aaron Norman came alongwith the jewels, so you must have missed the brooch before he came or hewould have taken it, seeing it was exposed on the table. "

"My esteemed client did not come till seven, " said Pash, annoyed atbeing detected in trickery. "He walked about with the bags of jewels forsome time, not being able to make up his mind to give them to me, whichhe did for safe keeping. "

"Then he expected a visit from his wife?"

"I can't say, " said the solicitor, with an air of fatigue. "He certainlyhinted that he wanted the jewels placed away safely in case someoneconnected with the opal brooch should come. "

"Perhaps Captain Jessop, who did come, " said Paul, suddenly. 

"He didn't mention the name of Jessop, " snapped Pash. "Had he hinted ata sailor I would have known who my nautical visitor was. "

"We know all about that, " said Hurd, waving his hand; "But if Normancame to you at seven, how did you manage to prevent him meeting his wifein this office?"

"Oh, she was--What do you mean?" asked Pash, breaking off, and consciousthat he was letting slip something he had rather had not been known. 

Hurd saw the slip and Pash's confusion and at once made every use of theopportunity. In fact, he played a game of bluff. Shaking his finger heapproached the little lawyer. "Do you think I come here unprepared?" heasked, solemnly; "do you think I have not been to 'The Red Pig' atChristchurch and learned that Mrs. Krill knew of her husband'swhereabouts, through Hay, long before the day she came to you with thelying story about the hand-bills? Hay has confessed his share in thebusiness of a false introduction to throw Mr. Beecot off the scent, seeing that he was defending Miss Norman's interests. Do you think Idon't know that this woman Krill came to see you, through Hay, whoselawyer you are? She was here on that fatal evening, " said Hurd, making abold shot, "how did you prevent her seeing Norman?"

Pash was completely thrown off his balance by this volley of languageand presumption of knowledge. "Mrs. Krill left at six, " he gasped, backing to the wall. 

"And carried off the brooch?"

"I'm not sure--I can't say--I _did_ miss the brooch--"

"After Mrs. Krill left?"

"No, when Norman came. I intended to show him the brooch and found itgone. "

"Mrs. Krill left at six. Between six and seven did any other client comeinto the office?"

"Yes--no--I can't say. Well, " Pash broke down in despair seeing that hislies were not believed, "I think Mrs. Krill did steal the brooch. "

"Quite so, and murdered her husband!" Hurd went to the door and tookBeecot's arm. "I only hope you won't be brought up as an accessorybefore the fact, Mr. Pash, " and disregarding the lawyer's exclamationshe dragged Paul outside. In Chancery Lane he spoke. "I've bluffed himfine, " he said, "that boy is lost. Can't see him anywhere. But we'regetting at the truth at last. "

CHAPTER XXIV

MRS. KRILL AT BAY

Next day Hurd did not go to see Mrs. Krill as he had intended, but spenthis time in hunting for the missing boy. Tray, however, was not to befound. Being a guttersnipe and accustomed to dealing with the police hewas thoroughly well able to look after himself, and doubtless hadconcealed himself in some low den where the officers of the law wouldnot think of searching for him. However, the fact remained that, inspite of the detective's search, he could not be caught, and theauthorities were much vexed. To unravel the case completely Tray was anecessary witness, especially as, even when examined at Jubileetown, Hurd shrewdly suspected he had not confessed all the truth. However, what could be done was done, and several plain-clothes detectives wereset to search for the missing boy. 

Pash remained quiet for, at all events, the next four-and-twenty hours. Whether he saw Mrs. Krill or not during that time Hurd did not know and, truth to say, he cared very little. The lawyer had undoubtedly acteddishonestly, and if the matter were made public, there would be everychance that he would be struck off the rolls. To prevent this Pash wasquite ready to sell Mrs. Krill and anyone else connected with themystery. Also, he wished to keep the business of Miss Norman, supposingthe money--as he hinted might be the case through his assistance--cameback to her; and this might be used as a means to make him speak out. Hurd was now pretty sure that Mrs. Krill was the guilty person. 

"She knew Pash through Hay, " argued the detective, while thinking overthe case, "and undoubtedly came to see him before Norman's death, sothat Pash might suggest ways and means of getting the better of the oldman by means of the bigamy business. Mrs. Krill was in the Chancery Laneoffice when the brooch left by Tray was on the table, and Mrs. Krill, anxious to get it, no doubt slipped it into her pocket when Pash wastalking to his clerk in the outer room. Then I expect she decided topunish her husband by fastening his lips together as he had done thoseof her daughter twenty and more years ago. I can't exactly see why shestrangled him, " mused Hurd, "as she could have got the money withoutproceeding to such an extreme measure. But the man's dead, and shekilled him sure enough. Now, I'll get a warrant out and arrest herstraight away. There's quite enough evidence to justify her being takenin charge. Hum! I wonder if she made use of that young devil of a Trayin any way? Well, " he rose and stretched himself, "I may force her tospeak now that she is in a corner. "

Having made up his mind Hurd went to work at once, and the next day, late in the afternoon, he was driving in a cab to No. 32A Hunter Street, Kensington, with the warrant in his pocket. He also had with him aletter which he had received from Miss Qian, and written from Beechillin Buckinghamshire. Aurora had made good use of her time and had learneda number of facts connected with Mrs. Krill's early life which Hurdthought would prove of interest to the woman. In one way and another thecase was becoming plain and clear, and the detective made sure that hewould gain the reward. The irony of the thing was, that Mrs. Krill, with a view to throwing dust in the eyes of the law, had offered a bribeof one thousand pounds for the discovery of the assassin. She littlethought when doing so that she was weaving a rope for her own neck. 

Hurd had brought a plain-clothes policeman with him, and this manremained outside in a hansom while Hurd rang the bell. In a few minutesthe door was opened and the detective sent up his card. Mrs. Krillproved to be at home and consented to receive him, so, shortly, the manfound himself in an elegantly-furnished drawing-room bowing before thesilent and sedate daughter. 

"You wish to see my mother, " said Maud, with her eternal smile. "Shewill be down in a few minutes. "

"I await her convenience, " said Hurd, admiring the handsome looks of theyoung woman, although he plainly saw that she was--as he phrased it--"nochicken. "

After a few words Miss Krill rang the bell. "I want these things takenaway, " she said, pointing to a workbasket and some millinery with whichshe had been engaged when Hurd was announced, "then I shall leave you tospeak to my mother. "

The detective wondered if she was too fine a lady to remove these thingsherself, but his surprise ceased when the door opened and no less aperson than Matilda Junk appeared. He guessed at once that the landladyof "The Red Pig" had come up to see her sister and had related detailsabout her visitor. Probably Mrs. Krill guessed that Hurd had been askingquestions, and Matilda had been introduced to see if he was the man. Hebecame certain of this when Miss Junk threw up her hands. "Thecommercial gent, " she exclaimed. 

"Oh, no, " said Maud, smiling smoothly. "This is Mr. Hurd, the detective, who is searching for the assassin of my dear father. "

"Lor, '" said Matilda, growing red. "And he's the man as came to askquestions at the 'otel. I do call it bold of you, Mister Policeman. "

"Well, " said Hurd, swinging his hat lazily, and looking from one to theother, quite taking in the situation, "you answered very few of myquestions, so that is all right. "

"Why did you go down to Christchurch?" asked Miss Krill. 

"If I have to find out who killed your father, " said Hurd, with anaccent on the word "father, " "it was necessary that I should learn abouthis past life as Lemuel Krill. "

"My mother could have informed you, sir. "

"I guessed as much, and, as Miss Junk would not speak, I have come toquestion Mrs. Krill. Ah, here she is. " Hurd rose and bowed. "I am gladto see you, madam. "

Mrs. Krill, who was as plump and smiling and smooth-faced and severe asever, bowed and rubbed her white hands together. At a sign from Maud, Matilda gathered up the fancy work and went out of the room with manybackward glances. These were mostly indignant, for she was angry atHurd's deception. "Do you wish my daughter to stay?" asked Mrs. Krill, smoothly. 

"That is as she pleases, " said the detective. 

"No, thank you, mother, " said Maud, shuddering, "I have heard quiteenough of my poor father's terrible death, " and she swept out of thedrawing-room with a gracious smile. 

"The poor child is so sensitive, " sighed Mrs. Krill, taking a seat withher back to the window. Whether this was done to conceal her age, or theexpression of her face during a conversation which could not fail toprove trying, Hurd was unable to determine. "I trust, Mr. Hurd, you havecome with good news, " said the widow. 

"What would you call good news?" asked the detective, dryly. 

"That you had traced the assassin, " she replied coolly. 

Hurd was amazed at this brazen assurance, and thought that Mrs. Krillmust be quite convinced that she had covered up every trail likely tolead to the discovery of her connection with the murder. 

"I'll leave you to judge whether I have been successful, " he saidcalmly. 

"I shall be pleased to hear, " was the equally calm reply. But as Mrs. Krill spoke she glanced towards a gorgeous tapestry curtain at the endof the room, and Hurd fancied he saw it shake. It suddenly occurred tohim that Maud was behind. Why she should choose this secret way oflistening when she could have remained it was difficult to say, and hehalf thought he was mistaken. However, listening openly or secretly, didnot matter so far as the daughter was concerned, so Hurd addressedhimself to Mrs. Krill in a loud and cheerful voice. She composed herselfto listen with a bland smile, and apparently was quite ignorant thatthere was anything wrong. 

"I was lately down at Christchurch, madam--"

"So my servant, Matilda Junk, said. "

"It was necessary that I should go there to search out your husband'spast life. In that past I fancied, might be found the motive for thecommission of the crime. "

"I could have saved you the journey, " said Mrs. Krill, shrugging herplump shoulders. "I can tell you what you wish to know. "

"In that case I will relate all that I have learned, and perhaps youwill correct me if I am wrong. "

Mrs. Krill bowed but did not commit herself to speech. For the sake ofeffect the detective took out a sheaf of notes, but in reality he hadthe various points of the case at his finger tips. "You will excuse meif I talk on very private matters, " he said, apologetically, "but as weare alone, " again Mrs. Krill glanced at the curtain and therebyconfirmed Hurd's suspicions of an unseen listener, "you will not mind mybeing, perhaps, personal. "

"Personal, " echoed Mrs. Krill, a keen look coming into her hard eyes, and she stopped rubbing her hands together. 

"Well, yes, " admitted Hurd, with affected reluctance. "I had to lookinto your past as well as into that of your husband's. "

Mrs. Krill's eyes grew harder than ever. She scented danger. "My past isa most uninteresting one, " she said, coldly. "I was born at Stowley, inBuckinghamshire, and married Mr. Krill at Beechill, which is a few milesfrom that town. He was a traveller in jewellery, but as I did not likehis being away from me, I induced him to rent 'The Red Pig' atChristchurch, to which we removed. Then he left me--"

"On account of Lady Rachel Sandal's murder?"

Mrs. Krill controlled herself excellently, although she was startled bythis speech, as was evident from the expression of her eyes. "That poorlady committed suicide, " she said deliberately. "The jury at the inquestbrought in a verdict of suicide--"

"By a majority of one, " added Hurd, quickly. "There seemed to be aconsiderable amount of doubt as to the cause of the death. "

"The death was caused by strangulation, " said Mrs. Krill, in hard tones. "Since you know all about the matter, you must be aware that I and mydaughter had retired after seeing Lady Rachel safe and sound for thenight. The death was discovered by a boon companion of my husband's, with whom he was drinking at the time. "

"I know that. Also that you came down with your daughter when the alarmwas given. I also know that Krill fastened your daughter's lips togetherwith the opal brooch which was found in the parlor. "

"Who told you that?" asked Mrs. Krill, agitated. 

"Jessop--the boon companion you speak of. "

"Yes, " she said, suppressing her agitation with a powerful effort. "Matilda said you had him to dine with you. What else did he say?" sheasked with some hesitation. 

"Much less than I should have liked to know, " retorted Hurd, prepared tothrow off the mask; "but he told me a great deal which interested mevery much. Amongst other things that Grexon Hay had been engaged to yourdaughter for two years. "

"Well?" asked Mrs. Krill, coolly, "what of that?"

"Nothing particular, " rejoined Hurd, just as coolly, "only I wonder youtook the trouble to pretend that you met Hay at Pash's office for thefirst time. "

"That was some romantic rubbish of my daughter's. There was no reasonwhy we should not have acknowledged Mr. Hay as an old acquaintance. "

"None in the world that I can see, " said Hurd, smoothly. "He told youthat Aaron Norman was your husband. "

"No, " said Mrs. Krill, decidedly, "I first heard of my husband by seeinga chance hand-bill--"

"Not at all, " answered Hurd, just as decidedly, "Hay has confessed. "

"There was nothing to confess, " cried Mrs. Krill, loudly and withemphasis. 

"Oh, I think so, " said the detective, noting that she was losing hertemper. "You didn't want it known that you were aware of Norman'sidentity before his death. Do you deny that?"

"I deny everything, " gasped Mrs. Krill, her hands trembling. 

"That's a pity, as I want you to corroborate certain facts connectedwith Anne Tyler. Do you know the name?"

"My maiden name, " said the widow, and a look of fear crept into herhard, staring eyes. "How did you come to know of it?"

"From the marriage certificate supplied by Pash. "

"He had no right to give it to you. "

"He didn't. I possess only a copy. But that copy I sent down in chargeof a certain person to Beechill. This person found that you were marriedas Anne Tyler to Lemuel Krill in the parish church, twenty miles fromyour birthplace. "

Mrs. Krill drew a long breath of relief. "Well?" she demanded defiantly, "is there anything wrong about that?"

"No. But this person also made inquiries at Stowley about you. You arethe daughter of a farmer. "

"I mentioned that fact myself. "

"Yes. But you didn't mention that your mother had been hanged forpoisoning your father. "

Mrs. Krill turned ghastly pale. "No, " she said in a suffocating voice, "such is the case; but can you wonder that I forebore to mention thatfact? My daughter knows nothing of that--nor did my husband--"

"Which husband do you mean, Krill or Jessop?" asked Hurd. 

Mrs. Krill gasped and rose, swaying. "What do you mean, man?"

"This, " said the detective, on his feet at once; "this person hunted outthe early life of Anne Tyler at Stowley. It was discovered that Anne wasthe daughter of a woman who had been hanged, and of a man who had beenmurdered. Also this person found that Anne Tyler married a sailor calledJarvey Jessop some years before she committed bigamy with Lemuel Krillin Beechill Church--"

"It's a lie!" screamed Mrs. Krill, losing her self-control. "How dareyou come here with these falsehoods?"

"They are not falsehoods, Anne Tyler, _alias_ Anne Jessop, _alias_ AnneKrill, etc. , " retorted Hurd, speaking rapidly and emphasizing hisremarks with his finger in his usual fashion when in deadly earnest. "You were married to Jessop in Stowley Church; you bore him a daughterwho was christened Maud Jessop in Stowley Church. The person I mentionedsent me copies of the marriage and birth certificates. So your marriagewith Lemuel Krill was false, and his second marriage with Lillian Garneris a good one in law. Which means, Mrs. Jessop, " Hurd hurled the word ather and she shrank, "that Sylvia Norman or Sylvia Krill, as sherightfully is, owns that money which you wrongfully withhold from her. The will gave the five thousand a year to 'my daughter, ' and Sylvia isthe only daughter and only child--the legitimate child, mark you--ofLemuel Krill. "

"Lies--lies--lies!" raged Mrs. Krill, as she may still be called, thoughrightfully Jessop, "I'll defend the case on my daughter's behalf. "

"_Your_ daughter, certainly, " said Hurd, "but not Krill's. "

"I say yes. "

"And I say no. She was fifteen when Lady Rachel was murdered, as Jessop, her father, admitted. I knew the man was keeping something back, but Iwas far from suspecting that it was this early marriage. No wonder theman came to you and had free quarters at 'The Red Pig. ' He could haveprosecuted you for bigamy, just as you would have prosecuted Krill, hadyou not murdered him. "

Mrs. Krill gave a yell and her eyes blazed. "You hound!" she shouted, "do you accuse me of that?"

"I do more than accuse you, I arrest you. " Hurd produced the warrant. "Aman is waiting in the cab. We'll get a four-wheeler, and you'll comealong with me to gaol, Mrs. Jessop. "

"You can't prove it--you can't prove it, " she panted, "and I sha'n'tgo--I sha'n't--I sha'n't!" and her eyes sought the tapestry. 

"Miss Jessop can come out, " said Hurd, coolly, "and, as to your notcoming, a few policemen will soon put that right. "

"How dare you insult me and my daughter?"

"Come, come, " said the detective, sternly, "I've had quite enough ofthis. You offered me one thousand pounds to learn who killed yourso-called husband, Krill. I have earned the reward--"

"Not one shilling shall you have. "

"Oh, I think so. Miss Sylvia will pay it to me, and you--"

"I am innocent. I never touched the man. "

"A jury will decide that, Mrs. Jessop. "

"Krill--my name is Krill. "

Hurd laughed and turned towards the tapestry. 

"What do you say, Miss Jessop?" he asked. 

Seeing that further concealment was at an end, Maud lifted the tapestry, which concealed a small door, through which she had silently stolen tolisten. She advanced calmly. "I have heard all your conversation with mymother, " she declared with flashing eyes, "and not one word of it istrue. I am the daughter of Lemuel Krill. "

"You'll find that hard to prove in the face of your birth certificateand your mother's marriage to Captain Jessop, your father. "

"It will all be put right. "

"Quite so, and Miss Norman will get the money. "

"That girl--never!" cried Maud, fiercely. She looked very like hermother at the moment, but the more angry she grew the calmer became Mrs. Krill, who kept darting anxious glances at her daughter. "And yousha'n't take my mother away, " she cried threateningly. 

"I don't want to make a scandal in the neighborhood, " said Hurd, takinga small whistle from his pocket, "but if I blow this my man out therewill call the nearest policeman, and then--"

"There is no need, " interrupted Mrs. Krill, who had recovered herself-control. "Maud, come over beside me. On what grounds, Mr. Hurd, doyou accuse me of the crime? I was not in town on--"

"Oh, yes, you were, Mrs. Jessop. Pash can prove that you were in hisoffice and took the brooch left by Tray from the table. I don't knowwhere you stopped on that night--"

"At Judson's Hotel, Strand, " cried Maud, placing herself beside hermother, "and anyone there can prove that my mother and myself werewithin doors after we came from Terry's Theatre, where we spent theevening. As my father--for Krill _was_ my father--was killed aftertwelve, and we were both in bed in one room before then, your accusationfalls to the ground. My mother was with me, and she did not leave thewhole evening. Next day we went to Christchurch. "

Hurd was rather staggered by the positive way in which the young womanspoke. But the facts were too plain for him to hesitate. "I must troubleyou to come along with me, " he said. "No, don't go!"

"To put on my cloak and hat?" urged Mrs. Krill. "I'll come quietlyenough. I don't want a scandal. I am sure when the magistrate hears whatI have to say he will let me go free. "

"I trust so. But you must not leave the room. Matilda will, no doubt, bring your things. "

Mrs. Krill touched the electric button of the bell, while Maud walked upand down, deathly white and fuming. "Mr. Hay shall see to this, " shesaid in a cold rage. 

"Mr. Hay will have quite enough to do to look after himself, " said thedetective, coolly; "you had better let your mother go quietly, and Iwon't say anything to Matilda Junk. "

"Yes, do, Maud, " urged the mother, placing an imploring hand on her talldaughter's shoulder; "it's better so. Everything will be put right whenthe magistrate hears my story. "

"What will you tell him, mother?" asked Maud. 

"That I am innocent, and that I am, as you are, ignorant of who killedyour unfortunate father. "

Matilda entered the room and heard that Mrs. Krill had to go out onbusiness with Mr. Hurd. On receiving her orders she departed, andpresently returned with the cloak and hat. Mrs. Krill, who was now quitecool, put these on. Hurd could not but admire the brave way in which shefaced the terrible situation. Maud seemed to be far more upset, and Hurdwondered if the young woman knew the truth. Mrs. Krill kept soothingher. "It will be all right, my love. Don't excite yourself. It will beall right, " she said several times. 

Miss Junk departed, and Mrs. Krill said that she was ready to depart. Hurd offered her his arm, which she rejected, and walked to the doorwith a firm step, although her face was rather white. At the door shecaught her daughter round the neck and kissed her several times, afterwhich she whispered earnestly in her ear, and then went down the stairswith the detective in attendance. Maud, with white lips and cheeks, butwith dry eyes, followed. When her mother was safely in the cab, theplain-clothes policeman alighted, so that Hurd might take his place. Maud came quietly down the steps and seized the detective by the arm. 

"You have ruined my mother, " she said in a cold, hard tone; "you haverobbed me of my money and of the chance of marrying the man I love. Ican't hurt you; but that girl, Sylvia--she shall never get onepenny--so, remember!"

Hurd shook her off, and, stepping into the cab, drove away. Mrs. Krilllooked apprehensively at him. "What did Maud say?" she asked. Hurd toldher, and Mrs. Krill closed her lips firmly. "Maud is quite right, " shesaid with a strange smile. "Sylvia will never get the money. "

CHAPTER XXV

A CRUEL WOMAN

"Jus' say your meanin', my pretty queen, " said Mrs. Tawsey, as she stoodat the sitting-room door, and watched Sylvia reading an ill-writtenletter. "It's twelve now, and I kin be back by five, arter a long, andenjiable tork with Matilder. "

"You certainly must go, " replied Sylvia, handing back the letter. "I amsure your sister will be glad to see you, Debby. "

Deborah sniffed and scratched her elbow. "Relatives ain't friends in ourfamily, " she said, shaking her head, "whatever you may say, mydeary-sweet. Father knocked mother int' lunatics arter she'd nagged 'imto drunk an' police-cells. Three brothers I 'ad, and all of 'em that'andy with their fistises as they couldn't a-bear to live in 'armonywithout black eyes and swolled bumps all over them. As to Matilder, shean' me never did, what you might call, hit it orf, by reason of 'er notgivin' way to me, as she should ha' done, me bein' the youngest and whatyou might call the baby of the lot. We ain't seen each other fur years, and the meetin' will be cold. She'll not have much forgiveness fur mebein' a bride, when she's but a lone cross-patch, drat her. "

"Don't quarrel with her, Debby. She has written you a very nice letter, asking you to go down to Mrs. Krill's house in Kensington, and shereally wants to see you before she goes back to Christchurch to-night. "

"Well, I'll go, " said Deborah, suddenly; "but I don't like leavin' youall by your own very self, my sunflower. "

"I'll be all right, Debby. Paul comes at four o'clock, and you'll beback at five. "

"Sooner, if me an' Matilder don't hit if orf, or if we hit each other, which, knowin' 'er 'abits, I do expects. But Bart's out till six, andthere won't be anyone to look arter them as washes--four of 'em, " addedMrs. Tawsey, rubbing her nose, "and as idle as porkpines. "

"Mrs. Purr can look after them. "

"Look arter gin more like, " said Deborah, contemptuously. "She's allayssuckin', sly-like, tryin' to purtend as it's water, as if the smelldidn't give it away, whatever the color may be. An' here she is, idlingas usual. An' may I arsk, Mrs. Purr ma'am, " demanded Deborah with greatpoliteness, "wot I pays you fur in the way of ironin'?"

But Mrs. Purr was too excited to reply. She brushed past her indignantmistress and faced Sylvia, waving a dirty piece of paper. "Lor', miss, "she almost screamed, "you do say as you want t'know where that limb Tray'ave got to--"

"Yes--yes, " said Sylvia, rising, "he escaped from Mr. Hurd, and we wantto find him very much. "

"It's a letter from 'im, " said Mrs. Purr, thrusting the paper intoSylvia's hand; "tho' 'ow he writes, not 'avin' bin to a board school, Idunno. He's in a ken at Lambith, and ill at that. Want's me t'go an' see'im. But I can't leave the ironin'. "

"Yuss y' can, " said Deborah, suddenly; "this erringd is ness'ary, Mrs. Purr ma'am, so jes' put on your bunnet, an' go to Mr. Hurd as 'as 'isorfice at Scotlan' Yard, and take 'im with you. "

"Oh! but I couldn't--"

"You go, " advised Mrs. Tawsey. "There's five pounds offered for thebrat's bein' found. "

"Five pun!" gasped Mrs. Purr, trembling. "Lor', and me 'avin' a chanctof gittin' it. I'll go--I'll go. I knows the Yard, 'avin' 'ad summat todo with them dirty perlice in my time. Miss Sylvia--"

"Yes, go, Mrs. Purr, and see Mr. Hurd. He'll give you the five pounds ifyou take him to Tray. " Sylvia handed back the paper. "Tray seems to beill. "

"Ill or well, he sha'n't lose me five pun, if I 'ave to drag 'im to thelock-up m'self, " said Mrs. Purr, resolutely. "Where's my bunnet--myshawl--oh lor'--five pun! Them is as good allays gits rewards, " and shehurried out, hardly able to walk for excitement. 

"There's a nice ole party fur you, Miss Sylvia?"

"Debby, " said the girl, thoughtfully. "You take her to the Yard to seeMr. Hurd, and then go to Kensington to speak with your sister. "

"Well, I'll go, as importance it is, " said Mrs. Tawsey, rubbing her noseharder than ever. "But I 'opes you won't be lone, my poppet-dovey. "

"Oh, no, " said Sylvia, kissing her, and pushing her towards the door. "I'll look after those four women in the wash-house, and read this newbook I have. Then I must get tea ready for Paul, who comes at four. Theafternoon will pass quite quickly. "

"I'll be back at five if I can, and earlier if Matilder ain't what sheoughter be, " said Mrs. Tawsey, yielding. "So make yourself 'appy, honey, till you sees me smilin' again. "

In another quarter of an hour Mrs. Tawsey, dressed in her bridal gownand bonnet so as to crush Matilda with the sight of her splendor, walkeddown the garden path attended by Mrs. Purr in a snuffy black shawl, anda kind of cobweb on her head which she called a "bunnet. " As Deborah wastall and in white and Mrs. Purr small and in black, they looked astrange pair. Sylvia waved her hand out of the window to Debby, as thatfaithful creature turned her head for a final look at the young mistressshe idolized. The large, rough woman was dog-like in her fidelity. 

Sylvia, left alone, proceeded to arrange matters. She went to thewash-house, which was detached from the cottage, and saw that the fourwomen, who worked under Deborah, were busy. She found them allchattering and washing in a cheerful way, so, after a word or two ofcommendation, she returned to the sitting-room. Here she played a gameof patience, arranged the tea-things although it was yet early, andfinally settled down to one of Mrs. Henry Wood's interesting novels. Shewas quite alone and enjoyed the solitude. The wash-house was so faraway, at the end of the yard, that the loud voices of the workers couldnot be heard. The road before Rose Cottage was not a popularthoroughfare, and it was rarely that anyone passed. Out of the windowSylvia could see a line of raw, red-brick villas, and sometimes a spurtof steam, denoting the presence of the railway station. Also, she sawthe green fields and the sere hedges with the red berries, givingpromise of a hard winter. The day was sunny but cold, and there was afeeling of autumnal dampness in the air. Deborah had lighted a firebefore she went, that her mistress might be comfortable, so Sylvia satdown before this and read for an hour, frequently stopping to think ofPaul, and wonder if he would come at the appointed hour of four orearlier. What with the warmth, and the reading, and the dreaming, shefell into a kind of doze, from which she was awakened by a sharp andperemptory knock. Wondering if her lover had unexpectedly arrived, though she did not think he would rap in so decided a manner, Sylviarubbed the sleep out of her pretty eyes and hurried to the door. On thestep she came face to face with Miss Maud Krill. 

"Do you know me, Miss Norman?" asked Maud, who was smiling and suave, though rather white in the face. 

"Yes. You came with your mother to Gwynne Street, " replied Sylvia, wondering why she had been honored with a visit. 

"Quite so. May I have a few minutes' conversation with you?"

"Certainly. " Sylvia saw no reason to deny this request, although she didnot like Miss Krill. But it struck her that something might be learnedfrom that young woman relative to the murder, and thought she would havesomething to tell Paul about when he arrived. "Will you walk in, please, " and she threw open the sitting-room door. 

"Are you quite alone?" asked Maud, entering, and seating herself in thechair near the fire. 

"Quite, " answered Sylvia, stiffly, and wondering why the question wasasked; "that is, the four washerwomen are in the place at the back. ButMrs. Tawsey went to your house to see her sister. "

"She arrived before I left, " said Maud, coolly. "I saw them quarrellingin a most friendly way. Where is Mr. Beecot?"

"I expect him later. "

"And Bart Tawsey who married your nurse?"

"He is absent on his rounds. May I ask why you question me in this way, Miss Krill?" asked Sylvia, coldly. 

"Because I have much to say to you which no one else must hear, " was thecalm reply. "Dear me, how hot this fire is!" and she moved her chair sothat it blocked Sylvia's way to the door. Also, Miss Krill cast a glanceat the window. It was not snibbed, and she made a movement as if to goto it; but, restraining herself, she turned her calm, cold face to thegirl. "I have much to say to you, " she repeated. 

"Indeed, " replied Sylvia, politely, "I don't think you have treated meso well that you should trouble to converse with me. Will you please tobe brief. Mr. Beecot is coming at four, and he will not be at allpleased to see you. "

Maud glanced at the clock. "We have an hour, " she said coldly; "it isjust a few minutes after three. My business will not take long, " sheadded, with an unpleasant smile. 

"What is your business?" asked Sylvia, uneasily, for she did not likethe smile. 

"If you will sit down, I'll tell you. "

Miss Norman took a chair near the wall, and as far from her visitor aswas possible in so small a room. Maud took from her neck a black silkhandkerchief which she wore, evidently as a protection against the cold, and folding it lengthways, laid it across her lap. Then she looked atSylvia, in a cold, critical way. "You are very pretty, my dear, " shesaid insolently. 

"Did you come to tell me that?" asked the girl, firing up at the tone. 

"No. I came to tell you that my mother was arrested last night for themurder of _our_ father. "

"Oh, " Sylvia gasped and lay back on her chair, "she killed him, thatcruel woman. "

"She did not, " cried Maud, passionately, "my mother is perfectlyinnocent. That blackguard Hurd arrested her wrongfully. I overheard allthe conversation he had with her, and know that he told a pack of lies. My mother did _not_ kill our father. "

"My father, not yours, " said Sylvia, firmly. 

"How dare you. Lemuel Krill was my father. "

"No, " insisted Sylvia. "I don't know who your father was. But from yourage, I know that you are not--"

"Leave my age alone, " cried the other sharply, and with an uneasymovement of her hands; "we won't discuss that, or the question of myfather. We have more interesting things to talk about. "

"I won't talk to you at all, " said Sylvia, rising. 

"Sit down and listen. You _shall_ hear me. I am not going to let mymother suffer for a deed she never committed, nor am I going to let youhave the money. "

"It is mine. "

"It is not, and you shall not get it. "

"Paul--Mr. Beecot will assert my rights. "

"Will he indeed, " said the other, with a glance at the clock; "we'll seeabout that. There's no time to be lost. I have much to say--"

"Nothing that can interest me. "

"Oh, yes. I think you will find our conversation very interesting. I amgoing to be open with you, for what I tell you will never be told by youto any living soul. "

"If I see fit it shall, " cried Sylvia in a rage; "how dare you dictateto me. "

"Because I am driven into a corner. I wish to save my mother--how it isto be done I don't know. And I wish to stop you getting the fivethousand a year. I know how _that_ is to be done, " ended Miss Krill, with a cruel smile and a flash of her white, hungry-looking teeth; "yourat of a girl--"

"Leave the room. "

"When I please, not before. You listen to me. I'm going to tell youabout the murder--"

"Oh, " said Sylvia, turning pale, "what do you mean?"

"Listen, " said the other, with a taunting laugh, "you'll be white enoughbefore I've done with you. Do you see this, " and she laid her finger onher lips; "do you see this scar? Krill did that. " Sylvia noticed thatshe did not speak of Krill as her father this time; "he pinned my lipstogether when I was a child with that opal serpent. "

"I know, " replied Sylvia, shuddering, "it was cruel. I heard about itfrom the detective and--"

"I don't wish for your sympathy. I was a girl of fifteen when that wasdone, and I will carry the scar to my grave. Child as I was then, Ivowed revenge--"

"On your father, " said Sylvia, contemptuously. 

"Krill is not my father, " said Maud, changing front all at once; "he isyours, but not mine. My father is Captain Jessop. I have known this foryears. Captain Jessop told me I was his daughter. My mother thought thatmy father was drowned at sea, and so married Krill, who was a travellerin jewellery. He and my mother rented 'The Red Pig' at Christchurch, andfor years they led an unhappy life. "

"Oh, " gasped Sylvia, "you confess. I'll tell Paul. "

"You'll tell no one, " retorted the other woman sharply. "Do you think Iwould speak so openly in order that you might tell all the world withyour gabbling tongue? Yes, and I'll speak more openly still before Ileave. Lady Rachel Sandal did not commit suicide as my mother said. Shewas strangled, and by me. "

Sylvia clapped her hands to her face with a scream. "By you?"

"Yes. She had a beautiful brooch. I wanted it. I was put to bed by mymother, and kept thinking of the brooch. My mother was down the stairsattending to your drunken father. I stole to Lady Rachel's room andfound her asleep. I tried to take the brooch from her breast. She wokeand caught at my hand. But I tore away the brooch and before Lady Rachelcould scream, I twisted the silk handkerchief she wore, which wasalready round her throat, tighter. I am strong--I was always strong, even as a girl of fifteen. She was weak from exhaustion, so she soondied. My mother came into the room and saw what I had done. She wasterrified, and made me go back to bed. Then she tied Lady Rachel by thesilk handkerchief to the bedpost, so that it might be thought she hadcommitted suicide. My mother then came back to me and took the brooch, telling me I might be hanged, if it was found on me. I was afraid, beingonly a girl, and gave up the brooch. Then Captain Jessop raised thealarm. I and my mother went downstairs, and my mother dropped the broochon the floor, so that it might be supposed Lady Rachel had lost itthere. Captain Jessop ran out. I wanted to give the alarm, and tell theneighbors that Krill had done it--for I knew then he was not my father, and I saw, moreover, how unhappy he made my mother. He caught me, " saidMaud, with a fierce look, "and bound a handkerchief across my mouth. Igot free and screamed. Then he bound me hand and foot, and pinned mylips together with the brooch which he picked off the floor. My motherfought for me, but he knocked her down. Then he fled, and after a longtime Jessop came in. He removed the brooch from my mouth and unbound me. I was put to bed, and Jessop revived my mother. Then came the inquest, and it was thought that Lady Rachel had committed suicide. But she didnot, " cried Maud, exultingly, and with a cruel light in her eyes, "Ikilled her--I--"

"Oh, " moaned Sylvia, backing against the wall with widely open eyes;"don't tell me more--what horrors!"

"Bah, you kitten, " sneered Maud, contemptuously, "I have not half doneyet. You have yet to hear how I killed Krill. "

Sylvia shrieked, and sank back in her chair, staring with horrified eyesat the cruel face before her. 

"Yes, " cried Maud, exultingly, "I killed him. My mother suspected me, but she never knew for certain. Listen. When Hay told me that Krill washiding as Norman in Gwynne Street I determined to punish him for hiscruelty to me. I did not say this, but I made Hay promise to get me thebrooch from Beecot--on no other condition would I marry him. I wantedthe brooch to pin Krill's lips together as he had pinned mine, when Iwas a helpless child. But your fool of a lover would not part with thebrooch. Tray, the boy, took it from Beecot's pocket when he met withthat accident--"

"How do you know Tray?"

"Because I met him at Pash's office several times when I was up. He ranerrands for Pash before he became regularly employed. I saw that Traywas a devil, of whom I could make use. Oh, I know Tray, and I know alsoHokar the Indian, who placed the sugar on the counter. He went to theshop to kill your father at my request. I wanted revenge and the money. Hokar was saved from starvation by my good mother. He came of the raceof Thugs, if you know anything about them--"

"Oh, " moaned Sylvia, covering her face again. 

"Ah, you do. So much the better. It will save my explaining, as there isnot much time left before your fool arrives. Hokar saw that I loved tohurt living creatures, and he taught me how to strangle cats and dogsand things. No one knew but Hokar that I killed them, and it was thoughthe ate them. But he didn't. I strangled them because I loved to see themsuffer, and because I wished to learn how to strangle in the way theThugs did. "

Sylvia was sick with fear and disgust. "For God's sake, don't tell meany more, " she said imploringly. 

But she might as well have spoken to a granite rock. "You shall heareverything, " said Maud, relentlessly. "I asked Hokar to strangle Krill. He went to the shop, but, when he saw that Krill had only one eye, hecould not offer him to the goddess Bhowanee. He came to me at Judson'shotel, after he left the sugar on the counter, and told me the goddesswould not accept the offering of a maimed man. I did not know what todo. I went with my mother to Pash's office, when she was arranging toprosecute Krill for bigamy. I met Tray there. He told me he had giventhe brooch to Pash, and that it was in the inner office. My mother wastalking to Pash within and I chatted to Tray outside. I told Tray Iwanted to kill Krill, and that if he would help me, I would give him alot of money. He agreed, for he was a boy such as I was when a girl, fond of seeing things suffer. You can't wonder at it in me, " went onMiss Krill, coolly; "my grandmother was hanged for poisoning mygrandfather, and I expect I inherit the love of murder from her--"

"I won't listen, " cried Sylvia, shuddering. 

"Oh, yes, you will. I'll soon be done, " went on her persecutor, cruelly. "Well, then, when I found Tray was like myself I determined to get thebrooch and hurt Krill--hurt him as he hurt me, " she cried vehemently. "Tray told me of the cellar and of the side passage. When my mother andPash came out of the inner office and went to the door, I ran in andtook the brooch. It was hidden under some papers and had escaped mymother's eye. But I searched till I got it. Then I made an appointmentwith Tray for eleven o'clock at the corner of Gwynne Street. I went backto Judson's hotel, and my mother and I went to the theatre. We hadsupper and retired to bed. That is, my mother did. We had left thetheatre early, as my mother had a headache, and I had plenty of time. Mother fell asleep almost immediately. I went downstairs veiled, and indark clothes. I slipped past the night porter and met Tray. We went bythe side passage to the cellar. Thinking we were customers Krill let usin. Tray locked the door, and I threw myself on Krill. He had not beendrinking much or I might not have mastered him. As it was, he was tooterrified when he recognized me to struggle. In fact he fainted. WithTray's assistance I bound his hands behind his back, and then we enjoyedourselves, " she rubbed her hands together, looking more like a fiendthan a woman. 

Sylvia rose and staggered to the door. "No more--no more. "

Maud pushed her back into her chair. "Stop where you are, you whimperingfool!" she snarled exultingly, "I have you safe. " Then she continuedquickly and with another glance at the clock, the long hand of which nowpointed to a quarter to four, "with Tray's assistance I carried Krill upto the shop. Tray found an auger and bored a hole in the floor. Then Ipicked up a coil of copper wire, which was being used in packing thingsfor Krill to make his escape. I took it up. We laid Krill's neck overthe hole, and passed the wire round his neck and through the hole. Traywent down and tied a cross stick on the end of the wire, so that hecould put his weight on it when we strangled--"

"Oh--great heaven, " moaned Sylvia, stopping her ears. 

Maud bent over her and pulled her hands away. "You _shall_ hear youlittle beast, " she snarled. "All the time Krill was sensible. Herecovered his senses after he was bound. I prolonged his agony as muchas possible. When Tray went down to see after the wire, I knelt besideKrill and told him that I knew I was not his daughter, that I intendedto strangle him as I had strangled Lady Rachel. He shrieked with horror. That was the cry you heard, you cat, and which brought you downstairs. Inever expected that, " cried Maud, clapping her hands; "that was a treatfor Krill I never intended. I stopped his crying any more for assistanceby pinning his mouth together, as he had done mine over twenty yearsbefore. Then I sat beside him and taunted him. I heard the policemanpass, and the church clock strike the quarter. Then I heard footsteps, and guessed you were coming. It occurred to me to give you a treat bystrangling the man before your eyes, and punish him more severely, sincethe brooch stopped him calling out--as it stopped me--me, " she cried, striking her breast. 

"Oh, how could you--how could--"

"You feeble thing, " said Maud, contemptuously, and patting the girl'scheek, "you would not have done it I know. But I loved it--I loved it!That was living indeed. I went down to the cellar and fastened the doorbehind me. Tray was already pressing on the cross stick at the end ofthe wire, and laughed as he pressed. But I stopped him. I heard you andthat woman enter the shop, and heard what you said. I prolonged Krill'sagony, and then I pressed the wire down myself for such a time as Ithought it would take to squeeze the life out of the beast. Then withTray I locked the cellar door and left by the side passage. We dodgedall the police and got into the Strand. I did not return to the hotel, but walked about with Tray all the night talking with--joy, " cried Maud, clapping her hands, "with joy, do you hear. When it was eight I went toJudson's. The porter thought I had been out for an early walk. Mymother--"

Here Maud broke off, for Sylvia, who was staring over her shoulder outof the window saw a form she knew well at the gate. "Paul--Paul, " sheshrieked, "come--come!"

Maud whipped the black silk handkerchief round the girl's neck. "Youshall never get that money, " she whispered cruelly, "you shall nevertell anyone what I have told you. Now I'll show you how Hokar taughtme, " she jerked the handkerchief tight. But Sylvia got her hand underthe cruel bandage and shrieked aloud in despair. At once she heard ananswering shriek. It was the voice of Deborah. 

Maud darted to the door and locked it. Then she returned and, flingingSylvia down, tried again to tighten the handkerchief, her face white andfierce and her eyes glittering like a demon's. 

"Help--help!" cried Sylvia, and her voice grew weaker. But she struggledand kept her hands between the handkerchief and her throat. Maud triedto drag them away fiercely. Deborah was battering frantically at thedoor. Paul ran round to the window. It was not locked, and Maud, struggling with Sylvia had no time to close it. With a cry of alarm Paulthrew up the window and jumped into the room. At the same momentDeborah, putting her sturdy shoulder to the frail door, burst it open. Beecot flung himself on the woman and dragged her back. But she clunglike a leech to Sylvia with the black handkerchief in her grip. Deborah, silent and fierce, grabbed at the handkerchief, and tore it from Maud'sgrasp. Sylvia, half-strangled, fell back in a faint, white as a corpse, while Paul struggled with the savage and baffled woman. 

"You've killed her, " shouted Deborah, and laid her strong hands on Maud, "you devil!" She shook her fiercely. "I'll kill you, " and she shook heragain. 

Paul threw himself on his knees beside the insensible form of Sylvia andleft Deborah to deal with Maud. That creature was gasping as Mrs. Tawseyswung her to and fro. Then she began to fight, and the two women crashedround the little room, upsetting the furniture. Paul took Sylvia in hisarms, and shrank against the wall to protect her. 

A new person suddenly appeared. No less a woman than Matilda. When shesaw Maud in Deborah's grip she flew at her sister like a tigress anddragged her off. Maud was free for a moment. Seeing her chance shescrambled out of the window, and ran through the garden down the roadtowards the station. Perhaps she had a vague idea of escape. Deborah, exerting her great strength, threw Matilda aside, and without a cry ranout of the house and after the assassin who had tried to strangleSylvia. Matilda, true to her salt, ran also, to help Maud Krill, and thetwo women sped in the wake of the insane creature who was swiftlyrunning in the direction of the station. People began to look round, acrowd gathered like magic, and in a few moments Maud was being chased byquite a mob of people. She ran like a hare. Heaven only knows if shehoped to escape after her failure to kill Sylvia, but she ran onblindly. Into the new street of Jubileetown she sped with the roaringmob at her heels. She darted down a side thoroughfare, but Deborahgained on her silently and with a savage look in her eyes. Severalpolicemen joined in the chase, though no one knew what the flying womanhad done. Maud turned suddenly up the slope that led to the station. Shegained the door, darted through it, upset the man at the barrier andwith clenched fists stood at bay, her back to the rails. Deborah dartedforward--Maud gave a wild scream and sprang aside: then she reeled andfell over the platform. The next moment a train came slowing into thestation, and immediately the wretched woman was under the cruel wheels. When she was picked up she was dead and almost cut to pieces. LadyRachel and Lemuel Krill were revenged. 

CHAPTER XXVI

A FINAL EXPLANATION

Sylvia was ill for a long time after that terrible hour. Although Maudhad not succeeded in strangling her, yet the black silk handkerchiefleft marks on her neck. Then the struggle, the shock and the remembranceof the horrors related by the miserable woman, threw her into a nervousfever, and it was many weeks before she recovered sufficiently to enjoylife. Deborah never forgave herself for having left Sylvia alone, andnursed her with a fierce tenderness which was the result of remorse. 

"If that wretch 'ad killed my pretty, " she said to Paul, "I'd ha' killedher, if I wos hanged fur it five times over. "

"God has punished the woman, " said Paul, solemnly. "And a terrible deathshe met with, being mutilated by the wheels of the train. "

"Serve 'er right, " rejoined Deborah, heartlessly. "What kin you expectfur good folk if wicked ones, as go strangulating people, don't git theLord down on 'em. Oh, Mr. Beecot, " Deborah broke down into noisy tears, "the 'orrors that my lovely one 'ave tole me. I tried to stop her, butshe would tork, and was what you might call delirous-like. Sich murdersand gory assassins as wos never 'eard of. "

"I gathered something of this from what Sylvia let drop when we cameback from the station, " said Beecot, anxiously. "Tell me exactly whatshe said, Deborah. "

"Why that thing as is dead, an' may she rest in a peace, she don'tdeserve, tole 'ow she murdered Lady Rachel Sandal an' my ole master. "

"Deborah, " cried Beecot, amazed. "You must be mistaken. "

"No, I ain't, sir. That thing guv my lily-queen the 'orrors. Jes you'ear, Mr. Beecot, and creeps will go up your back. Lor' 'ave mercy on usas don't know the wickedness of the world. "

"I think we have learned something of it lately, Mrs. Tawsey, " wasPaul's grim reply. "But tell me--"

"Wot my pore angel sunbeam said? I will, and if it gives you nightmaresdon't blame me, " and Mrs. Tawsey, in her own vigorous, ungrammaticalway, related what she had heard from Sylvia. Paul was struck with horrorand wanted to see Sylvia. But this Deborah would not allow. "She'ssleepin' like a pretty daisy, " said Mrs. Tawsey, "so don't you goa-disturbin' of her nohow, though acrost my corp you may make a try, saywhat you like. "

But Paul thought better of it, thinking Sylvia had best be left in therough, kindly hands of her old nurse. He went off to find Hurd, andrelated all that had taken place. The detective was equally horrifiedalong with Beecot when he heard of Sylvia's danger, and set to work toprove the truth of what Maud had told the girl. He succeeded so wellthat within a comparatively short space of time, the whole matter wasmade clear. Mrs. Jessop, _alias_ Mrs. Krill, was examined, Tray wasfound and questioned, Matilda was made to speak out, and both Jessop andHokar had to make clean breasts of it. The evidence thus procured provedthe truth of the terrible confession made by Maud Jessop to the girl shethought to strangle. Hurd was amazed at the revelation. 

"Never call me a detective again, " he said to Paul. "For I am an ass. Ithought Jessop might be guilty, or that Hokar might have done it. Icould have taken my Bible oath that Mrs. Krill strangled the man; but Inever for one moment suspected that smiling young woman. "

"Oh, " Paul shrugged his shoulders, "she was mad. "

"She must have been, " ruminated the detective, "else she wouldn't havegiven herself away so completely. Whatever made her tell Miss Normanwhat she had done?"

"Because she never thought that Sylvia would live to tell anyone else. That was why she spoke, and thought to torture Sylvia--as she did--inthe same way as she tortured that wretched man Lemuel. If I hadn't comeearlier to Rose Cottage than usual, and if Deborah had not met meunexpectedly at the station, Sylvia would certainly have been killed. And then Maud might have escaped. She laid her plans well. It was shewho induced Matilda to get her sister to come to Kensington for a chat. "

"But Matilda didn't know what Maud was up to?"

"No. Matilda never guessed that Maud was guilty of two murders ordesigned to strangle Sylvia. But Maud made use of her to get Deborah outof the house, and it was Maud who made Tray send the letter asking Mrs. Purr to come to him, so that she also might be out of the way. In factMaud arranged so that everyone should be away and Sylvia alone. If shehadn't wasted time in telling her fearful story, she might have killedmy poor love. Sylvia was quite exhausted with the struggle. "

"Well, " said Hurd. "I went with the old woman to the address given inthat letter which Tray got written for him. He wasn't there, however, soI might have guessed it was a do. "

"But you have caught him?"

"Yes, in Hunter Street. He was loafing about there at night waiting forMaud, and quite ignorant of her death. I made him tell me everything ofhis connection with the matter. He's as bad a lot as that girl, but shehad some excuse, seeing her grandmother was a murderess; Tray is nothingbut a wicked little imp. "

"Will he be hanged?"

"No, I think not. His youth will be in his favor, though I'd hang himmyself had I the chance, and so put him beyond the reach of hurtinganyone. But I expect he'll get a long sentence. "

"And Mrs. Krill?"

"Mrs. Jessop you mean. Hum! I don't know. She apparently was ignorantthat Maud killed Krill, though she might have guessed it, after the wayin which Lady Rachel was murdered. I daresay she'll get off. I'm goingto see her shortly and tell her of the terrible death of her daughter. "

Paul did not pursue the conversation. He was sick with the horror of thebusiness, and, moreover, was too anxious about Sylvia's health to takemuch interest in the winding up of the case. That he left in the handsof Hurd, and assured him that the thousand pounds reward, which Mrs. Krill had offered, would be paid to him by Miss Norman. 

Of course, Pash had known for some time that Maud was too old to havebeen born of Mrs. Jessop's second marriage with Krill; but he never knewthat the widow had committed bigamy. He counted on keeping her under histhumb by threatening to prove that Maud was not legally entitled to themoney. But when the discovery was made at Beechill and Stowley Churchesby Miss Qian, the monkey-faced lawyer could do nothing. Beecot couldhave exposed him, and for his malpractices have got him struck off therolls; but he simply punished him by taking away Sylvia's business andgiving it to Ford. That enterprising young solicitor speedily placedthe monetary affairs on a proper basis and saw that Sylvia was properlyreinstated in her rights. Seeing that she was the only child and legalheiress of Krill, this was not difficult. The two women who hadillegally secured possession of the money had spent a great deal in avery wasteful manner, but the dead man's investments were so excellentand judicious that Sylvia lost comparatively little, and becamepossessed of nearly five thousand a year, with a prospect of her incomeincreasing. But she was too ill to appreciate this good fortune. Thecase got into the papers, and everyone was astonished at the strangesequel to the Gwynne Street mystery. Beecot senior, reading the papers, learned that Sylvia was once more an heiress, and forthwith held out anolive branch to Paul. Moreover, the frantic old gentleman, as Deborahcalled him, really began to feel his years, and to feel also that he hadtreated his only son rather harshly. So he magnanimously offered toforgive Paul on no conditions whatsoever. For the sake of his mother, the young man buried the past and went down to be received in a statelymanner by his father, and with joyful tears by his mother. Also he wasmost anxious to hear details of the case which had not been made public. Paul told him everything, and Beecot senior snorted with rage. Therecital proved too much for Mrs. Beecot, who retired as usual to bed andfortified herself with sal volatile; but Paul and his respected parentsat up till late discussing the matter. 

"And now, sir, " said Beecot senior, grasping the stem of his wine glass, as though he intended to hurl it at his son, "let us gather up thethreads of this infamous case. This atrocious woman who tried tostrangle your future wife?"

"She has been buried quietly. Her mother was at the funeral and so wasthe father. "

"A pretty pair, " gobbled the turkey-cock, growing red. "I suppose theGovernment will hang the pair?"

"No. Captain Jessop can't be touched as he had nothing to do with themurder, and Sylvia and myself are not going to prosecute him for hisattempt to get the jewels from Pash. "

"Then you ought to. It's a duty you owe to society. "

Paul shook his head. "I think it best to leave things as they are, father, " he said mildly, "especially as Mrs. Jessop, much broken inhealth because of her daughter's terrible end, has gone back with herhusband to live at his house in Stowley. "

"What, " shouted Beecot senior, "is that she-devil to go free, too?"

"I don't think she was so bad as we thought, " said Paul. "I fancied shewas a thoroughly bad woman, but she really was not. She certainlycommitted bigamy, but then she thought Jessop was drowned. When he cameto life she preferred to live with Krill, as he had more money thanJessop. "

"And, therefore, Jessop, as you say, had free quarters at 'The Red Pig. 'A most immoral woman, sir--most immoral. She ought to be ducked. "

"Poor wretch, " said Paul, "her mind has nearly given way under the shockof her daughter's death. She loved that child and shielded her from theconsequences of killing Lady Rachel. The Sandal family don't want thecase revived, especially as Maud is dead, so Mrs. Jessop--as she isnow--can end her days in peace. The Government decided to let her gounder the circumstances. "

"Tush, " said Beecot senior, "sugar-coated pills and idiocy. Nothing willever be done properly until this Government goes out. And it will, "striking the table with his fist, "if I have anything to do with thematter. So Mrs. Krill or Jessop is free to murder, and--"

"She murdered no one, " interposed Paul, quickly; "she knew that herdaughter had killed Lady Rachel, and shielded her. But she was neversure if Maud had strangled Krill, as she feared to ask her. But as thegirl was out all night at the time of the murder, Mrs. Jessop, I think, knows more than she choses to admit. However, the Treasury won'tprosecute her, and her mind is now weak. Let the poor creature end herdays with Jessop, father. Is there anything else you wish to know?"

"That boy Tray?"

"He was tried for being an accessory before the crime, but his counselput forward the plea of his age, and that he had been under theinfluence of Maud. He has been sent to a reformatory for a good numberof years. He may improve. "

"Huh!" grunted the old gentleman, "and silk purses may be made out ofsow's ears; but not in our time, my boy. We'll hear more of thatjuvenile scoundrel yet. Now that, that blackguard, Hay?"

"He has gone abroad, and is likely to remain abroad. Sandal and Tempestkept their word, but I think Hurd put it about that Hay was a cheat anda scoundrel. Poor Hay, " sighed Paul, "he has ruined his career. "

"Bah! he never had one. If you pity scoundrels, Paul, what are you tothink of good people?"

"Such as Deborah who is nursing my darling? I think she's the best womanin the world. "

"Except your mother?"

Paul nearly fell from his seat on hearing this remark. Beecot seniorcertainly might have been in earnest, but his good opinion did notprevent him still continuing to worry Mrs. Beecot, which he did to theend of her life. 

"I suppose that Matilda Junk creature had nothing to do with themurder?" asked Beecot, after an embarrassing pause--on his son's part. 

"No. She knew absolutely nothing, and only attacked Deborah because shefancied Deborah was attacking Maud. However, the two sisters have madeit up, and Matilda has gone back to 'The Red Pig. ' She's as decent acreature as Deborah, in another way, and was absolutely ignorant ofMaud's wickedness. Hurd guessed that when she spoke to him so freely atChristchurch. "

"And the Thug?"

"Hokar? Oh, he is not really a Thug, but the descendant of one. However, they can't prove that he strangled anything beyond a few cats and dogswhen he showed Maud how to use the roomal--that's the handkerchief withwhich the Thugs strangled their victims. "

"I'm not absolutely ignorant, " growled his father. "I know that. So thisHokar goes free?"

"Yes. He would not strangle Aaron Norman because he had but one eye, andBhowanee won't accept maimed persons. Failing him, Maud had to attend tothe job herself, with the assistance of Tray. "

"And this detective?"

"Oh, Ford, with Sylvia's sanction, has paid him the thousand pounds, which he shares with his sister, Aurora Qian. But for her searching atStowley and Beechill, we should never have known about the marriage, youknow. "

"No, I don't know. They're far too highly paid. The marriage would havecome to light in another way. However, waste your own money if you like;it isn't mine. "

"Nor mine either, father, " said Paul, sharply. "Sylvia will keep her ownfortune. I am not a man to live on my wife. I intend to take a house intown when we are married, and then I'll still continue to write. "

"Without the spur of poverty you'll never make a hit, " grinned the oldgentleman. "However, you can live where you please. It's no business ofmine but I demand, as your indulgent father, that you'll bring Sylviadown here at least three times a year. Whenever she is well I want tosee her. "

"I'll bring her next week, " said Paul, thinking of his mother. "ButDeborah must come too. She won't leave Sylvia. "

"The house is big enough. Bring Mrs. Tawsey also--I'm rather anxious tosee her. And Sylvia will be a good companion for your mother. "

So matters were arranged in this way, and when Paul returned to town hewent at once to tell Sylvia of the reconciliation. He found her, proppedup with pillows, seated by the fire, looking much better, although shewas still thin and rather haggard. Deborah hovered round her and spokein a cautious whisper, which was more annoying than a loud voice wouldhave been. Sylvia flushed with joy when she saw Paul, and flushed stillmore when she heard the good news. 

"I am so glad, darling, " she said, holding Paul's hand in her thin ones. "I should not have liked our marriage to have kept you from yourfather. "

Mrs. Tawsey snorted. "His frantic par, " she said, "ah, well, when I meet'im, if he dares to say a word agin my pretty--"

"My father is quite ready to welcome her as a daughter, " said Paul, quickly. 

"An' no poor one either, " cried Deborah, triumphantly. "Five thousand ayear, as that nice young man Mr. Ford have told us is right. Lor'! mylovely queen, you'll drive in your chariot and forget Debby. "

"You foolish old thing, " said the girl, fondly, "you held to me in mytroubles and you shall share in my joy. "

"Allays purvidin' I don't 'ave to leave the laundry in charge of Bartan' Mrs. Purr, both bein' infants of silliness, one with gin and t'otherwith weakness of brain. It's well I made Bart promise to love, honor andobey me, Mr. Beecot, the same as you must do to my own lily flowerthere. "

"No, _I_ am to love, honor and obey Paul, " cried Sylvia. 

"When?" he asked, taking her in his arms. 

"As soon as I can stand at the altar, " she replied, blushing, whereatDeborah clapped her hands. 

"Weddin's an' weddin's an' weddin's agin, " cried Mrs. Tawsey, "which mysister Matilder being weary of 'er spinstering 'ome 'ave made up 'ermind to marry the fust as offers. An' won't she lead 'im a danceneither--oh, no, not at all. "

"Well, Deborah, " said Beecot, "we have much to be thankful for, all ofus. Let us try and show our gratitude in our lives. "

"Ah, well, you may say that, " sighed Mrs. Tawsey, in a devout manner. "Who'd ha' thought things would have turned out so 'appy-like indeed. But you go on with your billin', my lovely ones, and I'll git th'mutting broth to put color int' my pretty's cheeks, " and she bustledout. 

Sylvia's heart was too full to say anything. She lay in Paul's strongarms, her cheek against his. There she would remain for the rest of herlife, protected from storm and tempest. And as they sat in silence, thechimes of an ancient grandfather's clock, Deborah's chief treasure, rangout twice, thrice and again. Paul laughed softly. 

"It's like wedding-bells, " he whispered, and his future wife sighed asigh of heart-felt joy. 

 THE END

THE BEST NOVELS BY FERGUS HUME

The Mystery of a Hansom Cab $1. 25

The Sealed Message 1. 25

The Sacred Herb 1. 25

Claude Duval of Ninety-five 1. 25

The Rainbow Feather 1. 25

The Pagan's Cup 1. 25

A Coin of Edward VII 1. 25

The Yellow Holly 1. 25

The Red Window 1. 25

The Mandarin's Fan 1. 25

The Secret Passage 1. 25

The Opal Serpent 1. 25

Lady Jim of Curzon Street 1. 50

Transcriber's Note

The advert ("The Best Novels by Fergus Hume") was originally at thefront of the book, but has been moved to the end. 

The following typographical corrections have been made:

(page 8) "furthur" changed to "further"(page 11) "Notebook" changed to "Note-book"(page 33) "lookout" changed to "look-out"(page 49) "eyeglass" changed to "eye-glass"(page 59) "hand-bag" changed to "handbag"(pages 71, 85) "agoin'" changed to "a-goin'"(page 71) "It" changed to "If" in "If we come to"(page 84) quotation mark added after "look--look--"(page 109) "Deborrah" changed to "Deborah"(page 111) quotation mark added before "How dare you"(page 113) "pou" changed to "you" ("before you became an heiress")(page 132) "is" changed to "it" ("that is was picked up")(page 140) "mid-night" changed to "midnight"(page 163) "schoolfellow" changed to "school-fellow"(page 173) "non-plussed" changed to "nonplussed"(page 180) "handbills" changed to "hand-bills"(page 188) "beliving" changed to "believing"(pages 203, 204) "bed-post" changed to "bedpost"(page 214) "sipte" changed to "spite"(page 211) used single quotation marks for the inscription(page 225) quotation mark added before "On no condition"(page 243) quotation mark added after "seem to win, "(page 264) quotation mark added before "for I"(page 269) quotation mark added after "certificate. "(page 276) question mark added after "lawyer you are"(page 303) "pining" changed to "pinning"(page 315) "slience" changed to "silence"