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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15965-8.txt b/15965-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ebf7c4b --- /dev/null +++ b/15965-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8761 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of In Friendship's Guise, by Wm. Murray Graydon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: In Friendship's Guise + +Author: Wm. Murray Graydon + +Release Date: May 31, 2005 [EBook #15965] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN FRIENDSHIP'S GUISE *** + + + + +Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + In Friendship's Guise + + BY WM. MURRAY GRAYDON + + AUTHOR OF "The Cryptogram," etc. + + 1899 + + + + +CONTENTS. + +CHAPTER. + + I.--The Duplicate Rembrandt + + II.--Five Years Afterwards + + III.--An Old Friend + + IV.--Number 320 Wardour Street + + V.--A Mysterious Discussion + + VI.--A Visitor from Paris + + VII.--Love's Young Dream + + VIII.--An Attraction in Pall Mall + + IX.--Uncle and Nephew + + X.--A London Sensation + + XI.--A Mysterious Discovery + + XII.--A Cowardly Communication + + XIII.--The Tempter + + XIV.--The Dinner at Richmond + + XV.--From the Dead + + XVI.--The Last Card + + XVII.--Two Passengers from Calais + + XVIII.--Home Again + + XIX.--A Shock for Sir Lucius + + XX.--At a Night Club + + XXI.--A Quick Decision + + XXII.--Another Chance + + XXIII.--On the Track + + XXIV.--A Fateful Decision + + XXV.--A Fruitless Errand + + XXVI.--A Thunderbolt from the Blue + + XXVII.--An Amateur Detective + + XXVIII.--A Discovery + + XXIX.--The Vicar of Dunwold + + XXX.--Run to Earth + + XXXI.--Noah Hawker's Disclosure + + XXXII.--How the Day Ended + + XXXIII.--Conclusion + + + + +IN FRIENDSHIP'S GUISE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE DUPLICATE REMBRANDT. + + +The day began well. The breakfast rolls were crisper than usual, the +butter was sweeter, and never had Diane's slender white hands poured out +more delicious coffee. Jack Clare was in the highest spirits as he +embraced his wife and sallied forth into the Boulevard St. Germain, with +a flat, square parcel wrapped in brown paper under his arm. From the +window of the entresol Diane waved a coquettish farewell. + +"Remember, in an hour," she called down to him. "I shall be ready by +then, Jack, and waiting. We will lunch at Bignon's--" + +"And drive in the Bois, and wind up with a jolly evening," he +interrupted, throwing a kiss. "I will hasten back, dear one. Be sure +that you put on your prettiest frock, and the jacket with the ermine +trimming." + +It was a clear and frosty January morning, in the year 1892, and the +streets of Paris were dry and glistening. There was intoxication in the +very air, and Jack felt thoroughly in harmony with the fine weather. +What mattered it that he had but a few francs in his pocket--that the +quarterly remittance from his mother, who dreaded the Channel passage +and was devoted to her foggy London, would not be due for a fortnight? +The parcel under his arm meant, without doubt, a check for a nice sum. +He and Diane would spend it merrily, and until the morrow at least his +fellow-workers at Julian's Academy would miss him from his accustomed +place. + +Bright-eyed grisettes flung coy looks at the young artist as he strode +along, admiring his well-knit figure, his handsome boyish features +chiseled as finely as a cameo, the crisp brown hair with a slight +tendency to curl, his velvet jacket and flowing tie. Jack nodded and +smiled at a familiar face now and then, or paused briefly to greet a +male acquaintance; for the Latin Quarter had been his little world for +three years, and he was well-known in it from the Boulevard St. Michel +to the quays of the Seine. He snapped his fingers at a mounted +cuirassier in scarlet and silver who galloped by him on the Point Royal, +and whistled a few bars of "The British Grenadiers" as he passed the +red-trowsered, meek-faced, under-sized soldiers who shouldered their +heavy muskets in the courts of the Louvre. The memory of Diane's +laughing countenance, as she leaned from the window, haunted him in the +Avenue de l'Opera. + +"She's a good little girl, except when she's in a temper," he said to +himself, "and I love her every bit as much as I did when we were married +a year ago. Perhaps I was a fool, but I don't regret it. She was as +straight as a die, with a will of her own, and it was either lose her +altogether or do the right thing. I couldn't bear to part with her, and +I wasn't blackguard enough to try to deceive her. I'm afraid there will +be a row some day, though, when the Mater learns the truth. What would +she say if she knew that Diane Merode, one of the most popular and +fascinating dancers of the Folies Bergere, was now Mrs. John Clare?" + +It was not a cheerful thought, but Jack's momentary depression vanished +as he stopped before the imposing facade of the Hotel Netherlands, in +the vicinity of the Opera. He entered boldly and inquired for Monsieur +Martin Von Whele. The gentleman was gone, a polite garcon explained. He +had received a telegram during the night to say that his wife was very +ill, and he had left Paris by the first train. + +The happiness faded from Jack's eyes. + +"Gone--gone back to Amsterdam?" he exclaimed incredulously. + +"Yes, to his own country, monsieur." + +"And he left no message for me--no letter?" + +"Indeed, no, monsieur; he departed in great haste." + +An appeal to a superior official of the hotel met with the same +response, and Jack turned away. He wandered slowly down the gay street, +the parcel hanging listlessly under his left arm, and his right hand +jingling the few coins in his pocket. His journey over the river, begun +so hopefully, had ended in a bitter disappointment. + +Martin Von Whele was a retired merchant, a rich native of Amsterdam, and +his private collection of paintings was well known throughout Europe. He +had come to Paris a month before to attend a private sale, and had there +purchased, at a bargain, an exceedingly fine Rembrandt that had but +recently been unearthed from a hiding-place of centuries. He determined +to have a copy made for his country house in Holland, and chance brought +him in contact with Jack Clare, who at the time was reproducing for an +art patron a landscape in the Luxembourg Gallery--a sort of thing that +he was not too proud to undertake when he was getting short of money. +Monsieur Von Whele liked the young Englishman's work and came to an +agreement with him. Jack copied the Rembrandt at the Hotel Netherlands, +going there at odd hours, and made a perfect duplicate of it--a +dangerous one, as the Hollander laughingly suggested. Jack applied the +finishing touches at his studio, and artfully gave the canvas an +appearance of age. He was to receive the promised payment when he +delivered the painting at the Hotel Netherlands, and he had confidently +expected it. But, as has been seen, Martin Von Whele had gone home in +haste, leaving no letter or message. For the present there was no +likelihood of getting a cheque from him. + +The brightness of the day aggravated Jack's disappointment as he walked +back to the little street just off the Boulevard St. Germain. He tried +to look cheerful as he mounted the stairs and threw the duplicate +Rembrandt into a corner of the studio, behind a stack of unfinished +sketches. Diane entered from the bedroom, ravishingly dressed for the +street in a costume that well set off her perfect figure. She was a +picture of beauty with her ivory complexion, her mass of dark brown +hair, and the wonderfully large and deep eyes that had been one of her +chief charms at the Folies Bergere. + +"Good boy!" she cried. "You did not keep me waiting long. But you look +as glum as a bear. What is the matter?" + +Jack explained briefly, in an appealing voice. + +"I'm awfully sorry for your sake, dear," he added. "We are down to our +last twenty-franc piece, but in another fortnight--" + +"Then you won't take me?" + +"How can I? Don't be unreasonable." + +"You promised, Jack. And see, I am all ready. I won't stay at home!" + +"Is it my fault, Diane? Can I help it that Von Whele has left Paris?" + +"You can help it that you have no money. Oh, I wish I had not given up +the stage!" + +Diane stamped one little foot, and angry tears rose to her eyes. She +tore off her hat and jacket and dashed them to the floor. She threw +herself on a couch. + +"You deceived me!" she cried bitterly. "You promised that I should want +for nothing--that you would always have plenty of money. And this is how +you keep your word! You are selfish, unkind! I hate you!" + +She continued to reproach him, growing more and more angry. Words of +the lowest Parisian argot, picked up from her companions of the Folies +Bergere, fell from her lovely lips--words that brought a blush of shame, +a look of horror and repulsion, to Jack's face. + +"Diane," he said pleadingly, as he bent over the couch. + +Her mood changed as quickly, and she suddenly clasped her arms around +his neck. + +"Forgive me, Jack," she whispered. + +"I always do," he sighed. + +"And, please, please get some money--now." + +"You know that I can't." + +"Yes, you can. You have lots of friends--they won't refuse you." + +"But I hate to ask them. Of course, Jimmie Drexell would gladly loan me +a few pounds--" + +"Then go to him," pleaded Diane, as she hung on his neck and stopped his +protests with a shower of kisses. "Go and get the money, Jack, dear--you +can pay it back when your remittance comes. And we will have such a +jolly day! I am sure you don't want to work." + +Jack hesitated, and finally gave in; it was hard for him to resist a +woman's tears and entreaties--least of all when that woman was his +fascinating little wife. A moment later he was in the street, walking +rapidly toward the studio of his American friend and fellow-artist, +Jimmie Drexell. + +"How Diane twists me around her finger!" he reflected ruefully. "I hate +these rows, and they have been more frequent of late. When she is in a +temper, and lets loose with her tongue, she is utterly repulsive. But I +forget everything when she melts into tears, and then I am her willing +slave again. I wonder sometimes if she truly loves me, or if her +affection depends on plenty of money and pleasure. Hang it all! Why +is a man ever fool enough to get married?" + + * * * * * + +On a corner of the Boulevard St. Michel and a cross street there is a +brasserie beloved of artists and art students, and slightly more popular +with them than similar institutions of the same ilk in the Latin +Quarter. Here, one hazy October evening, nine months after Mr. Von +Whele's hurried departure from Paris, might have been found Jack Clare. +Tête-à-tête with him, across the little marble-topped table, was his +friend Victor Nevill, whom he had known in earlier days in England, and +whose acquaintance he had recently renewed in gay Paris. Nevill was an +Oxford graduate, and a wild and dissipated young man of Jack's age; he +was handsome and patrician-looking, a hail-fellow-well-met and a +favorite with women, but a close observer of character would have +proclaimed him to be selfish and heartless. He had lately come into +a large sum of money, and was spending it recklessly. + +The long, low-ceilinged room was dim with tobacco smoke, noisy with +ribald jests and laughter. Here and there the waitresses, girls +coquettishly dressed, tripped with bottles and syphons, foaming bocks, +and glasses of brandy or liqueurs. The customers of the brasserie were +a mixed lot of women and men, the latter comprising' numerous +nationalities, and all drawn to Paris by the wiles of the Goddess of +Art. Topical songs of the day succeeded one another rapidly. A group of +long-haired, polyglot students hung around the piano, while others +played on violins or guitars, which they had brought to contribute to +the evening's enjoyment. At intervals, when there was a lull, the click +of billiard balls came from an adjoining apartment. Out on the +boulevard, under the glaring lights, the tide of revelers and +pleasure-seekers flowed unceasingly. + +"I consider this a night wasted," said Jack. "I would rather have gone +to the Casino, for a change." + +"It didn't much matter where we went, as long as we spent our last +evening together," Victor Nevill replied. "You know I leave for Rome +to-morrow. I fancy it will be a good move, for I have been going the +pace too fast in Paris." + +"So have I," said Jack, wearily. "I'm not as lucky as you, with a pot of +money to draw on. I intend to turn over a new leaf, old chap, and you'll +find me reformed when you come back. I've been a fool, Nevill. When my +mother died last February I came into 30,000 francs, and for the last +five months I have been scattering my inheritance recklessly. Very +little of it is left now." + +"But you have been working?" + +"Yes, in a sort of a way. But you can imagine how it goes when a fellow +turns night into day." + +"It's time you pulled up," said Nevill, "before you go stone broke. You +owe that much to your wife." + +He spoke with a slight sneer which escaped his companion. + +"I like that," Jack muttered bitterly. "Diane has spent two francs to +my one--or helped me to spend them." + +"Such is the rosy path of marriage," Nevill remarked lightly. + +"Shut up!" said Jack. + +He laughed as he drained his glass of cognac, and then settled back in +his seat with a moody expression. His thoughts were not pleasant ones. +Since the early part of the year he and his wife had been gradually +drifting apart, and even when they were together at theatres or +luxurious cafes, spending money like water, there had been a restraint +between them. Of late Diane's fits of temper had become more frequent, +and only yielded to a handful of gold or notes. Jack had sought his own +amusements and left her much alone--more than was good for her, he now +reflected uneasily. Yet he had the utmost confidence in her still, and +not a shadow of suspicion had crossed his mind. He believed that his +honor was safe in her care. + +"I have wished a thousand times that I had never married," he said to +himself, "but it is too late for that now. I must make the best of it. +I still love Diane, and I don't believe she has ceased to care for me. +Poor little girl! Perhaps she feels my neglect, and is too proud to own +it. I was ready enough to cut work and spend money. Yes, it has been my +fault. I'll go to her to-night and tell her that. I'll ask her to move +back to our old lodgings, where we were so happy. And then I'll turn +over that new leaf--" + +"What's wrong with you, my boy?" broke in Victor Nevill. "Have you been +dreaming?" + +"I am going home," said Jack, rising. "It will be a pleasant surprise +for Diane." + +Nevill looked at him curiously, then laughed. He took out his watch. + +"Have another drink," he urged. "We part to-night--who knows when we +will meet again? And it is only half-past eleven." + +"One more," Jack assented, sitting down again. + +Brandy was ordered, and Victor Nevill kept up a rapid conversation, and +an interesting one. From time to time he glanced covertly at his watch, +and it might have been supposed that he was purposely detaining his +companion. More brandy was placed on the table, and Jack frequently +lifted the glass to his lips. With a cigar between his teeth, with +flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, he laughed as merrily as any in the +room. But he did not drink too much, and the hand that he finally held +out to Nevill was perfectly steady. + +"I must be off now," he said. "It is long past midnight. Good-by, old +chap, and bon voyage." + +"Good-by, my dear fellow. Take care of yourself." + +It was an undemonstrative parting, such as English-men are addicted to. +Jack sauntered out to the boulevard, and turned his steps homeward. His +thoughts were all of Diane, and he was not to be cajoled by a couple of +grisettes who made advances. He nodded to a friendly gendarme, and +crossed the street to avoid a frolicksome party of students, who were +bawling at the top of their voices the chorus of the latest topical song +by Paulus, the Beranger of the day-- + +"Nous en avons pour tous les gouts." + +Victor Nevill heard the refrain as he left the brasserie and looked +warily about. He stepped into a cab, gave the driver hurried +instructions, and was whirled away at a rattling pace toward the Seine. + +"He will never suspect me," he muttered complacently, as he lit a +cigar. + +With head erect, and coat buttoned tightly over his breast, Jack went on +through the enticing streets of Paris. He had moved from his former +lodgings to a house that fronted on the Boulevard St. Germain. Here he +had the entresol, which he had furnished lavishly to please his wife. He +let himself in with a key, mounted the stairs, and opened the studio +door. A lamp was burning dimly, and the silence struck a chill to his +heart. + +"Diane," he called. + +There was no reply. He advanced a few feet, and caught sight of a letter +pinned to the frame of an easel. He turned up the lamp, opened the +envelope, and read the contents: + +"Dear Jack:-- + +"Good-by forever. You will never see me again. Forgive me and try to +forget. It is better that we should part, as I could not endure a life of +poverty. I love you no longer, and I am sure that you have tired of me. I +am going with one who has taken your place in my heart--one who can +gratify my every wish. It will be useless to seek for me. Again, +farewell. DIANE." + +The letter fell from Jack's hand, and he trampled it under foot. He +reeled into the dainty bedroom, and his burning eyes noted the signs of +confusion and flight--the open and empty drawers, the despoiled dressing +table, the discarded clothing strewn on the floor. + +"Gone!" he cried hoarsely. "Gone at the bidding of some +scoundrel--perhaps a trusted friend and comrade! God help my betrayer +when the day of reckoning comes! But I am well rid of her. She was +heartless and mercenary. She never could have loved me--she has left me +because she knew that my money was nearly spent. But I love her still. I +can't tear her out of my heart. Diane, my wife, come back! Come back!" + +His voice rang through the empty, deserted rooms. He threw himself on +the bed, and tore the lace coverings with his finger nails. He wept +bitter tears, strong man though he was, while out on the boulevard the +laughter of the midnight revelers mocked at his grief. + +Finally he rose; he laughed harshly. + +"Damn her, she would have dragged me down to her own level," he +muttered. "It is for the best. I am a free man once more." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +FIVE YEARS AFTERWARDS. + + +Jack Vernon looked discontentedly at the big canvas on the easel, and +with a shrug of the shoulders he turned his back on it. He dropped his +palette and flung his sheaf of brushes into an open drawer. + +"I am not fit for anything to-day," he said petulantly. "I was up too +late last night. No, most decidedly, I am not in the mood for work." + +He sauntered to the huge end window of the studio, and looked out over +the charming stretch of Ravenscourt Park. It was an ideal morning toward +the close of April, 1897--such a morning as one finds at its best in the +western suburbs of mighty London. The trees were in fresh leaf and bud, +the crocuses were blooming in the well-kept beds, and the grass was a +sheet of glittering emeralds. The singing of birds vied with the jangle +of tram-bells out on the high-road. + +"A pull on the river will take the laziness out of me," thought Jack, as +he yawned and extended his arms. "What glorious weather! It would be a +shame to stop indoors." + +A mental picture of the silvery Thames, green-wooded and sunny, proved +too strong an allurement to resist. Jack did not know that Destiny, +watchful of opportunity, had taken this beguiling shape to lead him to +a turning-point of his life--to steer him into the thick of troubled and +restless waters, of gray clouds and threatening storms. He discarded +his paint-smeared blouse--he had worn one since his Paris days--and, +getting quickly into white flannel and a river hat, he lit a briar pipe +and went forth whistling to meet his fate. + +He was fond of walking, and he knew every foot of old Chiswick by heart. +He struck across the high-road, down a street of trim villas to a more +squalid neighborhood, and came out by the lower end of Chiswick Mall, +sacred to memories of the past. He lingered for a moment by the stately +house immortalized by Thackeray in Vanity Fair, and pictured Amelia +Sedley rolling out of the gates in her father's carriage, while Becky +Sharpe hurled the offending dictionary at the scandalized Miss +Pinkerton. Tempted by the signboard of the Red Lion, and by the +red-sailed wherries clustered between the dock and the eyot, he stopped +to quaff a foaming pewter on a bench outside the old inn. + +A little later he had threaded the quaint passage behind Chiswick +Church, left the sonorous hammering of Thorneycroft's behind him, and +was stepping briskly along Burlington Lane, with the high wall of +Devonshire House on his right, and on his left, far over hedges and +orchards, the riverside houses of Barnes. He was almost sorry when he +reached Maynard's boat-house, where he kept a couple of light and +serviceable craft; but the dimpled bosom of the Thames, sparkling in the +sunlight, woke a fresh enthusiasm in his heart, and made him long to +transfer the picture to canvas. + +"Even a Turner could not do it half justice," he reflected. + +It was indeed a scene to defy any artist, but there were some bold enough +to attempt it. As Jack pulled up the river he saw, here and there, a +fellow-craftsman ensconced in a shady nook with easel and camp-chair. His +vigorous strokes sent him rapidly by Strand-on-the-Green, that secluded +bit of a village which so few Londoners have taken the trouble to search +out. A narrow paved quay, fringed with stately elm trees, separated the +old-fashioned, many-colored houses from the reedy shore, where at high +tide low great black barges, which apparently go nowhere, lie moored in +picturesque array. + +It was all familiar to Jack, but he never tired of this stretch of the +Thames. He dived under Kew Bridge, shot by Kew Gardens and ancient +Brentford, and turned around off Isleworth. He rowed leisurely back, +dropping the oars now and again to light his pipe. + +"There's nothing like this to brace a fellow up," he said to himself, as +he drew near Maynard's. "I should miss the river if I took a studio in +town. I'll have a bit of lunch at the Red Lion, and then go home and do +an afternoon's work." + +A churning, thumping noise, which he had disregarded before, suddenly +swelled louder and warned him of possible danger. He was about off the +middle of Strand-on-the-Green, and, glancing around, he saw one of the +big Thames excursion steamers, laden with passengers, ploughing +up-stream within fifty yards of him, but at a safe distance to his +right. The same glimpse revealed a pretty picture midway between himself +and the vessel--a young girl approaching in a light Canadian canoe. She +could not have been more than twenty, and the striking beauty of her +face was due to those charms of expression and feature which are +indefinable. A crimson Tam-o'-Shanter was perched jauntily on her golden +hair, and a blue Zouave jacket, fitting loosely over her blouse, gave +full play to the grace and skill with which she handled the paddle. + +Jack was indifferent to women, and wont to boast that none could +enslave him, but the sight of this fair young English maiden, if it did +not weaken the citadel of his heart, at least made that organ beat a +trifle faster. He shot one look of bold admiration, then turned and bent +to the oars. + +"I don't know when I have seen so lovely a face," he thought. "I wonder +who she is." + +The steamer glided by, and the next moment Jack was nearly opposite to +the canoe. What happened then was swift and unexpected. Above the splash +of the revolving paddles he heard hoarse shouts and warning cries. He +saw green waves approaching, flung up in the wake of the passing vessel. +As he dropped the oars and leapt anxiously to his feet the frail canoe, +unfitted to encounter such a peril, was clutched and lifted broadside by +the foaming swell. Over it went instantly, and there was a flash of red +and blue as the girl was flung headfirst into the river. + +As quickly Jack clasped his hands and dived from his boat. He came to +the top and swam forward with desperate strokes. He saw the upturned +canoe, the floating paddle, the half-submerged Tam-o'-Shanter. Then a +mass of dripping golden hair cleft the surface, only to sink at once. + +But Jack had marked the spot, and, taking a full breath, he dived. To +the onlookers the interval seemed painfully long, and a hundred cheering +voices rent the air as the young artist rose to view, keeping himself +afloat with one arm, while the other supported the girl. She was +conscious, but badly scared and disposed to struggle. + +"Be quite still," Jack said, sharply. "You are in no danger--I will save +you if you trust me." + +The girl obeyed, looking into Jack's eyes with a calmer expression. The +steamer had stopped, and half a dozen row-boats were approaching from +different directions. A grizzled waterman and his companion picked up +the two and pulled them across to Strand-on-the-Green. Others followed +towing Jack's boat and the canoe, and the big steamer proceeded on her +way to Kew Pier. + +The Black Bull, close by the railway bridge, received the drenched +couple, and the watermen were delighted by the gift of a sovereign. A +motherly woman took the half-dazed girl upstairs, and Jack was led into +the oak-panelled parlor of the old inn by the landlord, who promptly +poured him out a little brandy, and then insisted on his having a change +of clothing. + +"Thank you; I fear I must accept your offer," said Jack. "But I hope you +will attend to the young lady first. Your wife seemed to know her." + +"Quite well, sir," was the reply. "Bless you, we all know Miss Madge +Foster hereabouts. She lives yonder at the lower end of the Green--" + +"Then she had better be taken home." + +"I think this is the best place for her at present, sir. Her father is +in town, and there is only an old servant." + +"You are quite right," said Jack. "I suppose there is a doctor near by." + +"There is, sir, and I will send for him at once," the landlord promised. +"If you will kindly step this way--" + +At that moment there was a stir among the curious idlers who filled the +entrance passage of the inn. An authoritative voice opened a way between +them, and a man pushed through to the parlor. His face changed color at +the sight of Jack, who greeted him with a cry of astonishment. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +AN OLD FRIEND + + +There was gladness as well as surprise in Jack's hearty exclamation, for +the man who stood before him in the parlor of the Black Bull was his old +friend Victor Nevill, little altered in five years, except for a heavier +mustache that improved his dark and handsome face. To judge from +appearances, he had not run through with all his money. He was daintily +booted and gloved, and wore morning tweeds of perfect cut; a sprig of +violets was thrust in his button-hole. The two had not met since they +parted in Paris on that memorable night, nor had they known of each +other's whereabouts. + +"Nevill, old chap!" cried Jack, holding out a hand. + +Nevill clasped it warmly; his momentary confusion had vanished. + +"My dear Clare--" he began. + +"Not that name," Jack interrupted, laughingly. "I'm called Vernon on +this side of the Channel." + +"What, John Vernon, the rising artist?" + +"The same." + +"It's news to me. I congratulate you, old man. If I had known I would +have looked you up long ago, but I lost all trace of you." + +"That's my case," said Jack. "I supposed you were still abroad. Been +back long?" + +"Yes, a couple of years." + +"By Jove, it's queer we didn't meet before. Fancy you turning up here!" + +"I stopped last night with a friend in Grove Park," Nevill answered, +after a brief hesitation, "and feeling a bit seedy this morning, I came +for a stroll along the river. I hear of a gallant rescue from the water, +and, of course, you are the hero, Jack. Is the young lady all right?" + +"I believe so." + +"Do you know who she is?" + +"Miss Madge Poster, sir," spoke up the landlord, "and I can assure you +she was very nearly drowned--" + +"Not so bad as that," modestly protested Jack. + +Victor Nevill's face had changed color again, and for a second there was +a troubled look in his eyes. He spoke the girl's name carelessly, then +added in hurried tones: + +"You must get into dry clothes at once, Jack, or you will be ill--" + +"Just what I told him, sir," interrupted the landlord. "Young men _will_ +be reckless." + +"I am going back to town to keep an engagement," Nevill resumed. "Can I +do anything for you?" + +"If you will, old chap," Jack said gratefully. "Stop at my studio," +giving him the address, "and send my man Alphonse here with a dry rig." + +"I'll go right away," replied Neville. "I can get a cab at Kew Bridge. +Come and see me, Jack. Here is my card. I put up in Jermyn street." + +"And you know where to find me," said Jack. "I am seldom at home in the +evenings, though." + +A few more words, and Neville departed. Jack was prevailed upon by the +landlord to go to an upper room, where he stripped off his drenched +garments and rubbed himself dry, then putting on a suit of clothes +belonging to his host. The latter brought the cheering news that Miss +Foster had taken a hot draught and was sleeping peacefully, and that it +would be quite unnecessary to send for a doctor. + +A little later Alphonse and a cab arrived at the rear of the Black +Bull, where there was a lane for vehicular traffic, and Jack once more +changed his attire. He left his card and a polite message for the girl, +pressed a substantial tip on the reluctant landlord, and was soon +rattling homeward up Chiswick high-road, feeling none the worse for his +wetting, but, on the contrary, gifted with a keen appetite. He had sent +his boat back to Maynard's. + +"What a pretty girl that was!" he reflected. "It's the first time in +five years I've given a serious thought to a woman. But I shall forget +her as quickly--I am wedded to my art. It's rather a fetching name, +Madge Foster. Come to think of it, it was hardly the proper thing to +leave my card. I suppose I will get a fervid letter of gratitude from +the girl's father, or the two of them may even invade my studio. How +could I have been so stupid?" + +He ate a hearty lunch, and set to work diligently. But he could not keep +his mind from the adventure of the morning, and he saw more frequently +the face of the lovely young English girl, than that of the swarthy +Moorish dancer he was doing in oils. + +Those five years had made a different man of Jack Clare--had brought him +financial prosperity, success in his art, and contentment with life. He +was now twenty-seven, clean-shaven, and with the build of an athlete; +and his attractive, well-cut features had fulfilled the promise of +youth. But for six wretched months, after that bitter night when Diane +fled from him, he had suffered acutely. In vain his friends, none of +whom could give him any clew to his betrayer, sought to comfort him; in +vain he searched for trace of tidings of his wife, for her faithlessness +had not utterly crushed his love, and the recollections of the first +months of his marriage were very sweet to him. The chains with which the +dancer of the Folies Bergere bound him had been strong; his hot youth +had fallen victim to the charms of a face and figure that would have +enslaved more experienced men. + +But the healing power of time works wonders, and in the spring of the +succeeding year, when Paris burst into leaf and blossom, Jack began to +take a fresh interest in life, and to realize with a feeling little +short of satisfaction that Diane's desertion was all for the best, and +that he was well rid of a woman who must ultimately have dragged him +down to her own level. The sale of his mother's London residence, a +narrow little house in Bayswater, put him in possession of a fairly +large sum of money. He left Paris with his friend Jimmie Drexell, and +the two spent a year in Italy, Holland and Algeria, doing pretty hard +work in the way of sketching. Jack returned to Paris quite cured, and +with a determination to win success in his calling. He saw Drexell off +for his home in New York, and then he packed up his belongings--they had +been under lock and key in a room of the house on the Boulevard St. +Germain--and emigrated to London. His great sorrow was only an +unpleasant memory to him now. He had friends in England, but no +relations there or anywhere, so far as he knew. His father, an artist +of unappreciated talent, had died twenty years before. It was after his +death that Jack's mother had come into some property from a distant +relative. + +Taking his middle name of Vernon, Jack settled in Fitzroy Square. A +couple of hundred pounds constituted his worldly wealth. His ambition +was to be a great painter, but he had other tastes as well, and his +talent lay in more than one channel. Within a year, by dint of hard +work, he obtained more than a foothold. He had sold a couple of pictures +to dealers; his black-and-white drawings were in demand with a couple of +good magazines, and a clever poster, bearing his name, and advertising +a popular whisky was displayed all over London. Then, picking up a +French paper in the Monico one morning, he experienced a shock. The body +of a woman had been found in the Seine and taken to the Morgue, where +several persons unhesitatingly identified her as Diane Merode, the +one-time fascinating dancer of the Folies Bergere. + +Jack turned pale, and crushed the paper in his hand. Evening found him +wandering on the heights of Hampstead, but the next morning he was at +his easel. He was a free man now in every sense, and the world looked +brighter to him. He worked as hard as ever, and with increasing success, +but he spent most of his evenings with his comrades of the brush, with +whom he was immensely popular. He was indifferent to women, however, and +they did not enter into his life. + +But a few months before the opening of this story Jack had taken his new +studio at Ravenscourt Park, in the west of London. It was a big place, +with a splendid north light, and with an admirable train service to all +parts of town; in that respect he was better off than artists living in +Hampstead or St. John's Wood. He had a couple of small furnished rooms +at one end of the studio, in one of which he slept. He usually dined in +town, Paris fashion, but his breakfast and lunch were served by his +French servant, Alphonse, an admirable fellow, who had lodgings close by +the studio; he could turn his hand to anything, and was devoted to his +master. + +Jack had achieved success, and he deserved it. His name was well known, +and better things were predicted of him. The leading magazines displayed +his black-and-white drawings monthly, and publishers begged him to +illustrate books. He was making a large income, and saving the half of +it. Nor did he lose sight of his loftier goal. His picture of last year +had been accepted by the Academy, hung well, and sold, and he had just +been notified that he was in again this spring. Fortune smiled on him, +and the folly of his youth was a fading memory that could never cloud or +dim his future. + + * * * * * + +It was two days after the adventure on the river, late in the afternoon. +Jack was reading over the manuscript of a book, and penciling possible +points for illustration, when Alphonse handed him a letter. It was +directed in a feminine hand, but a man had clearly penned the inclosure. +The writer signed himself Stephen Foster, and in a few brief sentences, +coldly and curtly expressed, he thanked Mr. Vernon for the great and +timely service he had rendered his daughter. That was all. There was no +invitation to the house at Strand-on-the-Green--no hope or desire for a +personal acquaintance. + +Jack resented the bald, stereotyped communication. He felt +piqued--slightly hurt. He had been trying to forget the girl, but now, +thinking of her as something out of his reach, he wanted to see her +again. + +"A conceited, crusty old chap--this Stephen Foster," he said to himself. +"No doubt he is a money-grubber in the city, and regards artists with +contempt. If I had a daughter like that, and a man saved her life, I +should be properly grateful. Poor girl, she can't lead a very happy +life." + +He lighted a pipe, read a little further, and then tossed the sheaf of +manuscript aside. He rose and put on a hat and a black coat--he wore +evening dress as little as possible. + +"Will you dine in town to-night, sir?" asked Alphonse, who was cleaning +a stack of brushes. + +"Yes, oh, yes," Jack answered. "You can go when you have finished." + +Whatever may have been his intention when he left the studio, Jack did +not cross the park toward the District Railway station. He walked slowly +to the high-road, and then westward with brisker step. He struck down +through Gunnersbury, by way of Sutton Court, and came out at the river +close to the lower end of Strand-on-the-Green. + +A girl was sitting on a bench near the shore, pensively watching the sun +drooping over the misty ramparts of Kew Bridge; she held a closed book +in one hand, and by her side lay a sketching-block and a box of colors. +She heard the young artist's footsteps, and glanced up. A lovely blush +suffused her countenance, and for an instant she was speechless. Then, +with less confusion, with the candor of an innocent and unconventional +nature, she said: + +"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Vernon." + +"That is kind of you," Jack replied, with a smile. + +"Yes, I wanted to thank you--" + +"Your father has written to me." + +"But that is different. I wanted to thank you for myself." + +"I wish I were deserving of such gratitude," said Jack, thinking that +the girl looked far more charming than when he had first seen her. + +"Ah, don't say that. You know that you saved my life. I am a good +swimmer, but that morning my clothes seemed to drag me down." + +"I am glad that I happened to be near at the time," Jack replied, as +he seated himself without invitation on the bench. "But it is not a +pleasant topic--let us not talk about it." + +"I shall never forget it," the girl answered softly. She was silent for +a moment, and then added gravely: "It is so strange to know you. I +admire artists so much, and I saw your picture in last year's Academy. +How surprised I was when I read your card!" + +"You paint, yourself, Miss Foster?" + +"No, I only try to. I wish I could." + +She reluctantly yielded her block of Whatman's paper to Jack, and in the +portfolio attached to it he found several sketches that showed real +promise. He frankly said as much, to his companion's delight, and then +the conversation turned on the quaintness of Strand-on-the-Green, and +the constant and varied beauty of the river at this point--a subject +that was full of genuine interest to both. When the sun passed below the +bridge the girl suddenly rose and gathered her things. + +"I must go," she said. "My father is coming home early to-day. Good-by, +Mr. Vernon." + +"Not really good-by. I hope?" + +An expression of sorrow and pain, almost pitiful, clouded her lovely +face. Jack understood the meaning of it, and hated Stephen Foster in his +heart. + +"I shall see you here sometimes?" he added. + +"Perhaps." + +"Then you do not forbid me to come again?" + +"How can I do that? This river walk is quite free, Mr. Vernon. Oh, +please don't think me ungrateful, but--but--" + +She turned her head quickly away, and did not finish the sentence. She +called a word of farewell over her shoulder, and Jack moodily watched +her slim and graceful figure vanish between the great elm trees that +guard the lower entrance to Strand-on-the-Green. + +"John Vernon, you are a fool," he said to himself. "The best thing for +you is to pack up your traps and be off to-morrow morning for a couple +of months' sketching in Devonshire. You've been bitten once--look out!" + +He took a shilling from his pocket, and muttered, as he flipped it in +the air: "Tail, Richmond--head, town." + +The coin fell tail upward, and Jack went off to dine at the Roebuck on +the hill, beloved of artists, where he met some boon companions and +argued about Whistler until a late hour. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +NUMBER 320 WARDOUR STREET. + + +The rear-guard of London's great army of clerks had already vanished in +the city, and the hour was drawing near to eleven, when Victor Nevill +shook off his lassitude sufficiently to get out of bed. A cold tub +freshened him, and as he dressed with scrupulous care, choosing his +clothes from a well-filled wardrobe, he occasionally walked to the +window of his sitting-room and looked down on the narrow but lively +thoroughfare of Jermyn street. It was a fine morning, with the scent of +spring in the air, and the many colors of the rumbling 'busses glistened +like fresh paint in the sunlight. + +His toilet completed, Victor Nevill pressed an electric bell, in answer +to which there presently appeared, from some mysterious source +downstairs, a boy in buttons carrying a tray on which reposed a small +pot of coffee, one of cream, a pat of butter, and a couple of crisp +rolls. Nevill ate his breakfast with the mechanical air of one who is +doing a tiresome but necessary thing, meanwhile consulting a tiny +memorandum-book, and counting over a handful of loose gold and silver. +Then he put on his hat and gloves, looked at the fit of his gray +frock-coat in the glass, and went into the street. At Piccadilly Circus +he bought a _boutonniere_, and as he was feeling slightly rocky after a +late night at card-playing, he dropped into the St. James. He emerged +shortly, fortified by a brandy-and-soda, and sauntered westward along +the Piccadilly pavement. + +A typical young-man-about-town, an indolent pleasure-lover, always +dressed to perfection and flush with money--such was Victor Nevill in +the opinion of the world. For aught men knew to the contrary, he thrived +like the proverbial lily of the field, without the need of toiling or +spinning. He lived in expensive rooms, dined at the best restaurants, +and belonged to a couple of good clubs. To his friends this was no +matter of surprise or conjecture. They were aware that he was +well-connected, and that years before he had come into a fortune; they +naturally supposed that enough of it remained to yield him a comfortable +income, in spite of the follies and extravagances that rumor attributed +to him in the past, while he was abroad. + +But Nevill himself, and one other individual, knew better. The bulk of +his fortune exhausted by reckless living on the Continent, he had +returned to London with a thousand pounds in cash, and a secured annuity +of two hundred pounds, which he was too prudent to try to negotiate. The +thousand pounds did not last long, but by the time they were spent he +had drifted into degraded and evil ways. None had ever dared to +whisper--none had ever suspected--that Victor Nevill was a rook for +money-lenders and a dangerous friend for young men. He knew what a +perilous game he was playing, but he studied every move and guarded +shrewdly against discovery. There were many reasons, and one in +particular, for keeping his reputation clean and untarnished. It was +a matter of the utmost satisfaction to him that his uncle, Sir Lucius +Chesney, of Priory Court in Sussex, cared but little for London, and +seldom came up to town. For Sir Lucius was childless, elderly, and +possessed of fifteen thousand pounds a year. + +Victor Nevill's progress along Piccadilly was frequently interrupted by +friends, fashionably dressed young men like himself, whose invitations +to come and have a drink he declined on the plea of an engagement. Just +beyond Devonshire House he was accosted eagerly by a fresh-faced, +blond-haired boy--he was no more than twenty-two--who was coming from +the opposite direction. + +"Hullo, Bertie," Nevill said carelessly, as he shook hands. "I was on my +way to the club." + +"I got tired of waiting. You are half an hour over the time, Vic. I +thought of going to your rooms." + +"I slept later than I intended," Nevill replied. "I had a night of it." + +"So had I--a night of sleeplessness." + +The Honorable Bertie Raven, second son of the Earl of Runnymede, might +have stepped out of one of Poole's fashion-plates, so far as dress was +concerned. But there was a strained look on his handsome, patrician +face, and in his blue eyes, that told of a gnawing mental anxiety. He +linked arms with his companion, and drew him to the edge of the +pavement. + +"Is it all right?" he asked, pleadingly and hurriedly. "Were you able to +fix the thing up for me?" + +"You are sure there is no other way, Bertie?" + +"None, Vic. I have until this evening, and then--" + +"Don't worry. I saw Benjamin and Company yesterday." + +"And they will accommodate me?" + +"Yes, at my request." + +"You mean for your indorsement on the bill?" the lad exclaimed, +blushing. "Vic, you're a trump. You're the best fellow that ever lived, +and I can't tell you how grateful I am. God only knows what a weight +you've lifted from my mind. I'm going to run steady after this, and with +economy I can save enough out of my allowance--" + +"My dear boy, you are wasting your gratitude over a trifle. Could I +refuse so simple a favor to a friend?" + +"I don't know any one else who would have done as much, Vic. I was in an +awful hole. Will--will they give me plenty of time?" + +"As much as you like. And, I say, Bertie, this affair must be quite +_entre nous_. There are plenty of chaps--good fellows, too--who would +like to use my name occasionally. But one must draw the line--" + +"I understand, Vic. I'll be mum as an oyster." + +"Well, suppose we go and have the thing over," said Nevill, "and then +we'll lunch together." + +They turned eastward, walking briskly, and a few minutes later they +entered a narrow court off Duke street, St. James. Through a dingy and +unpretentious doorway, unmarked by sign or plate, they passed into the +premises of Benjamin and Company. In a dark, cramped office, scantily +furnished, they found an elderly Jewish gentleman seated at a desk. + +Without delay, with a smoothness that spoke well for the weight and +influence of Victor Nevill's name, the little matter of business, as the +Jew smilingly called it, was transacted. A three-months' bill for five +hundred pounds was drawn up for Bertie's signature and Nevill's +indorsement. The lad hesitated briefly, then wrote his name in a bold +hand. He resisted the allurements of some jewelry, offered him in part +payment, and received the amount of the bill, less a prodigious discount +for interest. The Jew servilely bowed his customers out. + +The Honorable Bertie's face was grave and serious as he walked toward +Piccadilly with his friend; he vaguely realized that he had taken the +first step on a road that too frequently ends in disgrace and ruin. But +this mood changed as he felt the rustling bank notes in his pocket. The +world had not looked so bright for many a day. + +"I never knew the thing was so easy," he said. "What a good fellow you +are, Vic! You've made a new man of me. I can pay off those cursed +gambling losses, and a couple of the most pressing debts, and have +nearly a hundred pounds over. But I wish I had taken that ruby bracelet +for Flora--it would have pleased her." + +"Cut Flora--that's my advice," replied Nevill. + +"And jolly good advice, too, Vic. I'll think about it seriously. But +where will you lunch with me?" + +"You are going to lunch with _me_," said Nevill, "at the Arlington." + + * * * * * + +In Wardour street, Soho, as many an enthusiastic collector has found out +to the depletion of his pocket-book, there are sufficient antique +treasures of every variety stored away in dingy shop windows and dingier +rooms to furnish a small town. Number 320, which by chance or design +failed to display the name of its proprietor, differed from its +neighbors in one marked respect. Instead of the usual conglomerate mass, +articles of value cheek by jowl with worthless rubbish, the long window +contained some rare pieces of china and silver, an Italian hall-seat of +richly carved oak, and half a dozen paintings by well-known artists of +the past century, the authenticity of which was an excuse for the amount +at which they were priced. + +Behind the window was a deep and narrow room, lined on both sides with +cabinets of great age and curious workmanship, oaken furniture belonging +to various periods, pictures restored and pictures cracked and faded, +cases filled with dainty objects of gold and silver, brass work from +Moorish and Saracenic craftsmen, tall suits of armor, helmets and +weapons that had clashed in battle hundreds of years before, and other +things too numerous to mention, all of a genuine value that put them +beyond the reach of a slim purse. + +In the rear of the shop--which was looked after by a salesman--was a +small office almost opulent in its appearance. Soft rugs covered the +floor, and costly paintings hung on the walls. The chairs and desk, the +huge couch, would have graced a palace, and a piece of priceless +tapestry partly overhung the big safe at one end. An incandescent lamp +was burning brightly, for very little light entered from the dreary +court on which a single window opened. + +Here, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Stephen Foster sat poring over a +sheaf of papers. He was a man of fifty-two, nearly six feet tall and +correspondingly built--a man with a fine head and handsome features, a +man to attract more than ordinary attention. His hands were white, slim +and long. His eyes were deep brown, and his mustache and beard--the +latter cut to a point--were of a tawny yellowish-brown color, mixed with +gray to a slight degree. It would be difficult to analyze his character, +for in many ways he was a contradiction. He was not miserly, but his +besetting evil was the love of accumulating money--the lever that had +made him thoroughly unscrupulous. He was rich, or reputed so, but in +amassing gold, by fair means or foul, lay the keynote to his life. And +it was a dual life. He had chosen the old mansion at Strand-on-the-Green +to be out of the roar and turmoil of London life, and yet within touch +of it. Here, where his evenings were mostly spent, he was a different +man. He derived his chief pleasures from his daughter's society, from a +table filled with current literature, from a box of choice Havanas. In +town he was a sordid man of business, clever at buying and selling to +the best advantage. He had loved his wife, the daughter of a city +alderman and a friend of his father's, and her death twelve years before +had been a great blow to him. Madge resembled her, and he gave the girl +a father's sincere devotion. + +Few persons knew that Stephen Foster was the proprietor of the +curio-shop in Wardour street--his daughter was among the ignorant--and +but one or two were aware that the business of Benjamin and Company, +carried on in Duke street, belonged also to him. None, assuredly, among +his sprinkling of acquaintances, would have believed that he could stoop +to lower things, or that he and his equally unscrupulous and useful +tool, Victor Nevill, the gay young-man-about-town, had been mixed up in +more than one nefarious transaction that would not bear the light of +day. He had taken the place in Wardour street within the past five +years, and prior to that time he had held a responsible position as +purchasing agent--there was not a better judge of pictures in +Europe--with the well-known firm of Lamb and Drummond, art dealers +and engravers to Her Majesty, of Pall Mall. + +A slight frown gathered on Stephen Foster's brow as he put aside the +packet of papers, and it deepened as he recognized a familiar step +coming through the shop. But he had a cheery smile of greeting ready +when the office door opened to admit Victor Nevill. The young man's face +was flushed with excitement, and he carried in one hand a crumpled copy +of the Westminster _Budget_. + +"Seen the evening editions yet?" he exclaimed. + +"No; what's in them?" asked the curio-dealer. + +"I was lunching at the Arlington, with the Honorable Bertie--By the +way, he took the hook," Nevill replied, in a calmer tone, "and when I +came out I bought this on the street. But read for yourself." + +He opened the newspaper, folded it twice, and tossed it down on Stephen +Foster's desk. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A MYSTERIOUS DISCUSSION. + + +The paragraph in the Westminster _Budget_ to which Victor Nevill +referred was headed in large type, and ran as follows: + +"This morning, at his palatial residence in Amsterdam, commenced the +sale of the gallery of valuable paintings collected by the late Mr. +Martin Von Whele, who died while on a visit to his coffee estate in +Java. He left everything to his son, with the exception of the pictures, +which, by the terms of his will, were to be disposed of in order to +found a hospital in his native town. Mr. Von Whele was a keen and +discriminating patron of art, a lover of both the ancient and the +modern, and his vast wealth permitted him to indulge freely in his +hobby. His collection was well known by repute throughout the civilized +world. But the trustees of the estate seem to have committed a grave +blunder--which will undoubtedly cause much complaint--in waiting until +almost the last moment to announce the sale. But few bidders were +present, and these had things pretty much their own way, apparently +owing to the gross ignorance of the auctioneer. The gem of the gallery, +the famous Rembrandt found and purchased in Paris some years ago by Mr. +Von Whele, was knocked down for the ridiculous sum of £2,400. The lucky +purchaser was Mr. Charles Drummond, of the firm of Lamb and Drummond, +Pall Mall." + +A remark that would not look well in print escaped Stephen Foster's lips +as he threw the paper on his desk. + +"A blunder?" he cried. "It was criminal! A rascally conspiracy, with +Drummond at the bottom of it--British cunning against Dutch stupidity! I +seldom miss anything in the papers, Nevill, and yet I never heard of Von +Whele's death. I didn't get a hint of the sale." + +"Nor I," replied Nevill. "It's a queer business. I thought the paragraph +would interest you. The sale continues--do you think of running over to +Amsterdam?" + +"No; I shan't go. It's too late. By to-morrow a lot of dealers will have +men on the spot, and the rest of the pictures will likely fetch full +value. But £2,400 for the Rembrandt! Why, it's worth five times as much +if it's worth a penny! There's a profit for you, Nevill. And I always +coveted that picture. I had a sort of a hope that it would drop into my +hands some day. I believe I spoke to you about it." + +"You did," assented Nevill, "and I remembered that at once when I read +of the sale. But I had another reason--one of my own--for calling your +attention to the matter." + +Stephen Foster apparently did not hear the latter remark. + +"I saw the Rembrandt when I was in Amsterdam, two years ago," he said +bitterly. "It was a splendid canvas--the colors were almost as fresh and +bright as the day they were laid on. And as a character study it was a +masterpiece second to none, and in my estimation superior to his +'Gilder,' which is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. It +represented a Pole or a Russian, with a face of intense ferocity. His +rank was shown by his rich cloak, the decorations on his furred hat, and +by the gold-beaded mace held in his hand. Von Whele declared that the +subject was John the Third, of Poland; but that was mere conjecture. And +now Drummond has the picture, and it will soon be drawing crowds around +the firm's window, I dare say. What a prize I have let slip through my +fingers!" + +"I want to ask you a question," Nevill started abruptly. "Suppose this +Rembrandt, or any other painting of value and renown, should be stolen +from a big dealer's shop. How could the thief dispose of it?" + +"He would have little or no chance of doing so at once," was the reply, +"unless he found some unscrupulous collector who was willing to buy it +and hide it away. But in the course of a few years, when the affair had +blown over, the picture could be sold for its full value, without any +risk to the seller, if he was a smart man." + +"Then, if you had this Rembrandt locked up in your safe, you would +regard it as a sound and sure investment, to be realized on in the +future?" + +"Certainly. I should consider it as an equivalent for £10,000," Stephen +Foster replied. "But there is not much of that sort of thing done--the +ordinary burglar doesn't understand the game," he went on, carelessly. +"And a good thing for the dealers, too. With my knowledge of the place, +I could very easily remove a picture from Lamb and Drummond's store-room +any night." + +"Yes, you know the ground thoroughly. Would you like to make £10,000 at +a single stroke, without risk?" + +"I don't think I should hesitate long, if it was a sure thing," Stephen +Foster replied, laughingly. "Nevill, what are you driving at?" he added +with sudden earnestness. + +"Wait a moment, and I'll explain." + +Victor Nevill stepped to the door, listened briefly, and turned the key +noiselessly in the lock. He drew a chair close to his companion and sat +down. + +"I am going to tell you a little story," he said. "It will interest +you, if I am not mistaken." + +It must have been a very important and mysterious communication, from +the care with which Nevill told it, from the low and cautious tone in +which he spoke. Stephen Foster listened with a blank expression that +gradually changed to a look of amazement and satisfaction, of +ill-concealed avarice. Then the two discussed the matter together, +heedless of the passage of time, until the clock struck five. + +"It certainly appears to be simple enough," said Stephen Foster, "but +who will find out about--" + +"You must do that," Nevill interrupted. "If I went, it might lead to +awkward complications in the future." + +"It's the worst part, and I confess I don't like it. But I'll take a +night to think it over, and give you an answer to-morrow. It's an ugly +undertaking--" + +"But a safe one. If it comes off all right, I want £500 cash down, on +account." + +"It is not certain that it will come off at all," said Stephen Foster, +as he rose. "Come in to-morrow afternoon. Oh, I believe I promised you +some commission to-day." + +"Yes; sixty pounds." + +The check was written, and Nevill pocketed it with a nod. He put on his +hat, moved to the door, and paused. + +"By the by, there's a new thing on at the Frivolity--awfully good," he +said. "Miss Foster might like to see it. We could make up a little party +of three--" + +"Thank you, but my daughter doesn't care for theatres. And, as you know, +I spend my evenings at home." + +"I don't blame you," Nevill replied, indifferently. "It's a snug and +jolly crib you have down there by the river. And the fresh air does a +fellow a lot of good. I feel like a new man when I come back to town +after dining with you. One gets tired of clubs and restaurants." + +"Come out when you like," said Stephen Foster, in a voice that lacked +warmth and sincerity. + +"That's kind of you," Nevill replied. "Good-night!" + +A minute later he was walking thoughtfully down Wardour street. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A VISITOR FROM PARIS. + + +It was seven o'clock in the evening, ten days after Jack's second +encounter with Madge Foster, and a blaze of light shone from the big +studio that overlooked Ravenscourt Park. The lord and master of it was +writing business letters, a task in which he was assisted by frequent +cigarettes. A tray containing whisky, brandy and siphons stood on a +Moorish inlaid smoking stand, and suggested correctly that a visitor was +expected. At noon Jack had received a letter from Victor Nevill, of whom +he had seen nothing since their meeting at Strand-on-the-Green, to say +that he was coming out at eight o'clock that night to have a chat over +old times. Alphonse, being no longer required, had gone to his lodgings +near by. + +"It will be a bit awkward if Nevill wants his dinner," Jack said to +himself, in an interval of his letter writing. "I'll keep him here a +couple of hours, and then take him to dine in town. He's a good fellow, +and will understand. He'll find things rather different from the Paris +days." + +There was a touch of pardonable pride in that last thought, for few +artists in London could boast of such luxuriously decorated quarters, or +of such a collection of treasures as Jack's purse and good taste had +enabled him to gather around him. The hard oak floor, oiled and polished +by the hands of Alphonse, was sparsely strewn with Oriental rugs and a +couple of tiger skins. A screen of stamped leather hid three sides of +the French stove. The eye met a picturesque confusion of inlaid cabinets +with innumerable drawers, oak chests and benches, easy chairs of every +sort, Chippendale trays and escritoires, Spanish lanterns dangling from +overhead, old tables worn hollow on top with age, countless weapons and +pieces of armor, and shelves stacked with blue delf china and rows of +pewter plates. A long costume case flashed its glass doors at a cosy +corner draped with art muslin. On the walls, many of them presented by +friends, were scores of water-colors and oil paintings, etchings and +engravings, no two of them framed alike. Minor articles were scattered +about in profusion, and a couple of bulging sketch-books bore witness to +their owner's summer wanderings about England. + +The letters finished and stamped, Jack closed his desk with a sigh of +relief. The evening was chilly, and he had started a small fire of coals +in the grate--he used his stove only in wintry weather. He pulled a big +chair to the blaze, stretched his legs against the fender, and fell +straightway into a reverie; an expression that none of his English +companions had ever seen there softened his handsome face. + +"I wonder what she is doing now," he thought. "I fancy I can see her +sitting opposite to her father, at the dinner table, with the soft +lamplight on her lovely cheeks, and that bewitching look in her eyes. +I am a conceited fool to believe that she cares for me, and yet--and +yet--By Jove, I would marry her in a minute. She is the most winsome +girl I ever saw. It is not like the passion I had for Diane--I was a +foolish, hot-headed boy then. Madge would be my good angel. In spite of +myself, she has come into my life and taken a deep hold on my heart--I +can't put her out again. Jack, my boy, you had better have gone on that +sketching tour--better have fled to Devonian wilds before it was too +late." + +But was it too late now? If so, the fact did not seem to trouble Jack +much, for he laughed softly as he stirred the fire. He, the impregnable +and boastful one, the woman-hater, had fallen a victim when he believed +himself most secure. It was unutterably sweet to him--this second +passion--and he knew that it was not to be shaken off. + +During the past ten days he had seen Madge frequently. Nearly every +afternoon, when the fading sun glimmered through a golden haze, he had +wandered down to Strand-on-the-Green, confident that the girl would not +be far away, that she would welcome him shyly and blushingly, with that +radiant light in her eyes which he hoped he could read aright. They had +enjoyed a couple of tramps together, when time permitted--once up the +towing-path toward Richmond, and again down the river to Barnes. + +They were happy hours for both. Madge was unconventional, and would +have resented a hint that she was doing anything in the least improper. +She had left boarding school two years before, and since then she had +rejoiced in her freedom, not finding life dull in the sleepy Thames-side +suburb of London. As for Jack, his conscience gave him few twinges in +regard to these surreptitious meetings. It would be different, he told +himself, had Stephen Foster chosen to receive him as a visitor. But he +had gathered, from what Madge told him, that her father was eccentric, +and detested visitors--that he would permit nothing to break the +monotonous and regular habits of the secluded old house. Madge admitted +that one friend of his, a young man, came sometimes; but she intimated +unmistakably that she did not like him. Jack was curious to know what +business took Stephen Foster to town every day, but on that subject the +girl never spoke. + +As the young artist sat watching the fire in the grate, his fancy +painted pleasing pictures. "Why should I not marry?" he mused. "Bachelor +life is well enough in its way, but it can't compare with a snug house, +and one's own dining-table, and a charming wife to drive away the +occasional blue-devils. I have money put aside, and it won't be long +till I'm making an easy twelve hundred a year. By Jove, I will--" + +A noisy rap at the door interrupted Jack's train of thought, and brought +him to his feet. + +"Come in!" he cried, expecting to see Nevill. + +But the visitor was a telegraph boy, bearing the familiar brown +envelope. Jack signed for it, and tore open the message. + +"Awfully seedy," Victor Nevill wired. "Sorry I can't get out to-night. +Am going to bed." + +"No answer," said Jack, dismissing the boy. With his hands in his +pockets he strolled undecidedly about the studio for a couple of +minutes. "I hope nothing serious is the matter with Nevill," he +reflected. "He's not the sort of a chap to go to bed unless he feels +pretty bad. What shall I do now? I must be quick about it if I want +to get any dinner in town. It's past eight, and--" + +There was the sound of slow footsteps out in the passage, followed by +the nervous jingling of the electric bell. + +"Who can that be?" Jack muttered. + +He pulled a cord that turned the gas higher in the big circlet of jets +overhead, and opened the door curiously. The man who entered the studio +was a complete stranger, and it was certain that he was not an +Englishman, if dress and appearance could decide that fact. He was +very tall and well-built, with a handsome face, so deeply tanned as +to suggest a recent residence in a tropical country. His mustaches were +twisted into waxed points, and there was a good deal of gray in his +beard, which was parted German fashion in the middle, and carefully +brushed to each side. His top hat was unmistakably French, with a flat +rim, and his boots were of patent leather. As he opened his long caped +cloak, the collar of which he kept turned up, it was seen that he was in +evening dress. + +"Do I address Monsieur Vernon, the artist?" he asked in good English, +with a French accent. + +"Yes, that's right." + +"Formerly Monsieur John Clare?" + +"I once bore that name," said Jack, with a start of surprise; he was +ill-pleased to hear it after so many years. + +The visitor produced a card bearing the name of M. Felix Marchand, Parc +Monceaux, Paris. + +"I do not recall you," said Jack. "Will you take a seat." + +"We have not met until now," said M. Marchand, "but I have the honor to +be familiar with your work, and to possess some of it. Pictures are to +me a delight--I confess myself a humble patron of art--and a few years +ago I purchased several water-color sketches signed by your name. They +appealed to me especially because they were bits of Paris--one looking +down the river from the bridge of the Carrousel, and the other a night +impression of Montmartre." + +"I remember them vaguely," said Jack. "They, with others, were sold for +me by a dealer named Cambon--" + +"Monsieur is right. It was from Jacques Cambon, of the Quai Voltaire, +I obtained the sketches. They pleased me much, and I went again to seek +more--that was eighteen months later, when I returned to Paris after a +long absence. Imagine my disappointment to learn that Jacques Cambon +had no further knowledge of Monsieur Clare, and no more of his sketches +to sell." + +"No; I had come to London by that time--or was in Italy," said Jack. +"But perhaps--pardon me--you would prefer to carry on our conversation +in French." + +"Monsieur is thoughtful," replied M. Marchand. "He will understand that +I desire, while in England, to improve as much as possible my knowledge +of the language." + +"Quite so," assented Jack. "You speak it already like a native born," he +added to himself. + +"The years passed on," resumed the Frenchman, "but I did not forget the +author of my little sketches. A few weeks ago I resolved to cross the +Channel and pay a visit to London, which I last saw in 1891. I had but +lately returned from a long trip to Algeria and Morocco, and I was told +that the English spring was mild; in Paris I found the weather too cold +for my chest complaint. So I said to myself, 'I will make endeavor to +find the artist, John Clare.' But how? I had an idea. I went to the +school of the great Julian, and there my inquiries met with success. +'Monsieur Clare,' one of the instructors told me, 'is now a prosperous +painter of London, by the name of Vernon.' They gave me the address of +a magazine in your Rue Paternoster, and at that place I was this morning +informed where to find you. I trust that my visit is not an intrusion." + +"Oh, not at all," said Jack. "Who at Julian's can have known so much +about me?" he thought. + +"I have spoken with freedom--perhaps too much," M. Marchand went on. +"But I desired to explain clearly. I have come on business, monsieur, +hoping that I may be privileged to purchase one or two pictures to take +back with me to Paris." + +"I am very sorry," said Jack, "but I fear I have nothing whatever to +sell at present. I am indeed flattered by your kind interest in my work." + +"Monsieur has nothing?" + +Jack shook his head. + +"You see I do a great deal in the way of magazine drawing," he +explained. "The half-finished water-colors on the easels are orders. +I expect to have a large painting in the Royal Academy shortly." + +"Alas, I will not be able to see it," M. Marchand murmured. "I leave +London to-morrow." All the time he was speaking he had been looking with +interest about the studio, and his eyes still wandered from wall to +wall. "Ah, monsieur, I have a thought," he added suddenly. "It is of the +finished pictures, of your later work, that you speak. But surely you +possess many sketches, and among them would be some of Paris, such as +you placed with Jacques Cambon. Is it not so?" + +Jack, in common with all artists, was reluctant to part with his +sketches. But he was growing uncomfortably hungry, and felt disposed to +make a sacrifice for the sake of getting rid of his importunate visitor. + +"I will show you my collection," he answered briefly. + +Lifting the drapery of a couch, he pulled out one of half a dozen fat +portfolios, of huge dimensions. He untied the strings and opened it, +exhibiting a number of large water-color drawings on bristol-board, most +of them belonging to his student days in Paris, some made in Holland and +Normandy. The sight of them, recalling his married life with Diane, +awoke unpleasant memories. He moved away and lighted a cigarette. + +The Frenchman began to turn the sketches over eagerly, and presently +Jack saw him staring hard at an unstiffened canvas which he had found. +It was the duplicate Rembrandt painted for Martin Von Whele. Jack had +not been reading the papers much of late, and was ignorant of the +Hollander's death. + +"That is nothing of any account," he said. "It is the copy of an old +master." + +"Ah, I have a little taste for the antique," replied M. Marchand. +"This is repulsive--it is a frightful face. Were it in my collection, +monsieur, it would quite spoil my pretty bits of scenery." + +He tossed the canvas carelessly aside, and finally chose a couple of +water-colors, both showing picturesque nooks of Paris. + +"I should like to have these," he said, "if monsieur is willing to name +a price." + +"Fifteen pounds for the two," Jack announced reluctantly. "Can I send +them for you?" he added. + +"No; I will take them with me." + +Jack tied up the portfolio and replaced it under the couch, an operation +that was closely watched by his visitor. Then he wrapped up the two +sketches, and received three five-pound notes. + +"May I offer you some refreshment?" he said, politely. "You will find +brandy there--" + +"I love the golden whisky of England," protested M. Marchand. + +He mixed some for himself, and after drinking it he wiped his lips with +a handkerchief. As he returned it to his pocket Jack saw on the white +linen a brown stain that he was sure had not been there before. + +M. Felix Marchand looked at his watch, shook hands with Jack, and hoped +that he would have the pleasure of seeing him again. Then he bowed +ceremoniously, and was gone, carrying the parcel under his arm. Jack +closed the door, and retired to an inner room to change his clothing for +the evening. + +"I'll have a grill at the Trocadero," he told himself, "and drop in at +the Alhambra for the last few numbers. A queer chap, that Frenchman! +Where did he pick up such good English? He was all right, of course, but +I can't help feeling a bit puzzled. Fancy his taking a craze for my +studies of Paris! I remember that they gathered dust for months in old +Cambon's window, until one day I missed them. It's a funny thing about +that brown mark which came off on his handkerchief after he wiped his +mustache. Still, I've known men to use such stuff to give them a healthy +color, though this chap didn't look as if he needed it. And he said he +suffered from a chest complaint." + + * * * * * + +At eight o'clock Jack was up and splashing in his bath, a custom that he +hugely enjoyed, winter and summer. He had come home the night before by +the last train, after dining with some friends he had picked up, and +spending an hour with them at the Alhambra. + +He dressed himself with unusual care and discrimination, selecting a +suit of dark brown tweeds that matched his complexion, and a scarf with +a good bit of red in it. Prepared for him in the studio, and presided +over by Alphonse in a white apron, were rolls and coffee, eggs and +bacon. The sun was shining brightly outside. The postman came while he +was at breakfast, and he read his batch of letters; from some of which +dropped checks. One he purposely saved for the last, and the +contents--only a few lines--brought a smile to his lips. He tore the +dainty sheet of note-paper into small pieces and threw them into the +fire. Then he filled his cigar case with choice Regalias, pulled on his +driving gloves, and perched a jaunty Alpine hat on his head. + +"Alphonse, you must be here all day," he said. "Mordaunt, of the +Frivolity, will send for that poster; and a messenger may come from the +Piccadilly Magazine--the drawings are in a parcel on my desk. Say to any +person who calls that I will not be back until evening." + +"I will remember," assured Alphonse. + +"By the by, Alphonse, you were living in a big house in the Parc +Monceaux half a dozen years ago?" + +"Monsieur is right." + +"Do you remember a gentleman by the name of Marchand--M. Felix +Marchand?" + +"My memory may be at fault," Alphonse answered, "but I do not recall a +person of that name." + +"Well, no matter. He may not have resided there then, and the Parc +Monceaux means a large neighborhood." + +Jack banished M. Marchand from his mind with ease, as he went out into +the sunshine and freshness of the spring morning; the singing of the +birds, and the beauty of the trees and flowers, told him that it was a +glorious thing to be alive. He waited a few moments at a nearby livery +stable, while the attendants brought out a very swell-looking and newly +varnished trap, and put into the shafts a horse that would have held his +own in Hyde Park. + +Chiswick high-road, with its constantly widening and narrowing +perspectives, its jumble of old and modern houses, had never looked more +cheerful as Jack drove rapidly westward. He crossed Kew Bridge, rattled +on briskly, and finally entered Richmond, where he pulled up by the curb +opposite to the station where centre a number of suburban railway lines. + +He had not long to wait--a glance at his watch told him that. Five +minutes later the rumble of an incoming train was heard, and presently +a double procession of passengers came up the steps to the street. Jack +had eyes for one only, a radiant vision of loveliness, as sweet and +fresh and blushing as a June rose. The vision was Madge Foster, her +graceful figure set off by a new spring gown from Regent street, and a +sailor hat perched on her golden curls. She stepped lightly into the +trap, and nestled down on the cushions. + +"Oh, Jack, what _will_ you think of me after this," she cried, half +seriously. + +"I think that the famed beauties of Hampton Court would turn green +in their frames with envy if they could see you now," Jack answered +evasively, as he flicked the horses with his whip. "Here we go for +a jolly day. It will come to an end all too soon." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. + + +The trap rattled up crooked George street, and swung around and down +to classic-looking Richmond Bridge, with its gorgeous vistas of river +scenery right and left over the low parapets. Madge was very quiet for +a time, and it was evident that she felt some misgivings as to the +propriety of what she had consented to do at Jack's urgent request. She +had left home soon after her father's departure for town, and she must +be back before six o'clock to meet him on his return. Her secret was +shared with the old servant, Mrs. Sedgwick, who was foolishly fond of +the girl, and naturally well-disposed toward Jack because he had saved +Madge's life. This faithful creature, on the death of her young husband +twenty years before, had entered Mrs. Foster's service; she practically +managed Stephen Foster's establishment, assisted by a housemaid and by +the daily visits of a charwoman. + +Until Richmond was left behind, Jack was as serious and thoughtful +as his companion. He had a high sense of honor, a hatred of anything +underhanded, and his conscience pricked him a little. However, it was +not his fault, he told himself. Stephen Foster had no business to be +churlish and ungrateful, and treat his daughter as though she were a +school miss still in her teens. And what wrong could there be about the +day's outing together, if no harm was intended? It would all come right +in the end, unless, unless-- + +He felt reassured as he stole a glance at Madge's face, and saw her quick +blush. She laughed merrily, and nestled a little closer to his side. + +"You are not sorry?" he asked. + +"Sorry? Oh, no. It is so good of you, Jack, and the weather is +perfect--we could not have had a better day." + +Their depression vanished like a summer cloud, as they rode through +Twickenham and Teddington, under the shade of the great trees, enjoying +the occasional views of the shining river, and the peeps into the walled +gardens of the fine old houses. + +"It is all new to me," said Madge, with a sigh. "I used to go to Hampton +Court with father on Sundays, but that was long ago; he doesn't take me +anywhere now, except to the theatre once or twice a year." + +"It is a shame," Jack replied indignantly, "when you enjoy things so +much." + +"Oh, but I dearly love Strand-on-the-Green. I am very happy there." + +"And you never long for a wider life?" + +"Yes--sometimes. I want to go abroad and travel. It must be delightful +to see the places and countries one has read about, to roam in foreign +picture galleries." + +"I would like to show you the Continent," said Jack. "We have the same +tastes, and--" + +A rapturous "Oh!" burst from Madge. They had turned suddenly in at +the gates of Bushey Park, and before them was the twenty-mile-long +perspective of the chestnut avenue, bounded by the white sunlit walls of +the hospitable Greyhound. The girl's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and in +her excitement, as some fresh bit of beauty was revealed, she rested a +tiny gloved hand on Jack's arm. + +"I will take you out often, if you will let me," he said. + +They drove out of the park, and swung around the weather-beaten wall of +Hampton Court. Red-coated soldiers were lounging by the barracks in the +palace yard, and the clear notes of a bugle rose from quarters; a tide +of people and vehicles was flowing in the sunlight over Molesey Bridge. +Jack turned off into the lower river road, and so on by shady and +picturesque ways to the ancient village of Hampton. + +They put up the horse and trap at the Flower Pot, and lunched in the +coffee-room of that old-fashioned hostelry, at a little table laid in +the bow-window, looking out on the quaint high-street. It was a charming +repast, and both were hungry enough to do it justice. The Chambertin +sparkled like rubies as it flowed from the cobwebbed bottle, and Jack +needed little urging from Madge to light a fragrant Regalia. + +Then they sauntered forth into the sunshine, down to the river shore, +and Jack chose a big roomy boat, fitted with the softest of red cushions. +He pulled for a mile or more up the rippling Thames, chatting gaily with +Madge, who sat opposite to him and deftly managed the rudder-ropes. A +little-known backwater was the goal, and suddenly he drove the boat under +a screen of low-drooping bushes and into a miniature lake set in a frame +of leafy trees that formed a canopy of dense foliage overhead. + +"What do you think of it?" Jack asked, as he ran the bow gently ashore +and pulled in the oars. + +"It is like fairyland. It is too beautiful for words." + +Madge averted her eyes from his, and pushed back a tress of golden hair +that had strayed from under her hat; she took off one glove, and dipped +the tips of her fingers in the water. + +"I wish I had brought a book," she said. "Why don't you smoke? You have +my permission, sir. But we must not stop long." + +Jack felt for his cigar-case and dropped it again. The next instant he +was beside the girl, and one arm encircled her waist. + +"Madge, my darling!" he cried. "Don't you know--can't you guess--why I +brought you here?" + +Her silence, the droop of her blushing face, emboldened him. The old, +old story, the story that was born when the world began, fell from his +lips. They were honest, manly words, with a ring of heartfelt passion +and pleading. + +"Have I surprised you, Madge?" he went on. "Have I spoken too soon? We +have known each other only a short time, it is true, but I could not +care more for you had we been acquainted for months or years. I am not +an impulsive boy--I know my own heart. I loved you from the day you came +into my life. I love you now, and will always love you. I will be a good +and true husband. Have you no answer for me, dear?" + +The girl suddenly raised her face to his. Half-shed tears glistened in +her eyes, but there was also a radiant look there which trilled his +heart with unspeakable joy. He knew that he had won her. + +"Madge, my sweet Madge!" he whispered. + +She trembled as his arm tightened about her waist. + +"Jack, do you really, really love me?" + +"More than I can tell you, dear. Can you doubt me? Have you nothing to +say? Do you think it so strange--" + +"Strange? Yes, it is more than I dared to hope for. Don't think me +unwomanly, Jack, for telling the truth, but--but I do love you with all +my heart." + +"Madge! You have made me the happiest man alive! God grant that I be +always worthy of your affection!" + +A bird began to sing overhead, and Jack thought it was the sweetest +music he had ever heard, as he drew Madge to him and pressed a lover's +first kiss on her lips. Side by side they sat there in the leafy +retreat, heedless of time, while the afternoon sun drooped lower in the +sky. They had much to talk of--many little confidences to exchange. They +lived over again the events of that brief period in which they had known +each other. + +"You have upset all my plans," said Madge, with a pretty pout. "I was +going to devote my life to art, and become a second Rosa Bonheur or Lady +Butler." + +"One artist in the family will be enough," her lover answered, +laughingly. "But you shall continue to paint, dearest. We will roam +over Europe with our sketch-books." + +"Oh, how delightful! To think of it--my dreams will be realized! I +knew your work, Jack, before I knew you. But I am so ignorant of the +world--even of the little world of London." + +"Madge, you are talking nonsense. You are my queen--you are the dearest, +sweetest little woman that ever man won. And I love you the better +because you are as fresh and pure as a flower, untainted by the wicked +world, where innocence rubs off her bloom on vice's shoulders. I am not +old, dear, but I have lived long enough to appreciate the value of--" + +"Hush, or I shall think you do not mean all you say. Oh, Jack, promise +me that you will never repent of your bargain. I wonder that some woman +did not enslave you long ago." + +A shadow crossed Jack's face, and he was silent for a moment. + +"Madge," he said, hesitatingly, "I have not been a bad man in my time, +nor have I been a particularly good one. I was an art student in Paris +for years, and Paris is a city of dissipation, full of pitfalls and +temptations to young fellows like myself. There is something connected +with my past, which I feel it is my duty to--" + +"Don't tell me, Jack--please don't. I might not like to hear it. I will +try to forget that you had a past, and I will never ask you about it. +You are mine now, and we will think only of the present and the future. +I trust you, dear, and I know that you are good and true. You will +always love me, won't you?" + +"Always, my darling," Jack replied in a tone of relief. He told himself, +as he kissed the troubled look from the girl's eyes, that it was better +to keep silence. What could he gain by dragging up the black skeleton of +the past? He was a free man now, and the withholding of that bitter +chapter of his life would be the wisest course. If the future ever +brought it to light, Madge would remember that she herself had checked +the story on his lips. + +"Jack, you are looking awfully serious." + +"Am I? Well, I won't any more. But, I say, Madge, when will you be my +wife? And how about speaking to your father? You know--" + +"I can't tell him yet, Jack, really--you must wait a while. You won't +mind, will you?" + +"I hate this deception." + +"So do I. But father has not been quite himself lately--I think +something troubles him." + +"Does he want to marry you to any one else?" Jack asked, jealously. "Is +there anything of the sort between him and that young chap who comes to +the house?" + +"I can't be certain, Jack, but sometimes I imagine so, though father +has never spoken to me about it. I dislike Mr. Royle, and discourage his +attentions." + +"His attentions?" + +"Oh, Jack, don't look at me in that way--you make me feel wretched. +Won't you trust me and believe me? I love you with all my heart, and +I am as really yours as if I were married to you." + +"My darling, I _do_ trust you," he said contritely. "Forgive me--I was +very foolish. I know that nothing can separate us, and I will await your +own time in patience. And when you are willing to have me speak to your +father--" + +"It shall be very soon, dear," whispered Madge, looking up at him with +a soft light in her eyes. "If I find him in a good humor I will tell him +myself. We are great chums, you know." + +Jack kissed her, and then glanced at his watch. + +"Four o'clock," he said, regretfully. "We must be off." + +He pulled the boat back to Hampton, and ordered the hostler at the +Flower Pot to get the trap ready. The world looked different, somehow, +to the happy couple, as they drove Londonwards. Love's young dream had +been realized, and they saw no shadow in the future. + +The ride home was uneventful until they reached Richmond. Then, on the +slope of the hill in front of the Talbot, where the traffic was thick +and noisy, a coach with half a dozen young men on top was encountered, +evidently bound for a convivial dinner at the Star and Garter or the +Roebuck. A well-known young lord was driving, and beside him sat Victor +Nevill. He smiled and nodded at Jack, and turned to gaze after his fair +companion. + +"That was an old friend of mine," remarked Jack, as the trap passed on. +"A jolly good fellow, too." + +"Drive faster, please," Madge said, abruptly. "I am afraid it is late." + +There was a troubled, half-frightened look on her face, and she was very +quiet until the station was reached, where she was sure to get a train +to Gunnersbury within a few minutes. She sprang lightly to the pavement, +and let her hand rest in Jack's for a moment, while her eyes, full of +unspeakable affection, gazed into his. Then, with a brief farewell, she +had vanished down the steps. + +"She is mine," thought Jack, as he drove on toward Kew and Chiswick. "I +have won a pearl among women. I think I should kill any man who came +between us." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +AN ATTRACTION IN PALL MALL. + + +There was a counter-attraction in Pall Mall--a rival to Marlborough +House, opposite which, ranged along the curb, a number of persons are +usually waiting on the chance of seeing the Prince drive out. The rival +establishment was the shop of Lamb and Drummond, picture dealers and +engravers to Her Majesty. Since nine o'clock that morning, in the +blazing May sunshine, there had been a little crowd before the plate +glass window, behind which the firm had kindly exposed their latest +prize to the public gaze. Newspaper men had been admitted to a private +view of the picture, and for a couple of days previous the papers had +contained paragraphs in reference to the coming exhibition. Rembrandts +are by no means uncommon, nor do all command high prices; but this +particular one, which Martin Von Whele had unearthed in Paris, was +conceded to be the finest canvas that the master-artist's brush had +produced. + +It was the typical London crowd, very much mixed. Some regarded the +picture with contemptuous indifference and walked away. Others admired +the rich, strong coloring, the permanency of the pigments, and the +powerful, ferocious head, either Russian or Polish, that seemed to +fairly stand out from the old canvas. A few persons, who were keener +critics, envied Lamb and Drummond for the bargain they had obtained at +such a small figure. + +Early in the afternoon Jack Vernon joined the group before the shop +window; an interview with the editor of the _Piccadilly Magazine_ had +brought him to town, and, having read the papers, he had walked from the +Strand over to Pall Mall. Memories of his Paris life, of the morning +when he had trudged home in bitter disappointment to the Boulevard St. +Germain and Diane, surged into his mind. + +"It is the same picture that I copied at the Hotel Netherlands," he said +to himself, "and it ought to sell for a lot of money. How well I recall +those hours of drudgery, with old Von Whele looking over my shoulder and +puffing the smoke of Dutch tobacco into my eyes! I was sorry to read of +his death, and the sale of his collection. He was a good sort, if he +_was_ forgetful. By Jove, I've half a mind to box up my duplicate and +send it to his executors. I wonder if they would settle the long-standing +account." + +Several hours later, when Jack had gone home and was hard at work in his +studio, Victor Nevill sauntered down St. James street. He wore evening +dress, and carried a light overcoat on his arm. He stopped at Lamb and +Drummond's window for a few moments, and scrutinized the Rembrandt +carelessly, but with a rather curious expression on his face. Then he +looked at his watch--the time was half-past five--and cutting across +into the park he walked briskly to St. James' Park station. The train +that he wanted was announced, and when it came in he watched the row of +carriages as they flashed by him. He entered a first-class smoker, and +nodded to Stephen Foster. The two were not alone in the compartment, and +during the ride of half an hour they exchanged only a few words, and +gave close attention to their papers. But they had plenty to talk about +after they got out at Gunnersbury, and their conversation was grave and +serious as they walked slowly toward the river, by the long shady +streets lined with villas. + +Stephen Foster's house stood close to the lower end of +Strand-on-the-Green. It was more than a century old, and was larger +than it looked from the outside. It had the staid and comfortable stamp +of the Georgian period, with its big square windows, and the unique +fanlight over the door. Directly opposite the entrance, across the strip +of paved quay, was a sort of a water-gate leading down to the sedgy +shore of the Thames--a flight of stone steps, cut out of the masonry, +from the foot of which it was possible to take boat at high tide. In the +rear of the house was a walled garden, filled with flowers, shrubbery, +and fruit trees. + +Opening the door with his key, Stephen Foster led his guest into the +drawing-room, where Madge was sitting with a book. She kissed her +father, and gave a hand reluctantly to Nevill, whom she addressed as Mr. +Royle. She resumed her reading, perched on a couch by the window, and +Nevill stole numerous glances at her while he chatted with his host. + +The curio-dealer dined early--he was always hungry when he came back +from town--and dinner was announced at seven o'clock. It was a +protracted ceremony, and the courses were well served and admirably +cooked; the wine came from a carefully selected cellar, and was beyond +reproach. Madge presided at the table, and joined in the conversation; +but it evidently cost her an effort to be cheerful. After the dessert +she rose. + +"Will you and Mr. Royle excuse me, father?" she said. "I know you want +to smoke." + +"I hope you are not going to desert us, Miss Foster," Nevill replied. +"Your company is preferable to the best cigar." + +"We will go up stairs and smoke," said Stephen Foster. "Come, Royle; my +daughter would rather play the piano." + +The library, whither Nevill accompanied his host, was on the second +floor front. It was a cozy room, trimmed with old oak, with furniture to +match, lined with books and furnished with rare engravings and Persian +rugs. Stephen Foster lighted the incandescent gas-lamp on the big table, +drew the window curtains together, and closed the door. Then he unlocked +a cabinet and brought out a box of Havanas, a siphon, a couple of +glasses, and a bottle of whisky and one of Maraschino. + +"Sit down, and help yourself," he said. "Or is it too early for a +stimulant?" + +Nevill did not reply; he was listening to the low strains of music from +the floor beneath, where Madge was at the piano, singing an old English +ballad. He hesitated for a moment, and dropped into an easy chair. +Stephen Foster drew his own chair closer and leaned forward. + +"We are quite alone," he said, "and there is no danger of being +overheard or disturbed. You intimated that you had something particular +to say to me. What is it? Does it concern our little--" + +"No; we discussed that after we left the train. It is quite a different +matter." + +Nevill's usual self-possession seemed to have deserted him, and as he +went on with his revelation he spoke in jerky sentences, with some +confusion and embarrassment. + +"That's all there is about it," he wound up, aggressively. + +"All?" cried Stephen Foster. + +He got up and walked nervously to the window. Then he turned back and +confronted Nevill; there was a look on his face that was not pleasant to +see, as if he had aged suddenly. + +"Is this a jest, or are you serious?" he demanded, coldly. "Do I +understand that you love my daughter?--that you wish to marry her?" + +"I have told you so plainly. You must have known that I loved her--you +cannot have been blind to that fact all this time." + +"I have been worse than blind, Nevill, I fear. Have you spoken to Madge?" + +"No; I never had a chance." + +"Do you consider yourself a suitable husband for her?" + +"Why not?" Nevill asked; he was cool and composed now. "If you are good +enough to be her father, am I not worthy to be her husband?" + +"Don't say that," Stephen Foster answered. "You are insolent--you forget +to whom you are speaking. Whatever our relations have been and are, +whatever sort of man I am at my desk or my ledgers, I am another person +at home. Sneer if you like, it is true. I love my daughter--the child of +my dead wife. She does not know what I do in town--you are aware of +that--and God forbid that she ever does learn. I want to keep her in +ignorance--to guard her young life and secure her future happiness. And +_you_ want to marry her!" + +"I do," replied Nevill, trying to speak pleasantly. + +"How will you explain the deception--the fact that you have been coming +here under a false name?" + +"I will get around that all right. It was your suggestion, you remember, +not mine, that I should take the name of Royle. Look here, Foster, I +know there is some reason in what you say--I respect your motives. But +you misunderstand and misjudge me. I love the girl with all my heart, +with a true, pure and lasting affection. I might choose a wife in higher +places, but Madge has enslaved me with her sweet face and charming +disposition. As for our relations--you know what poverty drove me to. +Given a secure income, and I should never have stooped to dishonor. The +need of money stifled the best that was in my nature. It is not too late +to reform, though. I don't mean now, but when I come into my uncle's +fortune, which is a sure thing. Then, I promise you, I will be as +straight as you could wish your daughter's husband to be. Believe me, +I am sincere. No man could offer Madge a deeper affection." + +There was no doubt that Victor Nevill spoke the truth, for once in his +life; he loved Madge with a passion that dominated him, and he knew his +own unworthiness. Stephen Foster paced the floor with a haggard face, +with knitted brows. + +"It is impossible," he said to himself. "I would rather see her married +to some poor but honest clerk." He lighted a cigar and bit it savagely. +"What if I refuse?" he added aloud. + +A dangerous light flashed in Nevill's eyes. + +"I won't give her up," he replied; and in the words there was a hidden +menace which Stephen Foster understood. + +"Give her up?" he echoed. "You have not won her yet." + +"I know that, but I hope to succeed." + +"What do you expect me to do?" + +"All in your power. Give me a fair show." + +"The girl shan't be bullied or browbeaten--I won't force her into such a +step against her wishes. If she marries you, it will be of her own free +will." + +"That's fair enough. But I want an open field. You must keep other +admirers away from the girl, and there isn't any time to lose about it. +It may be too late now--" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that Madge has improved her acquaintance with the chap who +pulled her out of the river a couple of weeks ago." + +"Impossible, Nevill!" + +"It is perfectly true. And do you know who the man is? It is none other +than Jack Vernon, the artist." + +"By heavens, Jack Vernon! The same who--" + +"Yes, the same. I did not tell you before." + +"And I did not dream of it. I wrote a letter of gratitude to the fellow, +and told Madge to get his address from the landlord of the Black Bull--I +did not know it myself, else--" + +"I was afraid you might have some scruples. It is too late for that +now." + +"It was like your cursed cunning," exclaimed Stephen Foster. "Yes, +I should have hesitated. But are you certain that Madge has seen the +fellow since?" + +"Certain? Why, I passed them in George street, Richmond, last evening, +as I was driving to the Star and Garter. They were together in a trap, +going toward Kew. That is the reason I determined to speak to you +to-night." + +Stephen Foster rose and hurried toward the door; his face was pale with +anger and alarm. + +"Stop!" cried Nevill. "What are you going to do?" + +"Sit still," was the hoarse reply. "I'll tell you when I return." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +UNCLE AND NEPHEW. + + +Victor Nevill was on his feet instantly, and by a quick move he +intercepted Foster and clutched him by the arm. He repeated his +question: "What are you going to do?" + +"Take your hand off me. I shall hear from Madge's own lips a denial of +your words. How dare you accuse her of stooping to an intrigue?" + +"I wouldn't call it that. Madge is young and innocent. She knows little +of the censorious world. She has been left pretty much to herself, and +naturally she sees no harm in meeting Vernon. As for denying my +words--she can't do that." + +"I will call her to account, and make her confess everything." + +"But not to-night," urged Nevill. "Come, sit down." + +Stephen Foster yielded to the solicitation of his companion, and went +back to his chair. He mixed a whisky and soda, and drank half of it. + +"I forget," he muttered, "that my little Madge has grown to womanhood. +Her very innocence would make her an easy prey to some unscrupulous +scoundrel. I must speak to her, Nevill." + +"Yes, by all means." + +"And why not to-night?" + +"Need you ask? Would not Madge know at once that it was I who told you? +And what, then, would be my chance of winning her?" + +"It couldn't be any poorer than it is now," thought Stephen Foster. +"Did she see you yesterday?" he said aloud. + +"No, by good luck she did not--at least I feel pretty sure of it. A +jolly good thing, too, for Vernon recognized me and nodded to me. But +whether Madge saw me or not won't make much difference under present +circumstances. If you go downstairs now and start a row with her, she +will be sure to suspect that you received your information from me." + +"Quite likely. What do you want me to do?" + +"Wait until to-morrow evening, when you return from town. Then tell +her that some stock-broking friend of yours in the city saw her near +Richmond station." + +"That is the best plan," assented Stephen Foster. "I will take your +advice." + +"Of course you will forbid her to have anything more to do with Vernon, +and will see that your wishes are enforced?" + +"Decidedly. The man has behaved badly, and I can't believe that he has +any honorable intentions. He has been simply amusing himself with the +girl." + +"That's like him," Nevill said carelessly. "Jack Vernon was always a +rake and a _roue_; though, as I am a friend of his, I ought not to tell +you this. But for your daughter's sake--" + +"I understand. The warning is timely, and I will see that the girl's +eyes are opened." + +"And you will give Madge to me if I can win her consent." + +"She shall marry the man she loves--the man of her choice," replied +Stephen Foster, "provided he is worthy of her. But I won't compel her +to do anything against her wishes." + +"I am not asking you to do that. I have your permission, then, to visit +here as a suitor?" + +"Yes; I shall be glad to see you a couple of times a week." + +Stephen Foster did not speak very cordially, and his expression was not +that of a father who has found a suitable husband for his daughter; but +Victor Nevill had gained his point, and was satisfied with what he had +so far accomplished. He was a vain man, and possessed an overweening +amount of self-confidence, especially where women were concerned. + +The two had other subjects to discuss. For a couple of hours--long after +Madge had forsaken the piano and gone to bed--a whispered conversation +was carried on that had no reference to the girl. It was nearly eleven +o'clock when Nevill left the house, and bade Stephen Foster good-night +on the step. He knew the way in spite of the darkness and the paucity +of street lamps. Having lighted a cigar, he walked briskly toward +Gunnersbury. + +"It was a narrow squeak yesterday," he reflected. "Until I met the girl +to-night, I was doubtful as to her having failed to see me on the coach. +It would have been most unfortunate had both of them recognized me; they +would have compared notes in that case, and discovered that Victor +Nevill and Mr. Royle were one and the same. I must be more careful in +future. Foster was rather inclined to be ugly, but he promised certain +things, and he knows that he can't play fast and loose with me. I am +afraid some harm has been done already, but it will blow over if he +keeps a tight rein on his daughter. As for Vernon, he must be forced to +decamp. Curse the fate that brought him across my path! There's not much +I would stop at if he became a dangerous rival. But there is no danger +of that. I have the inner track, and by perseverance I will win the +girl in the end. She is not a bit like other women--that's her +charm--but it ought to count for something when she learns that I am Sir +Lucius Chesney's heir. I've been going to the devil pretty fast, but I +meant what I told Foster. I love Madge with all my better nature, and +for her sake I would run as straight as a die. A look from her pretty +eyes makes me feel like a blackguard." + +Thus Nevill communed with himself until he neared Gunnersbury station, +when the distant rumble of a train quickened his steps. He had just time +to buy his ticket, dash down the steps, and jump into a first-class +carriage. Getting out at Portland road, he took a cab to Regent street, +and dropped in at the Cafe Royal for a few minutes. Then he started +toward his lodgings on foot. It was that witching hour when West End +London, before it goes to sleep, foams and froths like a glass of +champagne that will soon be flat and flavorless. Men and women, inclined +to be hilarious, thronged the pavements under the strong lights. Birds +of prey, male and female, prowled alertly. + +A jingling hansom swung from Piccadilly Circus into the Quadrant. Its +occupants were a short, Jewish-looking man with a big diamond in his +shirt-front, and a woman who leaned forward more prominently than her +companion. She was richly dressed, and--at least by gaslight--strikingly +beautiful, with great eyes of a purplish hue, and a mass of golden-red +hair that might or might not have been natural; only at close range +could one have detected the ravages of an unfortunate and unbridled +life--the tell-tale marks that the lavish use of powder and rouge could +not utterly hide. + +The vehicle very nearly ran Victor Nevill down--he had been about to +cross the street--and as he dodged back to the sidewalk his face was +for an instant close to the woman's, and he saw her distinctly. He +uttered an exclamation of surprise, and started as though an unseen hand +had dealt him a blow. He hesitated briefly, seemingly dazed, and then +started in pursuit. But he ran into a couple of men at the outset, and +by the time he had stammered an apology, and was free to look about him +again, the swift-moving hansom was lost to sight in a maze of similar +vehicles. + +"It's no use to follow in a cab," muttered Nevill. "And I must be +mistaken, anyway. It can't be she whom I saw--she is dead." + +He stood at the edge of the pavement, staring undecidedly up the curve +of the street. When a brace of painted women, emboldened by his +attitude, shot covert remarks at him, he turned on them sharply. But, +seeing a policeman approaching, he walked on. + +"By heavens, I was _not_ mistaken!" he said to himself. "The papers must +have blundered--such things often happen. She is much altered, but they +were her eyes, her lips. To think that her peerless beauty should have +brought her so low! She is nothing to me now, though I nearly broke my +heart over her once. But she may serve as a useful tool. She will be a +trump card to play, if need be. She has probably come to London recently, +and if she stays any time it would not be a difficult matter for me to +find her. I daresay she drained the Russian's purse, and then served +him as she served me. The heartless vampire! But I am glad I saw her +to-night. With her aid it will be easier than I hoped, perhaps, to win +Madge." + + * * * * * + +Since ten o'clock an unexpected visitor had been waiting in Victor +Nevill's rooms on Jermyn street. In a big basket-chair, drawn close to +the light, sat Sir Lucius Chesney. He had helped himself to cigars and +brandy-and-soda, and had dipped into half a dozen late novels that were +scattered about the table, but without finding any to interest him. It +was long past twelve now, and he was beginning to feel drowsy and out of +temper. He wished he had remained in the smoking-room of his hotel, or +hunted up some old acquaintances at the Country Club. + +Sir Lucius was a medium-sized, slightly portly gentleman of fifty-eight, +though he did not look his age, thanks to the correct life he led. He +had a military carriage, a rubicund face, a heavy mustache, keen, +twinkling eyes, and a head of iron-gray hair. He was a childless +widower, and Victor Nevill, the son of his dead sister Elizabeth, was +his nephew, and presumably his heir. He had had another sister--his +favorite one--but many years ago he had cast her out of his life. He +lived alone at his fine old place in Sussex, Priory Court, near to the +sea and the downs. When he was at home he found occupation in shooting +and fishing, riding, cultivating hot-house fruits, and breeding horses +and cattle. These things he did to perfection, but his knowledge of art +was not beyond criticism. He was particularly fond of old masters, but +he bought all sorts of pictures, and had a gallery full of them. He made +bad bargains sometimes, and was imposed upon by unscrupulous dealers. +That, however, was nobody's business, as long as he himself was +satisfied. + +He cared nothing for London or for society, and seldom came up to town; +but he liked to travel, and a portion of each year he invariably spent +on the Continent or in more remote places. He smoked Indian cheroots +from choice--he had once filled a civil position in Bombay for eighteen +months--and his favorite wine was port. He was generous and +kind-hearted, and believed that every young man must sow his crop of +wild oats, and that he would be the better for it. But there was another +and a deeper side to his character. In his sense of honor he was a +counterpart of Colonel Newcome, and he had a vast amount of family +pride; a sin against that he could neither forget nor forgive, and he +was relentless to the offender. + +It was twenty minutes to one when Victor Nevill mounted the stairs and +opened his door, surprised to see that the gas was lighted in his rooms. +If he was unpleasantly startled by the sight of his visitor, he masked +his feelings successfully. + +"My dear uncle," he cried, "I am delighted to see you!" + +"You dog!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, with a beaming countenance. "You +night-bird! Do you know that I have been here since ten o'clock?" + +"I am awfully sorry, I assure you, sir. If you had only dropped me a +line or wired. I have been dining with a friend in the suburbs, and the +best train I could catch took me to Portland road." + +Possibly Sir Lucius did not believe this explanation. He glanced keenly +at his nephew, noting his flushed face and rumpled shirt-bosom, and a +shadow of displeasure crossed his features. + +"I hoped to spend a few quiet hours with you," he said. "I came to town +this evening, and put up at Morley's. I am off to Norway in the morning, +by a steamer that sails from the Thames, and from there I shall probably +go to the Continent. I have been feeling a little run down--livery--and +my physician has advised a complete change of air." + +"You are a regular globe-trotter," replied Victor, laughing to hide his +sudden look of relief. "I wish I could induce you to spend the season in +London." + +"That's well enough for an idle young dog like yourself--you can't exist +out of London. What are you doing?" + +"Nothing in particular. I read a good bit--" + +"Yes, trashy novels. Does your income hold out?" + +"I manage to get along, with economy." + +"Economy? Humph! I have taken the liberty to look about your rooms. +The landlady remembered me and let me in. You have a snug nest--more +luxurious than the last time I was here. It is fit for a Sybarite. Your +brandy is old liquor, and must have cost you a pretty penny. Your cigars +are too good for _me_, sir, and I'll warrant you don't pay less than ten +pounds a hundred for them. As for your clothing, you have enough to +start a shop." + +"I must keep up appearances, my dear uncle." + +"Yes, I suppose so. I don't blame you for wanting to stand well with +your friends, if you can afford it. Your father and mother spoiled you. +You should have gone to the bar, or into the army or the church. +However, it is too late to talk about that now. But, to be frank with +you, my boy, it has come to my ears that you are leading a fast life." + +"It is false!" Victor cried, indignantly. + +"I sincerely trust so. I have heard only rumors, and I do not care to +attach any credence to them. But a word of warning--of advice--may not +be out of place. Young men must have their fling, and I think none the +worse of them for it. But you are not young, in your knowledge of the +world. It is six or seven years since you were thrown on the Continent +with a full purse. You have been able to indulge every whim and fancy. +You have had enough of wild oats. Fill your niche in Society and +Clubdom, if you like. Be a butterfly and an ornament, if you feel no +inclination for anything better. But be a gentleman--be honorable. If +you ever forget yourself, and bring a shadow of shame upon the unsullied +names of Chesney or Nevill, by gad, sir, you shall never touch a penny +of my money. I will leave it all to charities, and turn Priory Court +into a hospital. Mark that! If you go wrong, I'll hear of it. I'm good +for twenty years yet, if I'm good for a day." + +"You seem to have a very bad opinion of me, Uncle Lucius. I never give +your fortune a thought. As for the honor of the family, it is as dear to +me as it is to you." + +"Glad to hear you say it, my boy," replied Sir Lucius, breathlessly. "It +shows spirit. Well, I hope you'll overlook my sharp words. I meant them +for your good. And if you want a check--" + +"Thanks, awfully, but I don't need it," Victor interrupted, with a +stroke of inspiration. "My income keeps me going all right. It is only +in trifles that I am extravagant. I have inherited a taste, sir, for +good cigars and old brandy." + +"You dog, of course you have. Your maternal grandfather was noted for +his wine cellar, and he bought his Havanas by the thousand from Fribourg +and Treyer. That I should prefer cheroots is rank degeneracy. But I must +be off, or I shall get no sleep. I won't ask you to come down to the +dock in the morning--" + +"But I insist upon coming, sir." + +"Then breakfast with me at Morley's--nine o'clock sharp." + +Uncle and nephew parted on the best of terms, but Sir Lucius was not +altogether easy in mind as he walked down Regent street, tapping the +now deserted pavement with his stick. + +"I hope the boy is trustworthy," he thought. "He has some excuse for +recklessness and extravagance, but none for dishonor. I told him the +name of Chesney was unsullied--I forgot for a moment. It is strange that +Mary should be so much in my mind lately. Poor girl! Perhaps I was too +harsh with her. I wonder if she is still alive--if she has a son. But if +she came to me this moment, I could not forgive her. Nearly thirty years +have not softened me." + +He sighed heavily as he entered Trafalgar Square, and to a wretched +woman with an infant in her arms, crouching under the shadow of the +Nelson Column, he tossed a silver piece. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A LONDON SENSATION. + + +It had rained most of the afternoon, and then cleared off beautifully +just before twilight. Strand-on-the-Green, ever changeful of mood, was +this evening as fresh and sweet-smelling as a bit of the upper +Thames--as picturesque as any waterside village a hundred miles from +London. + +By the grassy margin of the river, between Maynard's boat-house and the +elm trees, Jack Vernon strolled impatiently up and down. He was in low +spirits, and the beauty of the evening was wasted on him. He had been +here for fifteen minutes, and he told himself that he had been a fool to +come at all, at such an hour. He waited a little longer, and then, as he +was on the point of leaving, he heard light footsteps approaching, and +recognized them with a lover's keen perception. He hurried to meet the +slim, girlish figure, with a light cloak fluttering from her shoulders, +and Madge's little cry of pleasure was stifled on her lips as he kissed +them again and again. + +"My darling!" he whispered eagerly. "I scarcely dared to hope that you +would come to-night, but I could not stay away. Do you know that you +have treated me cruelly? I have not seen you for two days--since +Wednesday afternoon. And I have been here twice." + +"I am sorry, Jack, but I could not help it. I missed you ever so much." + +"Where is your father?" + +"He is not at home--that is why I came. He is dining in town with an +old friend, and won't be back until the last train, at the very +earliest." + +"I am indebted to him. I was hungry for a sight of you, dearest." + +"And I longed to see you, Jack. But I am afraid we shall not be able to +meet as often as before." + +"Madge, what do you mean? Has anything gone wrong?" + +The girl linked her arm in his, and drew him to a darker and lonelier +spot by the water. In a few words, tremulously spoken, she told him what +he had already surmised--that her father had discovered her secret, and +had taxed her with it when he came home on the previous evening. + +"By Jove, it was my fault," Jack said, contritely. "I should not have +tempted you to go on that unlucky trip last Tuesday. So you were seen +near Richmond station by some meddlesome individual--probably when you +got out of the trap! But it may turn out for the best; your father could +not have been kept in ignorance much longer. Was he angry?" + +"Yes, Jack; but he seemed more hurt and grieved. Oh, it was such a +wretched time!" + +"My poor girl! Does--does he want you to give me up?" + +"He forbade me to see you again." + +"And you are here!" + +"Did you expect me to obey him?" + +"What did you tell him, dearest?" + +"All--everything. I spoke up bravely, Jack. I told him I was a woman +now, and that I loved you with all my heart, and intended to marry you!" + +"My own plucky Madge! And I suppose that made him the more angry?" + +"No; my defiance surprised him--he thought I would yield. He talked +about ingratitude, and called me a foolish girl who did not know her own +mind. He looked awfully sad and stern, Jack, but when I kissed him and +begged him not to be angry, he melted a little." + +"And gave in?" + +"No, neither of us yielded; we agreed to a sort of a tacit truce. Father +did not speak of the matter again, and he went to town very early this +morning, before I was up. He left word with Mrs. Sedgewick that he would +not be back until late. I was sure he would go to your studio." + +"I have not seen him," replied Jack; "but I hope he will come. If he +doesn't I shall call on him and ask for your hand, and without delay. It +is the only honorable course. Until I set things right with him, and +satisfy him of my intentions, I can't blame him for thinking all sorts +of evil of me." + +"If he knew you as I know you, dear!" + +"But he doesn't," Jack said, bitterly. "Is it likely that he will consent +to let you marry a poor artist? No. But I can't--I won't--give you up, +Madge!" + +The girl rested her hands on his shoulders, and looked trustfully into +his face. + +"Dear Jack, don't worry," she whispered. "It will all come right in the +end. We love each other, and we will be true. Nothing shall part us. I +am yours always, and some day I will be your wife. Promise that you will +believe me--that you will never be afraid of losing me!" + +"I _do_ believe you, darling," Jack said, fervently. "You have made me +happy again--your words have driven the clouds away. I could not live +without you, Madge. Since I have known you the whole world seems +brighter and better. For your sake I am going to make a name and a +fortune." + +He kissed her passionately, and for a few moments they stood watching +the incoming tide, and talking in a lighter vein. Then they parted, and +Madge slipped away toward the old house with its guardian elm trees. The +memory of her last words cheered Jack as he walked to the high-road and +thence to his studio. Alphonse had prepared him a tempting little +supper, and he did not go to town that night. + +The next morning London awoke to a new sensation, which quite eclipsed +the week-old theft of the Duchess of Hightower's jewels and the recent +mysterious murder at Hoxton. The news was at first meager and +unsatisfactory, and contained little more in substance than was found +in the big headlines and on the posters of the leading papers: + +DARING ROBBERY AT LAMB AND DRUMMOND'S. + +THE FAMOUS REMBRANDT CARRIED OFF--WATCHMAN BRUTALLY HANDLED. + +The early journals had gone to press before a full report of the affair +could reach them, but a detailed account appeared between ten and eleven +o'clock in the first edition of the afternoon papers. The Rembrandt was +gone--there was no doubt of it--and the story of its disappearance +contained many dramatic elements. A curious crowd gathered about the +premises of Lamb and Drummond on Pall Mall, to gaze at the now vacant +window, and the services of a policeman were required to keep the +sidewalk clear. Many persons recalled the similar case, some years +before, of the Gainsborough portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire. + +Mr. Lamb, it appeared, had been detained at his place of business until +long after the closing hour, writing important letters. He left at nine +o'clock, and Raper, the night watchman, fastened the street door behind +him. During the night the policeman on duty in Pall Mall saw or heard +nothing suspicious about the premises. The Rembrandt was on an easel in +a large room back of the shop proper, and from it a rear door opened on +a narrow paved passage leading to Crown Court; the inmates heard no +noise in the night. At four o'clock in the morning a policeman, flashing +his lantern in Crown Court, found a window open at the back of Lamb and +Drummond's premises. He entered at once. Inside the gas was burning +dimly, and the watchman lay bound and gagged in a corner, with a strong +odor of drugs mingling with his breath. The Rembrandt had been cut out +of its frame and carried away. + +"The robbery was evidently well-planned, and is enveloped in mystery," +said the _St. James' Gazette_, "and the thieves left not the slightest +clew. It is difficult to conceive their motive. They cannot hope at +present to dispose of the picture, which is known by reputation in +Europe and America, nor is it certain that they could safely realize +on it after the lapse of years. The watchman, who has recovered +consciousness, declared that he has no knowledge of how the thieves +entered the building. It was about midnight, he states, when he was +knocked down from behind. He remembers nothing after that." + +The _Globe's_ account was more sensational. "It has come to light," +wrote the enterprising reporter, "that Raper, the watchman, was in the +habit of slipping out to the Leather Bottle, on Crown Court, for a +drink at ten o'clock every evening, and leaving the back door of the +shop unlocked. He came into the private bar at the usual time last +night, and remained for twenty minutes. He drank a pint of ale, and was +seen conversing with a shabbily dressed stranger, whose face was +unfamiliar to the publican and the barmaid. This incident suggests two +theories. Did the affable stranger drug Raper's beer, and, at a later +hour of the night, while the watchman was in a stupor, force the window +with one or more companions and carry off the Rembrandt? Or was the +watchman in the plot? Did the thieves slip into the building while he +was in the Leather Bottle, and subsequently bind, gag and drug him, and +force open the window from the outside, in order to screen him from the +suspicions of his employers? We learn that Raper has been suspended from +his position, pending an investigation. Mr. Lamb informs us that the +Rembrandt was insured against fire and burglary for the sum of ten +thousand guineas. The company is the Mutual, and they are sure to do all +in their power to apprehend the thieves and save themselves from such a +heavy loss." + +Such was the gist of the newspaper accounts of the puzzling affair. And +now to see how they affected certain individuals who are not strangers +to the reader. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY. + + +Stephen Foster sat in his office at No. 320 Wardour street, with half a +dozen of the morning and afternoon papers scattered about his desk. It +was two o'clock, but he had not gone out to lunch, and it had not +occurred to him that the usual hour for it was past. Footsteps came down +the length of the shop, and Victor Nevill opened the door. He closed it +quickly behind him as he entered the room; his face expressed extreme +agitation, and he looked like a man who has spent a sleepless night. + +"You have seen them?" he exclaimed, pointing to the papers. "You have +read the different accounts?" + +"Yes, I have read them--that is all. They tell me nothing. You could +have knocked me down with a feather when I bought a _Telegraph_ at +Gunnersbury station this morning, and saw the headlines." + +"And I first heard of it at breakfast--I got up rather late. I opened +the _Globe_ and there it was, staring me in the eyes. It knocked my +appetite, I can assure you. What do you make of it?" + +"It's a mystery," replied Stephen Foster, "and I am all in the dark +about it. Devilish unfortunate, I call it." + +"Right you are! And it's more than that. You have seen the _Globe_?" + +"Yes; here it is." + +"Did you know that the picture was insured?" + +"I judged that it was, but the fact was quite unimportant." + +"The Mutual people won't regard it in that light." + +"Hardly. Will you have a drink, my dear fellow? You are looking seedy." + +A stiff brandy-and-soda pulled Victor Nevill together, and for nearly an +hour the two men spoke in low and serious tones, occasionally referring +to the heap of papers. + +"Not the slightest clew," said Stephen Foster. "It is absurd to suspect +Raper of collusion with the thieves--his only fault was carelessness. +Leave the affair to the police. I shan't give it another thought." + +"That's easier said than done," Nevill replied. He rose and put on his +hat. "I must be off now. Oh, about the other matter--have you said +anything further to your daughter?" + +"Not a word." + +"She still defies you?" + +"She refuses to give the fellow up." Stephen Foster sighed. "The girl +has lots of spirit." + +"You won't let her have her own way?" + +"Not if I can prevent it." + +"Prevent it?" echoed Nevill, sneeringly. "What measures will you take?" + +"I shall see the artist." + +"Much good that will do," said Nevill. "Better begin by enforcing your +authority over your daughter." + +"I can't be harsh with her," Stephen Foster answered. "I am more +inclined to pity than anger." + +Under the circumstances, now that he knew how far matters had gone +with the woman he loved and his rival, Victor Nevill was curiously +unconcerned and unmoved, at least outwardly. It is true that he did not +despair of success, strong as were the odds against him. There was a +hard and evil expression on his face, which melted at times into a +cunning smile of satisfaction, as he walked down Wardour street. + +"I am on the right scent, and the game will soon be in my hands," he +reflected. "In another week I ought to be able to put an effectual spoke +in Jack Vernon's wheel. It will be a blow for Madge, but she will forget +him presently, and then I will commence to play my cards. I won't +fail--I'm determined to make her my wife. Shall I let Foster into the +scheme? I think not. Better let things take their course, and keep him +in ignorance of the fact that I had a hand in the revelation, if it +comes off. I'm afraid it won't, though." + +We must take the reader now to Ravenscourt Park, to the studio of Jack +Vernon. Early in the afternoon, while Victor Nevill was closeted with +Stephen Foster, the young artist was sitting at his easel. He had been +working since breakfast on a landscape, a commission from one of his +wealthy patrons. Things had gone unusually well with him lately. His +picture was on the line at the Academy, it had been favorably reviewed, +and he had received several offers for it. This indicated increased +fame, with a larger income, and a luxurious little home for Madge. + +"Will you have your lunch now, sir?" Alphonse called from the doorway +of an inner room. + +"Yes, you may fetch it," Jack replied. "I'm as hungry as a bear." + +He usually took his second meal at an earlier hour, but to-day he had +gone on working, deeply interested in his subject. He put aside his +brush and palette, and seated himself at the table, on which Alphonse +had placed a couple of chops, a bottle of Bass, and half a loaf of +French bread. When he had finished, he lighted a cigarette and opened +the _Telegraph_ lazily. He had not looked at it before, and he uttered +a cry of surprise as his eyes fell on the headlines announcing the theft +of the Rembrandt. He perused the brief paragraph, and turned to his +servant. + +"Go out and buy me an afternoon paper," he said. + +Alphonse departed, and, having the luck to encounter a newsboy in the +street, he speedily returned with the latest edition of the _Globe_. It +contained nothing more in substance than the earlier issues, but the +full account of the mysterious robbery was there, a column long, and +with keen interest Jack read every word of it over twice. + +"It's a queer case," he said to himself, "and the sort of thing +that doesn't often happen. The last sensation of the kind was the +Gainsborough, years ago. What will the thieves do with their prize? +They can't well dispose of it. It will be a waiting game. I daresay +the watchman knows more than he cares to tell. And so the picture was +insured--over-insured, too, for I don't believe it would have brought +ten thousand pounds. That's rather an interesting fact. Now, if Lamb +and Drummond were like some unscrupulous dealers that I know, instead +of being beyond reproach, there would be reason to think--" + +He did not finish the mental sentence, but tossed the paper aside, and +rose suddenly to his feet. + +"By Jove, I'll hang up the duplicate!" he muttered. "I was going to +send it to Von Whele's executors, but it is worth keeping now, as a +curiosity. It will be an attraction to the chaps who come to see me. +I hope it won't get me into trouble. It is so deucedly like the original +that I might be accused of stealing it from the premises of Lamb and +Drummond." + +He crossed the studio, knelt down by the couch and pulled the drapery +aside, and drew out the half-dozen of bulging portfolios; they had not +been disturbed since the visit of his French customer, M. Felix +Marchand. He opened the one in which he knew he had seen the Rembrandt +on that occasion, but he failed to find it, though he turned over the +sketches singly. He examined them again, with increasing wonder, and +then went carefully through the other portfolios. The search was +fruitless. The copy of Martin Von Whele's Rembrandt was gone! + +"What can it mean?" thought Jack. "I distinctly remember putting the +canvas back in the biggest portfolio--I could swear to that. I have not +touched them since. Yet the picture is gone--missing--stolen. Yes, +stolen! What else? By Jove, it's a queer coincidence that both the +original and the copy should disappear simultaneously!" + +He struck a match and looked beneath the couch; there was nothing there. +He ransacked about the studio for a few minutes, and then summoned his +servant. + +"Was there a stranger here at any time during the last two weeks?" he +asked; "any person whom you did not know?" + +Alphonse shook his head decidedly. + +"There was no one, monsieur. I am certain of that." + +"And my friends--" + +"On such occasions as monsieur's friends called while he was out, I was +in the studio as long as they remained." + +"Yes, of course. When did you sweep under this couch?" + +"About three weeks ago, monsieur," was the hesitating reply. + +"No less than that?" + +"No less, monsieur." + +Jack was satisfied. There was no room for suspicion, he told himself. +The man's word was to be relied upon. But by what agency, then, had the +canvas disappeared? How could a thief break into the studio without +leaving some trace of his visit, in the shape of a broken window or a +forced lock? There had been plenty of opportunities, it is true--nights +when Alphonse had been at home and Jack in town. + +"Has monsieur lost something?" + +"Yes, a large painting has been stolen," Jack replied. + +He went to the door and examined the lock from the outside, by the aid +of matches, though with no hope of finding anything. But a surprising +and ominous discovery rewarded him at once. In and around the key-hole, +sticking to it, were some minute fragments of wax. + +"By Jove, I have it!" cried Jack. "Here is the clew! Look, Alphonse! The +scoundrel, whoever he was, took an impression in wax on his first visit. +He had a key made from it, came back later at night, and stole the +picture. It was a cunning piece of work." + +"Monsieur is right," said Alphonse. "A thief has robbed him. You suspect +nobody?" + +"Not a soul," replied Jack. + +Though the shreds of wax showed how the studio had been entered, he was +no nearer the solution of the mystery than before. He excepted the few +trustworthy friends--only three or four--who knew that he had the +duplicate Rembrandt. + +"And even in Paris there were not many who knew that I painted the +thing," he thought. "I painted it at the Hotel Netherlands, and when Von +Whele went home and left it on my hands, I locked the canvas up in an +old chest. No, I can't suspect any of my friends, past or present. But +then who--By Jove! I have overlooked one point! The man who stole the +picture knew just where it was kept, and he went straight to it. +Otherwise he would have rummaged the studio, and disarranged things +badly before he found what he wanted." + +A light flashed on Jack--a light of inspiration, of certainty and +conviction. He remembered the visit of M. Felix Marchand, that he had +commented on the painting, and had seen it restored to its place in the +portfolio. Beyond doubt the mysterious Frenchman was the thief. Armed +with his craftily-won knowledge, provided with a duplicate key to the +studio, he had easily and safely accomplished his purpose. At what hour, +and on what night, it was impossible to say. Probably a day or two after +his first visit in the guise of a buyer. + +"Monsieur must not take his loss too much to heart," said Alphonse, with +well-meant sympathy. "If he informs the police--" + +"I prefer to have nothing to do with the police, thank you. You may go, +Alphonse. I shall dine in town, as usual." + +When Alphonse had departed, Jack threw a sheet over the canvas on his +easel, put on a smoking jacket, lighted his pipe, and stretched himself +in an easy chair, to think about the startling discovery he had made. + +The mystery presented many difficult points for his consideration. The +rogue's sole aim was to get that particular painting, and he had taken +nothing else, though he might have walked off with his pockets filled +with valuable articles. He probably expected that the robbery would not +be discovered for a long time. + +But what was his object in stealing the Rembrandt? What did he hope to +do with a copy of so well-known a work of art? Was there any connection +between this crime and the one committed last night on the premises of +the Pall Mall dealers? That was extremely unlikely. It was beyond +question that Lamb and Drummond had had the original painting in their +possession, and that daring burglars had taken it. + +"I could see light in the matter," Jack reflected, "if the fellow had +visited my place after hearing of the robbery at Lamb and Drummond's. +In that case, his scheme would have been to get the duplicate +canvas--granted that he knew of its existence and whereabouts--and trade +it off for the original. But he could not have known until early this +morning, and he did not come then. I was sleeping here, and would have +heard him. No, my picture must have been taken at least a week or ten +days ago." + +Jack smoked two more pipes, and the dark-brown Latakia tobacco from +Oriental shores, stealing insidiously to his brain, brought him an idea. + +"It is chimeric and improbable," he concluded, "but it is the most likely +theory I have struck yet. Was my Frenchman the same chap who robbed Lamb +and Drummond? Did he or his confederates steal both paintings, knowing +them to be as like as two peas, with the intention of disposing of each +as the original, and thus killing two birds with one stone? By Jove, I +believe I've hit it! But, no, it is unlikely. Can I be right? I'll +reserve my opinion, anyway, until I have written to Paris to ascertain +if there is such a person as M. Felix Marchand, of the Pare Monceaux. If +there is _not_, then I will interview Lamb and Drummond, and confide the +whole story to them." + +He decided to write the letter at once, but before he could reach his +desk there was a sharp rap on the door. He opened it, and saw a tall, +well-dressed gentleman, with a tawny beard and mustache, who bowed +coldly and silently, and held out a card. Jack took it and read the +name. His visitor was Stephen Foster. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A COWARDLY COMMUNICATION. + + +"You doubtless know why I have come," said Stephen Foster, as he stepped +into the room and closed the door. He looked penetratingly at the young +man through a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses. + +"I think I do, sir," Jack replied, "and I am very glad to see you. +I rather expected a visit from you. Take a seat, please." + +"Thank you--I prefer to stand. My business is very brief, Mr. Vernon. +It is quite unnecessary to enter into discussions or explanations. You +are aware, of course, that my daughter has told me everything. Do you +consider that you have acted honorably--that your conduct has been what +a gentleman's should be?" + +"It has, sir. Appearances are a little against me, I admit, but I have +a clear conscience, Mr. Foster. I love your daughter with all my heart, +and I have no higher aim in life than to make her my wife. I am heartily +glad of the opportunity to tell you this to your face. Believe me, it +was not from choice that I stooped to clandestine meetings." + +Stephen Foster laughed contemptuously. + +"You took an unfair advantage of an innocent and trustful girl," he +said. "My daughter is young, ignorant of the world, and she does not +know her own mind. You have cast a spell over her, as it were. She +defies me--she refuses to obey my orders. You have estranged us, Mr. +Vernon, and brought a cloud into what was a happy home. I appeal to you, +in a father's name, to release the girl from the ill-advised and foolish +promises she made you." + +"I cannot give her up, sir. I fear you do not understand how much +Madge--Miss Foster--is to me. If words could prove my sincerity, my +devotion to her--" + +"Her marriage to you is out of the question." + +"May I ask why?" + +"My reasons do not concern you." + +"But at least I am entitled to some explanation--it is no more than my +due," said Jack. "Why do you object to me as a son-in-law? I am not a +rake or an idler--you can easily satisfy yourself of my character, if +you like. I am not a rich man, but I can offer your daughter a +comfortable, even a luxurious, home. I have succeeded in my profession, +and in another year I shall doubtless be making an income of two or +three thousand pounds." + +"I am ready to admit all that," was Stephen Foster's curt reply. "It +does not alter the position, however." + +"I suppose you have higher views for your daughter!" Jack cried, +bitterly. + +"Yes, I have," Stephen Foster admitted, after a moment's hesitation. "I +don't mind saying as much. But this interview has already lasted longer +than I intended it should, Mr. Vernon. Have I appealed to you in vain?" + +"With all proper respect to you, sir, I can answer you in only one way," +Jack replied, firmly. "Your daughter returns my affection, and she is a +woman in ten thousand--a woman for whose love one might well count the +world well lost. I cannot, I will not, give her up." + +The young artist's declaration, strange to say, brought no angry +response from Stephen Foster. For an instant the hard lines on his +face melted away, and there was a gleam of something closely akin to +admiration in his eyes; he actually made a half-movement to hold out +his hand, but as quickly withdrew it. He turned and opened the door. + +"Is this your last word?" he asked from the threshold. + +"That rests with you. I cannot retreat from my position. Should I +renounce your daughter, after winning her heart, I would deserve to +be called--" + +"Very well, sir," interrupted Stephen Foster. "I shall know what +measures to take in the future. Forewarned is forearmed. And, by the +way, to save you the trouble of hanging about Strand-on-the-Green, I +may tell you that I have sent my daughter out of town on a visit." + +With that parting shot he went down the short flight of steps, and +passed into the street. Jack closed the door savagely, and began to +walk up and down the studio, as restless as a caged beast. + +"Here's a nice mess!" he reflected. "Angry parent, obdurate daughter, +and all that sort of thing. But I rather fancy I scored--he gained +nothing by his visit, and after he thinks the matter over he will +probably take a more sensible view of it. His appeal to me shows clearly +that he failed to make Madge yield." + +On the whole, after further consideration, Jack concluded that there was +no ground for despondency. His spirits rose as he recalled the girl's +earnest and loving promises, her assurances of eternal fidelity. + +"My darling will be true to me, come what may," he thought. "No amount +of persuasion or threats can induce her to give me up, and in the end, +when Stephen Foster is convinced of that, he will make the best of it +and withdraw his objections. If Madge has been sent out of town, she +went against her will. But, of course, she will manage to let me hear +from her." + +Jack sat down to his desk, intending to write a letter to a friend in +Paris, a well-to-do artist who lived in the neighborhood of the Pare +Monceaux. He held his pen undecidedly for a moment, and then leaned back +in his chair with a puzzled countenance. + +"By Jove, it's queer," he muttered; "but Stephen Foster's voice was +awfully familiar. We never met before, and I never laid eyes on the man, +so far as I can remember. I am mistaken. It is only a fancy. No--I have +it! He suggests M. Felix Marchand--there is something in common in their +speech, though it is very slight. What an odd coincidence!" + +That it could possibly be more than a coincidence did not occur to Jack, +and he would have laughed the idea to scorn. He dismissed the matter +from his mind, wrote and posted the letter, and then went off to dine by +appointment with Victor Nevill. + +There was no word from Madge the next day, and it is to be feared that +Jack's work suffered in consequence, and that Alphonse found him +slightly irritable. But on the following morning a letter came in the +well-known handwriting. It was very brief. The girl was _not_ out of +town, but was stopping near Regent's Park with an elderly maternal aunt +who lived in Portland Terrace, and was addicted to the companionship of +cockatoos and cats, not to speak of a brace of overfed, half-blind pugs. + +"I am in exile," the letter concluded, "and the dragon is a watchful +jailer. But she sleeps in the afternoon, and at three o'clock to-morrow +I will be inside the Charles street gate." + +"To-morrow" meant to-day, and until lunch time Jack's brush flew +energetically over the canvas. He was at the trysting-place at the +appointed hour, and Madge was there waiting for him, so ravishingly +dressed that he could scarcely resist the temptation to gather her in +his arms. As they strolled through the park he rather gloomily described +his visit from Stephen Foster, but the girl's half-smiling, half-tearful +look of affection reassured him. + +"You foolish boy!" she said, chidingly. "As if there were any danger of +your losing me. Why, I wouldn't give you up if you wanted me to! I think +you got the best of father, dear. He understands now, and by and by he +will relent. He is a good sort, really, and you will like him when you +know him better." + +"We made a bad beginning," Jack said, ruefully. + +They had reached the lake by this time, and they went on to a bench in +a shady and sequestered spot. Madge's high spirits seemed suddenly to +desert her, and she looked pensively across the glimmering water to the +tall mansions of Hanover Terrace. + +"Madge, something troubles you," her lover said, anxiously. + +"Yes, Jack. I--I received an anonymous letter at noon. Mrs. Sedgewick +forwarded it to me. Oh, it is shameful to speak of it--" + +"An anonymous letter? There is nothing more vile or cowardly! Did it +concern me?" + +"Yes." + +"And spoke badly of me?" + +"It didn't say anything good." + +"I wish I had the scoundrel by the throat! You have no idea who sent +it?" + +"None, dear. It was in a strange, scrawly hand, and was postmarked +Paddington." + +"It is a mystery I am powerless to explain," Jack said dismally. "To +the best of my knowledge I have not an enemy in the world. I can recall +no one who would wish to do me an ill turn. And the writer lied foully +if he gave me a bad character, Madge. Where is the letter?" + +"I destroyed it at once. I hated to see it, to touch it." + +"I am sorry you did that. It might have contained some clew. Tell me +all, Madge. Surely, darling, you don't believe--" + +"Jack, how can you think so?" She glanced up at him with a tender, +trustful, and yet half-distressed look in her eyes. "Forgive me, dear. +It is not that I doubt you, but--but I must ask you one question. You +are a free man? There is no tie that could forbid you to marry me?" + +"I am a free man," Jack answered her solemnly. "Put such evil thoughts +out of your mind, my darling. By the passionate love I feel for you, by +my own honor, I swear that I have an honest man's right to make you +mine. But, as I told you before, I had a reckless past--" + +"I don't want to hear about it," Madge interrupted. + +No one was within sight or sound, so she put her arms about his neck and +lifted her lips to his. + +"Jack, you have made me so happy," she whispered. "I will forget that +false, wicked letter. I love you, love you, dear. And I will be your +wife whenever you wish--" + +Her voice broke, and he kissed a tear from her burning cheek. + +"My Madge!" he said, softly. "Do you care so much for me?" + +Half an hour later they parted at the Hanover Gate. As he turned his +steps homeward, the cowardly anonymous letter lay heavily on his mind. +Who could have written it, and what did it contain? He more than +suspected that it referred to his youthful marriage with Diane Merode. + +When he reached the studio he found on his desk a letter bearing a +French stamp. He opened it curiously. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE TEMPTER. + + +"Just as I suspected!" Jack exclaimed. "I knew I couldn't be mistaken. +I have spotted the thief. The queer chap who bought my water-color +sketches is the same who carried off the Rembrandt. How cleverly he +worked his little game! But there my information stops, and I doubt +if the police could make much out of it." + +The letter, which he had crumpled excitedly in his hand after reading +it, was written in French; freely translated it ran as follows: + +"No. 15, BOULEVARD DE COURCELLES, PARIS. + +"My Dear Jack--I was rejoiced to hear from you, after so long a silence, +and it gave me sincere pleasure to look into the matter of which you +spoke. But I fear that my answers must be in the negative. It is certain +that no such individual as M. Felix Marchand lives in or near the Pare +Monceaux, where I have numerous acquaintances; nor do I find the name in +the directory of Paris. Moreover, he is unknown to the dealer, Cambon, on +the Quai Voltaire, of whom I made inquiries. So the matter rests. I am +pleased to learn of your prosperity. When shall I see you once more in +Lutetia? + +"With amiable sentiments I inscribe myself, + +"Your old friend, + +"CHARLES JACQUIN." + +"I'll take the earliest opportunity of seeing Lamb and Drummond," Jack +resolved. "The affair will interest them, and it may lead to something. +But I shan't bother about it--I didn't value the picture very highly, +and the thief almost deserves to keep it for his cleverness." + +During the next three days, however, Jack was too busy to carry out his +plan--at least in the mornings. Not for any consideration would he have +sacrificed his afternoons, for then he met Madge in Regent's Park, and +spent an hour or more with her, reckless of extortionate cab fares from +Ravenscourt Park to the neighborhood of Portland Terrace. On the second +night, dining in town, he met Victor Nevill, and had a long chat with +him, the two going to a music-hall afterward. Jack was discreetly silent +about his love affair, nor did he or Nevill refer to the little incident +near Richmond Hill. + +At the end of the week Jack's opportunity came. He had finished some +work on which he had been employed for several days, and soon after +breakfast, putting on a frock coat and a top hat he went off to town. He +presented a card at Lamb and Drummond's, and the senior partner of the +firm, who knew him well by reputation, invited him into his private +office. On learning his visitor's errand, Mr. Lamb evinced a keen +interest in the subject. He listened attentively to the story, and asked +various questions. + +"Here is the letter from my friend in Paris," Jack concluded. "You will +understand its import. It shows conclusively that M. Marchand came to my +studio under a false name, and leaves no room for doubt that it was he +who stole my duplicate Rembrandt." + +"I agree with you, Mr. Vernon. It is a puzzling affair, and I confess I +don't know what to make of it. But it is exceedingly interesting, and I +am very glad that you have confided in me. I think it will be best if +we keep our knowledge strictly to ourselves for the present." + +"By all means." + +"I except the detectives who are working on the case." + +"Yes, of course. They are the proper persons to utilize the +information," assented Jack. "It should not be made public." + +"I never knew that a copy of Von Whele's picture was in existence," said +Mr. Lamb. "I need hardly ask if it is a faithful one." + +"I am afraid it is," Jack replied, smiling. "I worked slowly and +carefully, and though I was a bit of an amateur in those days, I was +more than satisfied with the result. The pictures were of the same size; +and I really don't think many persons could have distinguished the one +from the other." + +"Could _you_ do that now, supposing that both were before you, framed +alike, and that the duplicate was cunningly toned to look as old as the +original?" + +"I should not hesitate an instant," Jack replied, "because it happens +that I took the precaution of making a slight mark in one corner of my +canvas." + +"Ah, that was a clever idea--very shrewd of you! It may be of the +greatest importance in the future." + +"You have not yet given me your opinion of the mysterious Frenchman," +Jack went on. "Do you believe that he was concerned in both robberies?" + +"Circumstances seem to point that way, Mr. Vernon, do they not? Your +picture was certainly taken before mine?" + +"It was, without doubt." + +"Then, what object could the Frenchman have had in stealing the +comparatively worthless duplicate, unless he counted on subsequently +getting possession of the original?" + +"It sounds plausible," said Jack. "That's just my way of looking at it. +The advantage would be--" + +"That the thieves would have two pictures, equally valuable to them, to +dispose of secretly," put in Mr. Lamb. "We may safely assume, then, that +our enterprising burglars are in possession of a brace of Rembrandts. +What they will do with them it is difficult to say. They will likely +make no move at present, but it is possible that they will try to +dispose of them in the Continental market or in America, in which case +I have hopes that they will blunder into the hands of the police. Proper +precautions have been taken both at home and abroad." + +"Is there any clew yet?" + +Mr. Lamb shook his head sadly. + +"Not a ray of light has been thrown on the mystery," he replied, "though +the best Scotland Yard men are at work. You may depend upon it that the +insurance people, who stand to lose ten thousand pounds, will leave no +stone unturned. As for Raper, our watchman, he has been discharged. Mr. +Drummond and I are convinced that his story was true, but it was +impossible to overlook his gross carelessness. We never knew that he +was in the habit of going nightly to the public house in Crown Court." + +"It's a wonder you were not robbed before," said Jack. "You have my +address--will you let me know if anything occurs?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Vernon. Must you be off? Good morning!" + +Jack sauntered along Pall Mall, and turned up Regent street. At +Piccadilly Circus he saw two men standing before the cigar shop on the +corner. One was young and boyish looking. The other, a few years older, +was of medium height and stout beyond proportion; he wore a tweed suit +of a rather big check pattern, and the coat was buttoned over a scarlet +waistcoat; the straw hat, gaudily beribboned, shaded a fat, jolly, +half-comical face, of the type that readily inspires confidence. He was +talking to his companion animatedly when he saw Jack approaching. With a +boisterous exclamation of delight he rushed up to him and clapped him on +the shoulder. + +"Clare, old boy!" he cried. + +"Jimmie Drexell!" Jack gasped in amazement. "Dear old chap, how awfully +glad I am to see you!" + +With genuine and heartfelt emotion they shook hands and looked into +each other's eyes--these two who had not met for long years, since the +rollicksome days of student life in Paris when they had been as intimate +as brothers. + +"You're fit as a king, my boy--not much changed," spluttered Drexell, +with a strong American accent to his kindly, mellow voice. "I was going +to look you up to-day--only landed at Southampton yesterday--got beastly +tired of New York--yearned for London and Paris--shan't go back for six +months or a year, hanged if I do." + +"I'm jolly glad to hear it, Jimmie." + +"We'll see a lot of each other--eh, old man? So, you've stuck to the +name of Vernon? I called you Clare, didn't I? Yes, I forgot. You told me +you had taken the other name when you wrote a couple of years ago. I +haven't heard from you since, except through the papers. You've made +a hit, I understand. Doing well?" + +"Rather! I've no cause to complain. And you, Jimmie? What's become of +the art?" + +"Chucked it, Jack--it was no go. I painted like a blooming Turk--hired a +studio--filled it with jimcrackery--got the best-looking models--wore a +velvet coat and grew long hair. But it was all useless. I earned +twenty-five dollars in three years. I had a picture in a dealer's +shop--his place burnt down--I made him fork over. Then a deceased +relative left me $150,000--said I deserved it for working so hard in +Paris. A good one, eh? I leased the studio to the Salvation Army, and +here I am, a poor devil of an artist out of work." + +Jack laughed heartily. + +"Art never _was_ much in your line," he said, "though I remember how you +kept pegging away at it. And no one can be more pleased than myself to +learn that you've dropped into a fortune. Stick to it, Jimmie." + +"There will be another one some day, Jack--when this is gone. By the +way, I met old Nevill last night--dined with him. And that reminds me--" + +He turned to his companion, the fresh-faced boy, and introduced him to +Jack as the Honorable Bertie Raven. The two shook hands cordially, and +exchanged a few commonplace words. + +"Come on; we've held up this corner long enough," exclaimed Drexell. +"Let's go and lunch together somewhere. I'll leave it to you, Raven. +Name your place." + +"Prince's, then," was the prompt rejoinder. + +As they walked along Piccadilly the Honorable Bertie was forced ahead by +the narrowness of the pavement and the jostling crowds, and Drexell +whispered at Jack's ear: + +"A good sort, that young chap. I met him in New York a year ago. His +next eldest brother, the Honorable George, is over there now. I believe +he is going to marry a cousin of mine--a girl who will come into a pot +of money when her governor dies." + + * * * * * + +Nine o'clock at night, and a room in Beak street, Regent street; a back +apartment looking into a dingy court, furnished with a sort of tawdry, +depressing luxury, and lighted by a pair of candles. A richly dressed +woman who had once been extremely handsome, and still retained more than +a trace of her charms, half reclined on a couch; a fluffy mass of +coppery-red hair had escaped from under her hat, and shaded her large +eyes; shame and confusion, mingled with angry defiance, deepened the +artificial blush on her cheeks. + +Victor Nevill stood in the middle of the floor, confronting her with a +faint, mocking smile at his lips. He had not taken the trouble to remove +his hat. He wore evening dress, with a light cloak over it, and he +twirled a stick carelessly between his gloved fingers. + +"So it is really you!" he said. + +"If you came to sneer at me, go!" the woman answered spitefully. "You +have your revenge. How did you find me?" + +"It was not easy, but I persevered--" + +"Why?" + +"For a purpose. I will tell you presently. And do not think that I came +to sneer. I am sorry for you--grieved to find you struggling in the +vortex of London." He looked about the room, which, indeed, told a plain +story. "You were intended for better things," he added. "Where is Count +Nordhoff?" + +"He left me--three years ago." + +"I wouldn't mind betting that you cleaned him out, and then heartlessly +turned him adrift." + +"You are insolent!" + +"And I dare say you have had plenty of others since. What has become of +the Jew?" + +The woman's eyes flashed like a tiger's. + +"I wish I had him here now!" she cried. "He deserted me--broke a hundred +promises. I have not seen him for a week." + +"You are suffering heavily for the past." + +"For the past!" the woman echoed dully. "Victor," she said with a sudden +change of voice, "_you_ loved me once--" + +"Yes, once. But you crushed that love--killed it forever. No stage +sentiment, please. Understand that, plainly." + +The brief hope died out of the woman's eyes, and was replaced by a gleam +of hatred. She looked at the man furiously. + +"There is no need to fly into a passion," said Nevill. "We can at least +be friends. I cherish no ill-feeling--I pity you sincerely. And yet you +are still beautiful enough to turn some men's heads. How are you off for +money?" + +The woman opened a purse and dashed a handful of silver to the floor. + +"That is my all!" she cried, hoarsely. + +"Then you must find a way out of your difficulties. I am going to have +a serious talk with you." + +Nevill drew a chair up to the couch, and his first words roused the +woman's interest. He spoke for ten minutes or more, now in whispers, now +with a rising inflection; now persuasively, now with well-feigned +indignation and scorn. The effect which his argument had on his +companion was shown by the swift changes that passed over her face; she +interrupted him frequently, asking questions and making comments. At the +end the woman rustled her silken skirts disdainfully, and rose to her +feet. + +"Why do you suggest this, Victor?" she demanded. "Where do _you_ come +in?" + +Nevill seemed slightly disconcerted. + +"I am foolish enough to feel an interest in a person I once cared for," +he replied. "I want to save you from ruin that is inevitable if you +continue in your present course." + +"It is kind of you, Victor Nevill," the woman answered sneeringly. "He +has a personal motive," she thought. "What can it be?" + +"The thing is so simple, so natural," said Nevill, "that I wonder you +hesitate. Of course you will fall in with it." + +"Suppose I refuse?" + +"I can't credit you with such madness." + +"But what if--" She leaned toward him and whispered a short sentence in +his ear. His face turned the color of ashes, and he clutched her wrist +so tightly that she winced with pain. + +"It is a lie!" he cried, brutally. "By heavens, if I believed--" + +The woman laughed--a laugh that was not pleasant to hear. + +"Fool! do you think I would tell you if it was true?" she said. "I was +only jesting." + +"It is not a subject to jest about," Nevill answered stiffly. "I came +here to do you a good turn, and--" + +"You had better have kept away. You are a fiend--you are a Satan +himself! Why do you tempt me? Do you think that I have no conscience, +no shame left? I am bad enough, Victor Nevill, but by the memory of the +past--of what I threw away--I can't stoop so low as to--" + +"Your heroics are out of place," he interrupted. "Go to the devil your +own way, if you like." + +"You shall have an answer to-morrow--to-morrow! Give me time to think +about it." + +The woman sank down on the couch again; her over-wrought nerves gave +way, and burying her face in the cushions she sobbed hysterically. +Nevill looked at her for a moment. Then he put a couple of sovereigns on +the table and quietly left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE DINNER AT RICHMOND. + + +Three days later, at the unusually early hour of nine in the morning, +Victor Nevill was enjoying his sponge bath. There appeared to be +something of a pleasing nature on his mind, for as he dressed he smiled +complacently at his own reflection in the glass. Having finished his +toilet, he did not ring immediately for his breakfast. He sat down to +his desk, and drew pen, ink and paper before him. + +"My Dear Jack" he wrote, "will you dine with me at the Roebuck to-morrow +night? Jimmie Drexell is coming, and I am going to drive him down. We +will stop and pick you up on the way. An answer will oblige, if not too +much trouble." + +He put the invitation in an envelope and addressed it. Then he pulled +the bell-cord, and a boy shortly entered the room with a tray containing +breakfast and a little heap of letters. Nevill glanced over his +correspondence carelessly--they were mostly cards for receptions and +tradesmen's accounts--until he reached a letter bearing a foreign stamp. +It was a long communication, and the reading of it caused him anything +but satisfaction, to judge from the frown that gathered on his features. + +"I wouldn't have credited Sir Lucius with such weakness," he muttered +angrily. "What has possessed him?--and after all these years! He says +his conscience troubles him! He fears he was too cruel and hard-hearted! +Humph! it's pleasant for me, I must say. Fancy him putting _me_ on the +scent--asking _me_ to turn private detective! I suppose I'll have to +humor him, or pretend to. It will be the safest course. Can there be any +truth in his theory, I wonder? No, I don't think so. And after such a +lapse of time the task would be next to impossible. I will be a fool if +I let the thing worry me." + +Victor Nevill locked the offending letter in his desk, vowing that he +would forget it. But that was easier said than done, and his gloomy +countenance and preoccupied air showed how greatly he was disturbed. His +breakfast was quite spoiled, and he barely tasted his coffee and rolls. +With a savage oath he put on his hat, and went down into Jermyn street. +He walked slowly in the direction of the Albany, where Jimmie Drexell +had been fortunate enough to secure a couple of chambers. + +The afternoon post brought Jack the invitation to dinner for the +following night, and he answered it at once. He accepted with pleasure, +but told Nevill not to stop for him on the way to Richmond. He would not +be at home after lunch, he wrote, but would turn up at the Roebuck on +time. Having thus disposed of the matter, he went to town, and he and +Drexell dined together and spent the evening at the Palace, where the +newest attraction was an American dancer with whom the susceptible +Jimmie had more than a nodding acquaintance, a fact that possibly had +something to do with his hasty visit to London. + +Jack worked hard the next day--he had a lot of lucrative commissions on +hand, and could not afford to waste much time. It was three o'clock when +he left the studio, and half an hour later he was crossing Kew Bridge. +He turned up the river, along the towing-path, and near the old palace +he joined Madge. She had written to him a couple of days before, +announcing her immediate return from Portland Terrace, and arranged +for a meeting. + +It was a perfect afternoon of early summer, with a cloudless sky and a +refreshing breeze. It cast a spell over the lovers, and for a time they +were silent as they trod the grassy path, with the rippling Thames, +dotted with pleasure-craft, flowing on their right. Jack stole many a +glance at the lovely, pensive face by his side. He was supremely happy, +in a dreamy mood, and not a shadow of the gathering storm marred his +content. + +"It was always a beautiful world, Madge," he said, "but since you came +into my life it has been a sort of a paradise. Work is a keener pleasure +now--work for your sake. Existence is a dreary thing, if men only knew +it, without a good, pure woman's love." + +The girl's face was rapturous as she looked up at him; she clung +caressingly to his arm. + +"You regret nothing, dearest?" he asked. + +"Nothing, Jack. How could I?" + +"You have been very silent." + +"You can't read a woman's heart, dear. If I was silent, it was because I +was so happy--because the future, our future, seemed so bright. There is +only the one little cloud--" + +"Your father?" he interrupted. "Is he still relentless, Madge?" + +"I think he is softening. He has been much kinder to me since I came +home. He does not mention your name, and he has not forbidden me to see +you or write to you. I should not have hesitated to tell him that I was +going to meet you to-day. He knows that I won't give you up." + +"And, knowing that, he will make the best of it," Jack said, gladly. +"He will come round all right, I feel sure. And now I want to ask you +something, Madge, dear. You won't make me wait long, will you?" + +She averted her eyes and blushed. Jack drew her to a lonely bench near +the moat, and they sat down. + +"I will tell you why I ask," he went on. "I got a letter this morning +from a man who wants to buy my Academy pictures. He offers a splendid +price--more than I hoped for--and I will put it aside for our honeymoon. +Life is short enough, and we ought to make the most of it. Madge, what +do you say? Will you marry me early in September? That is a glorious +month to be abroad, roaming on the Continent--" + +"It is so soon, Jack." + +"To me it seems an age. You will consent if your father does?" + +"Yes, I will." + +"And if he refuses?" + +The girl nestled closer to him, and looked into his face with laughing +eyes. + +"Then, I am afraid I shall have to disobey him, dear. If you wish it I +will be your wife in September." + +"My own sweet Madge!" he cried. + +All his passionate love was poured out in those four little words. He +forgot the past, and saw only the rich promise of the future. There was +a lump in his throat as he added softly: + +"You shall never repent your choice, darling!" + +For an hour they sat on the bench, talking as they had never talked +before, and many a whispered confidence of the girl's, many a phrase and +sentence, burnt into Jack's memory to haunt him afterward. Then they +parted, there by the riverside, and Madge tripped homeward. + +Happy were Jack's reflections as he picked up a cab that rattled him +swiftly into Richmond and up the famous Hill to the Roebuck. Nevill and +Jimmie Drexell, who had arrived a short time before, greeted him +hilariously. + +The table was laid for Nevill and his guests in the coffee-room of the +Roebuck, as cheerful and snug a place as can be found anywhere, with its +snowy linen and shining silver and cut-glass, its buffet temptingly +spread, and on the walls a collection of paintings that any collector +might envy. + +The Roebuck's _chef_ was one of the best, and the viands served were +excellent; the rare old wines gurgled and sparkled from cobwebbed +bottles that had lain long in bin. The dinner went merrily, the evening +wore on, and the sun dipped beneath the far-off Surrey Hills. + +"This is a little bit of all right, my boys," said Jimmie, quoting +London slang, as he stirred his _creme de menthe frappe_ with a straw. +"I'm jolly glad I crossed the pond. Many's the time I longed for a +glimpse of Richmond and the river while I sweltered in the heat on the +Casino roof-garden. Here's to 'Dear Old London Town,' in the words +of--who _did_ write that song?" + +Nevill drained his chartreuse. + +"Come, let's go and have a turn on the Terrace," he said. "It's too +early to drive back to town." + +They lighted their cigars and filed down stairs, laughing gaily, and +crossed the road. Jack was the merriest of the three. Little did he +dream that he was going to meet his fate. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +FROM THE DEAD. + + +There were not many people about town. The strollers had gone back to +town, or down the hill to their dinners. The Terrace, and the gardens +that dropped below it to the Thames, were bathed in the purplish +opalescent shades of evening. From the windows of the Roebuck streamed a +shaft of light, playing on the trunks of the great trees, and gleaming +the breadth of the graveled walk. It shone full on Nevill and his +companions, and it revealed a woman coming along the Terrace from the +direction of the Star and Garter; she was smartly dressed, and stepped +with a graceful, easy carriage. + +"Look!" whispered Jimmie. "The Lass of Richmond Hill! There's something +nice for you." + +"Not for me," Jack laughed. + +The woman, coming opposite to the three young men, shot a bold glance at +them. She stopped with a little scream, and pressed one hand agitatedly +to her heart. + +"Jack!" she cried in an eager whisper. "My Jack!" + +That once familiar voice woke the chords of his memory, bridged the gulf +of years. His blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. He stared at the +handsome face, with its expression of mingled insolence and terror--met +the scrutiny of the large, flashing eyes. Then doubt fled. His brain +throbbed, and the world grew black. + +"Diane! My God!" fell from his lips. + +"Fancy _her_ turning up!" Nevill whispered to Drexell. + +"It's a bad business," Jimmie replied; he, as well as Nevill, had known +Diane Merode while she was Jack's wife. + +The woman came closer; she shrugged her shoulders mockingly. + +"Jack--my husband," she said. "Have you no welcome for me?" + +With a bitter oath he caught her arm. His face indicated intense +emotion, which he vainly tried to control. + +"Yes, it is you!" he said, hoarsely. "You have come back from the grave +to wreck my life. I heard you were dead, and I believed it--" + +"You read it in a Paris paper," interrupted Diane, speaking English with +a French accent. "It was a lie--a mistake. It was not I who was dragged +from the river and taken to the Morgue. It would have been better so, +perhaps. Jack, why do you glare at me? Listen, I am not as wicked as you +think. There were circumstances--I was not to blame. I can explain +all--" + +"Hush, or I will kill you!" he said, fiercely. He snatched at a chain +that encircled her white throat, and as it broke in his grasp a +sparkling jewel fell to the ground. The most stinging name that a man +can call a woman hissed from his clenched teeth. She shrank back, +terrified, into the shadow, and he followed her. "Are you dead to all +shame, that you dare to make yourself known to me?" he cried. "The life +you lead is blazoned on your painted cheeks! You are no wife of mine! +Begone! Out of my sight! Merciful God, what have I done to deserve this?" + +"For Heaven's sake, don't make a scene!" urged Jimmie. "Control yourself, +old man." He looked anxiously about, but as yet the altercation had not +been observed by the few persons in the vicinity. "Nevill, we must stop +this," he added. + +"I _won't_ go away," Diane vowed, obstinately. "You are my husband, +Jack, and you know it. Let your friends, who knew us in the old days, +deny it if they can! I have a wife's claim on you." + +"Take her away!" Jack begged. + +Nevill drew the woman to one side, and though she made a show of +resistance at first, she quickly grew calm and listened quietly to his +whispered words. He whistled for a passing hansom, and it stopped at the +edge of the street. He helped Diane into it, and rejoined his companions. + +"It's all right--she is reasonable now," he said in a low voice. "Brace +up, Jack; I'll see you through this. Jimmie, go over and pay the account, +will you? Here is the money. And say that I will send for the trap +to-morrow." + +Nevill entered the cab, and it rattled swiftly down the hill. As the +echo of the wheels died away, Jack dropped on a bench and hid his face +in his hands. + +"I'll be back in a moment, old chap," said Jimmie. "Wait here." + +He had scarcely crossed the street when Jack rose. His agony seemed too +intense to bear, and even yet he did not realize all that the blow +meant. For the moment he was hardly responsible for his actions, and +a glimpse of the river, shining far below, lured him on blindly and +aimlessly. A little farther along the Terrace, just beyond the upper +side of the gardens, was a footway leading down to the lower road and +the Thames. He followed this, swaying like a drunken man, and he had +reached the iron stile at the bottom when Jimmie, who had sighted him +in the distance, overtook him and caught his arm. Jack shook him roughly +off. + +"What do you want?" he said, hoarsely. + +"Don't take it so hard," pleaded Jimmie. "I'm awfully sorry for you, +old man. I know it's a knock-down blow, but--" + +"You don't know half. It's worse than you think. I am the most miserable +wretch on earth! And an hour ago I was the happiest--" + +"Come with me," said Jimmie. "That's a good fellow." + +Jack did not resist. Linked arm in arm with his friend, he stumbled +along the narrow pavement of the lower road. At The Pigeons they found a +cab that had just set down a fare. They got into it, and Jimmie gave the +driver his orders. + +It seemed a short ride to Jack, and while it lasted not a word passed +his lips. He sat in a stupor, with dull, burning eyes and a throbbing +head. In all his thoughts he recalled the lovely, smiling face of Madge. +And now she was lost to him forever--there was a barrier between them +that severed their lives. In his heart he bitterly cursed the day when +he had yielded to the wiles of Diane Merode, the popular dancer of the +Folies Bergere. + +The cab stopped, and he reeled up a dark flight of steps. He was sitting +in a big chair in his studio, with the gas burning overhead, and Jimmie +staring at him with an expression of heartfelt sympathy on his honest +face. + +"This was the best place to bring you," he said. + +Jack rose, and paced to and fro. He looked haggard and dazed; his hair +and clothing were disheveled. + +"Tell me, Jimmie," he cried, "is it all a dream, or is it true?" + +"I wish it wasn't true, old man. But you're taking it too hard--you're +as white as a ghost. It can be kept out of the papers, you know. And you +won't have to live with her--you can pension her off and send her +abroad. I dare say she's after money. Women are the very devil, Jack, +ain't they? I could tell you about a little scrape of my own, with +Totsy Footlights, of the Casino--" + +"You don't understand," said Jack, in a dull, hard voice. "I believed +that Diane was dead." + +"Of course you did--you showed me the paragraph in the _Petit Journal_." + +"I considered myself a free man--free to marry again." + +"Whew! Go on!" + +Jack was strangely calm as he took out his keys and unlocked a cabinet +over his desk. He silently handed his friend a photograph. + +"By Jove, what a lovely face!" muttered Jimmie. + +"That is the best and dearest girl in the world," said Jack. "I thought +I was done with women until I met her, a short time ago. We love each +other, and we were to be married in September. And now--My God, this +will break her heart! It has broken mine already, Jimmie! Curse the day +I first put foot in Paris!" + +"My poor old chap, this _is_--" + +That was all Jimmie could say. He vaguely realized that he was in the +presence of a grief beyond the power of words to comfort. There was a +suspicious moisture in his eyes as he turned abruptly to the table and +mixed himself a mild stimulant. He drank it slowly to give himself time +to think. + +Jack thrust the photograph into the breast pocket of his coat. He rubbed +one hand through his hair, and kicked an easel over. He burst into a +harsh, unnatural laugh. + +"This is a rotten world!" he cried. "A rotten world! It's a stage +full of actors, and they play d---- little but tragedy! I've found +my long-lost wife again, Jimmie! Rejoice with me!" + +He poured three fingers of neat brandy into a glass and drank it at a +gulp. Then the mocking laughter died on his lips, and he threw himself +into a chair. He buried his face in his hands, and his body shook with +the violence of the sobs he was powerless to stifle. + +"It will do him good," thought Jimmie. + +The clock ticked on, and at intervals there was the rumble of trains +passing to and from Ravenscourt Park station, and the clang of distant +tram-bells. The voice of mighty London mocked at Jack's misery, and he +conquered his emotions. He lifted a defiant face, much flushed. + +"I've made a beastly fool of myself, Jimmie." + +"Not a bit of it, old chap. Brace up; some one is coming." He had heard +a cab stop in the street. + +There were rapid steps on the stairs, and Nevill entered the studio. His +face was eloquent with sympathy, and he silently held out a hand. Jack +gripped it tightly. + +"Thanks, Vic," he said, gratefully. "Where did--did you take her?" + +"To her lodgings, off Regent street. And then I came straight on here. +I thought she was dead, Jack. I don't wonder you're upset." + +"Upset? It's worse than that. If I were the only one to suffer--" + +"Then there's another woman?" + +"Yes!" + +"That's bad! I didn't dream of such a thing. I can't tell you how sorry +I feel." + +Nevill sat down and lighted a cigar; he thoughtfully watched the smoke +curl up. + +"I suppose I could get a divorce?" Jack asked, savagely. + +"No doubt of it, but--" + +"But you wouldn't advise me to do it. No, you're right. I couldn't +stand the publicity and disgrace." + +"I would like to choke her," muttered Jimmie. + +"I had a talk with her on the way to town," said Nevill. "She has been +in London for a month, and knew your address all the time, but did not +wish to see you. Now she is hard up, and that is why she made herself +known to you to-night." + +"What became of the scoundrel she ran away with? Did he desert her?" + +"Yes," Nevill answered, after a brief hesitation. + +"Do you know who he was?" + +"She intimated that he was a French Count. I believe she has had several +others since, and the last one left her stranded." + +"She wants money, then?" + +"Rather. That's her game. She knows she has no legal claim on you, and +for a fixed sum I think she will agree to return to Paris and not molest +you in future." + +"I don't care what becomes of her," Jack replied, bitterly, "but I am +determined not to see her again. Let her understand that, and tell her +that I will give her three hundred pounds on condition that she goes +abroad and never shows her face in England again. And another thing, +there must be no further appeals to me." + +"Bind her tight, in writing," suggested Jimmie. + +"It's asking a lot of you, Nevill," said Jack, "but if you don't mind--" + +"My dear fellow, it is a mere trifle. I will gladly help you in the +matter to my utmost power, and I only wish I could do more." + +"That's the way to talk," put in Jimmie. "Can I be of any assistance, +Nevill? I've a persuasive sort of way with women--" + +"Thanks, but I can manage much better alone, I think." Nevill took a +memorandum book from his pocket, and turned over the pages. "Trust all +to me, Jack," he added. "I am free to-morrow after four o'clock. I will +see Diane--your wife--fix the terms with her, and come down in the +evening to report to you." + +"What time?" + +"That is uncertain. But you will be here?" + +"Yes; I shall expect you," said Jack. "I can't thank you enough. It's a +blessing for a chap to have a couple of friends like you and Jimmie." + +"You would do as much for me," replied Nevill. "I'm going to see you +through your trouble." + +Jack walked abruptly to the open window, and looked out into the starry +night. + +"What does it matter," he thought, "whether I am rid of Diane or not? I +have lost my darling. Madge is dead to me. I can't grasp it yet. How can +I tell her?--how can I live without her?" + +"Are you going up to town, Jimmie?" Nevill asked. "My cab is waiting, +and you can share it." + +"No; I shall stop with poor old Jack," Jimmie replied. "I don't like to +leave him alone." + +"That's good of you. It's a terrible blow, isn't it?" + +Nevill went away, and Jimmie remained to comfort his friend. But there +was no consolation for Jack, whose bitter mood had turned to dull +despair and grief that would be more poignant in the morning, when he +would be better able to comprehend the fell blow that had shattered his +happiness and crushed his ambitions and dreams. He refused pipe and +cigars. Until three o'clock he sat staring vacantly at the floor, +seemingly oblivious of Jimmie's presence, and occasionally helping +himself to brandy. At last he fell asleep in the chair, and Jimmie, who +had with difficulty kept his eyes open, dozed away on the couch. + +Meanwhile, Victor Nevill had driven straight to his rooms in Jermyn +street and had gone to bed. He rose about ten o'clock, and after a light +breakfast he sat down and wrote a short letter, cleverly disguising his +own hand, and imitating the scrawly penmanship and bad spelling of an +illiterate woman. + +"The last card in the game," he reflected, as he addressed and stamped +the envelope. "It may be superfluous, in case he sees or writes to her +to-day. But he won't do that--he will put off the ordeal as long as +possible. My beautiful Madge, for your sake I am steeping myself in +infamy! It is not the first time a man has sold himself to the devil for +a woman. Yet why should I feel any scruples? It would have been far +worse to let them go on living in their fool's paradise." + +An hour later, as he walked down Regent street, he posted the letter he +had written in the morning. + +"It will be delivered at just about the right time," he thought. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE LAST CARD. + + +It was nine o'clock in the evening, and darkness had fallen rather +earlier than usual, owing to a black, cloudy sky that threatened rain. +Jimmie Drexell had gone during the afternoon, and Jack was alone in the +big studio--alone with his misery and his anguish. He had scarcely +tasted food since morning, much to the distress of Alphonse. He looked +a mere wreck of his former self--haggard and unshaven, with hard lines +around his weary eyes. He had not changed his clothes, and they were +wrinkled and untidy. Across the polished floor was a perceptible track, +worn by hours of restless striding to and fro. Now, after waiting +impatiently for Victor Nevill, and wondering why he did not come, Jack +had tried to nerve himself to the task that he dreaded, that preyed +incessantly on his mind. He knew that the sooner it was over the better. +He must write to Madge and tell her the truth--deal her the terrible +blow that might break her innocent, loving heart. + +"It's no use--I can't do it," he said hoarsely, when he had been sitting +at his desk for five minutes. "The words won't come. My brain is dry. +Would it be better to try to see her, and tell her all face to face? +No--anything but that!" + +Thrusting pen and paper from him, he rose and went to the liquor-stand. +The cut-glass bottle containing brandy dropped from his shaking hand and +was shattered to fragments. The crash drowned the opening of the studio +door, and as he surveyed the wreck he heard footsteps, and turned +sharply around, expecting to see Nevill. Diane stood before him, in a +costume that would have better suited a court presentation; the shaded +gas-lamps softened the rouge and pearl-powder on her cheeks, and lent +her a beauty that could never have survived the test of daylight. Her +expression was one of half defiance, half mute entreaty. + +The audacity of the woman staggered Jack, and for an instant he was +speechless with indignation. His dull, bloodshot eyes woke to a fiery +wrath. + +"You!" he cried. "How dare you come here? Go at once!" + +"Not until I am ready," she replied, looking at him unflinchingly. "One +would think that my presence was pollution." + +"It is--you know that. Did Nevill permit you to come? Have you seen +him?" + +"No; I kept out of his way. He is searching for me in town now, I +suppose. It was you I wanted to see." + +"You are dead to all shame, or you would never have come to London. I +don't know what you want, and I don't care. I won't listen to you, and +unless you leave, by heavens, I will call the police and have you +dragged out!" + +"I hardly think you will do that," said Diane. "I am going presently, if +you will be a little patient. I am your wife, Jack--" + +He laughed bitterly. + +"You were once--you are not now. If I thought it would be any punishment +to you, that disgrace could soil _you_, I would take advantage of the +law and procure a divorce." + +"I am your wife," she repeated, "but I do not intend to claim my +rights. We were both to blame in the past--" + +"That is false!" he cried. "You only were to blame--I have nothing to +reproach myself with, except that I was a mad fool when I married you +for your pretty face. You tried to pull me down to your own level--the +level of the Parisian kennels. You squandered my money, tempted me to +reckless extravagances, and when the shower of gold drew near its end, +you ran off with some scoundrel who no doubt proved as simple a victim +as myself. I trusted you, and my honor was betrayed. But you did me a +greater wrong when you allowed me to believe that you were dead. By +heavens, when I think of it all--" + +"You forget that we drifted apart toward the last," Diane interrupted. +"Was that entirely my fault? I believed that you no longer cared for me, +and it made me reckless." There was a sudden ring of sincerity in her +voice, and the insolent look in her eyes was replaced by a softer +expression. "I did wrong," she added. "I am all that you say I am. I +have sinned and suffered. But is there no pity or mercy in your heart? +Remember the past--that first year when we loved each other and were +happy. Wait; I have nearly finished. I am going out of your life +forever--it is the only atonement I can make. But will you let me go +without a sign of forgiveness?--without a soft word?" + +For a moment there was silence. Diane waited with rigid face. She had +forgotten the purpose that brought her to the studio--a womanly impulse, +started to life by the memories of the past, had softened her heart. But +Jack, blinded by passion and his great wrongs, little dreamed of the +chance that he was throwing away. + +"You talk of forgiveness!" he cried. "Why, I only wonder that I can +keep my hands off your throat. I hate the sight of you--I curse the day +I first saw your face! Do you know what you have done, by letting me +believe that you were dead? You have probably broken the heart of one +who is as good and pure as you are vile and treacherous--the woman whom +I love and would have married." + +Diane's features hardened, and a sudden rage flashed in her half-veiled +eyes; her repentant impulse died as quickly. + +"So that is your answer!" she exclaimed, harshly. "And there is another +woman! You shall never marry her--never!" + +"You fiend!" + +The threat goaded Jack to fury, and he might have lost his self-control. +But just then quick footsteps fell timely on his ear. + +"Get behind that screen, or go into the next room," he muttered. "No; it +won't matter--it must be Nevill." + +Diane held her ground. + +"I don't care who it is," she said, shrilly. "I will tell the world that +I am your wife." + +The next instant the door was thrown open, and a woman entered the +studio and came hesitatingly forward under the glare of the gas-jets. +With a rapid movement she partly tore off her long, hooded cloak, which +was dripping with rain. Jack quivered as though he had been struck a +blow. + +"Madge!" he gasped, recognizing the lovely, agitated face. + +The girl caught her breath, and looked from one to the other--from the +painted and powdered woman to the man who had won her love. Her bosom +heaved, and her flushed cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble. + +"Jack, tell me--is it true?" she pleaded, struggling with each word. "I +should not have come, but--but I received this an hour ago." She flung a +crumpled letter at his feet, and he picked it up mechanically. "It said +that I would find you here with your--your--" She could not utter the +word. "I had to come," she added. "I could not rest. And now--who is +that woman? Speak!" + +No answer. Jack's lips and throat were dry, and a red mist was before +his eyes. + +"Is she your wife?" + +"God help me, yes!" Jack cried, hoarsely. "I can explain. Believe me, +Madge, I was not false--I told you only the truth. If you will listen +to me for a moment--" + +She shrank from him with horror, and the color surged back to her cheeks. + +"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Let me go--this is no place for me! I pray +heaven to forgive you, Jack!" + +The look that she gave him, so full of unspeakable agony and reproach, +cut him like a knife. She pressed one hand to her heart, and with the +other tried to draw her cloak around her. She swayed weakly, but +recovered herself in time. Jack, watching her as a man might watch the +gates of paradise close upon him, had failed to hear a cab stop in the +street. He suddenly saw Stephen Foster in the room. + +"Is my daughter here?" he excitedly demanded. + +Madge turned at the sound of her father's voice, and sank, half-fainting, +into his arms. Tears came to her relief, and she shook with the violence +of her sobs. + +Stephen Foster looked from Diane to Jack. Madge had shown him the +anonymous letter, and he needed not to ask if the charge was true. + +"You blackguard!" he cried, furiously. "You dastardly scoundrel!" + +"I do not deserve those words!" Jack said, hoarsely, "but I cannot +resent them. From any other man, under other circumstances--" + +"Coward and liar!" + +With that Stephen Foster turned to the door, with Madge leaning heavily +on him. They passed down the stairs, and the rattle of wheels told that +they had gone. Jack was left alone with Diane. + +"Are you satisfied with your devil's work?" he demanded, glaring at her +with burning, bloodshot eyes. + +"It was not my fault." + +"Not your fault? By heavens--" + +He looked at the crumpled letter he held, and saw that it was apparently +written by a woman. A suspicion that as quickly became a certainty +flashed into his mind. + +"_You_ sent this, and the other one as well," he exclaimed. "Don't deny +it! You planned the meeting here--" + +"It is false, Jack! I swear to you that I know nothing of it--" + +"Perjurer!" he snarled. + +His face was like a madman's as he caught her arm in a cruel grip. She +cowered before him, dropping to her knees. She was pale with fear. + +"Go, or I will kill you!" he cried, disregarding her protestations of +innocence. "I can't trust myself! Out of my sight--let me never see you +or hear of you again. I will give you money to leave London--to return +to Paris. Nevill will arrange it. Do you understand?" + +He lifted her to her feet and pushed her from him. She staggered against +an easel on which was a completed picture in oils, and it fell with a +crash. Jack trampled over it ruthlessly, driving his feet through the +canvas. + +"Go!" he cried. + +And Diane, trembling with terror, went swiftly out into the black and +rainy night. + +An hour later, when Victor Nevill came to say that his search had been +fruitless, he found Jack stretched full length on the couch, with his +face buried in a soft cushion. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +TWO PASSENGERS FROM CALAIS. + + +It was the 9th of November, Lord Mayor's Day, and in London the usual +clammy compound of fog and mist--was there ever a Lord Mayor's Day +without it?--hung like a shroud in the city streets, though it was +powerless to chill the ardor of the vast crowds who waited for the +procession to come by in all its pomp and pageantry. + +At Dover the weather was as bad, but in a different way. Leaden clouds +went scudding from horizon to horizon, accentuating the chalky whiteness +of the cliffs, and reflecting their sombre hue on the gray waters. A +cold, raw wind swept through the old town, lashing the sea to +milk-crested waves. It was an ugly day for cross-Channel passages, but +the expectant onlookers sighted the black smoke of the _Calais-Douvres_ +fully twenty minutes before she was due. The steamer's outline grew more +distinct. On she came, pitching and rolling, until knots of people could +be seen on the fore-deck. + +The majority of the passengers, excepting a few Frenchmen and other +foreigners, were heartily glad to be at home again, after sojourns of +various lengths on the Continent. Two, in particular, could scarcely +restrain their impatience as they looked eagerly landward, though the +social gulf that separated them was as wide as the Channel itself. On +the upper deck, exposed to the buffeting of the wind, stood a short, +portly gentleman in a dark-blue suit and cape-coat; he had a soldierly +carriage, a ruddy complexion, and an iron-gray mustache. Sir Lucius +Chesney was in robust health again, and his liver had ceased to trouble +him. Norway had pulled him together, and a few months of aimless roaming +on the Continent had done the rest. He was anxious to get back to Priory +Court, among his pictures and hot-houses, his horses and cattle, and he +intended to go there after a brief stop in London. + +Down below, among the second-class passengers, Mr. Noah Hawker paced to +and fro, gazing meditatively toward the Shakespeare Cliff. Mr. Hawker, +to give him the name by which he was known in Scotland Yard circles, was +a man of fifty, five feet nine in height, and rather stockily built. He +was lantern-jawed and dark-haired, with a coarse, black mustache curled +up at the ends like a pair of buffalo horns, and so strong a beard that +his cheeks were the color of blue ink, though he had shaved only three +hours before. His long frieze overcoat, swinging open, disclosed beneath +a German-made suit of a bad cut and very loud pattern. His soft hat, +crushed in, was perched to one side; a big horseshoe pin and a scarlet +cravat reposed on a limited space of pink shirt-front. + +There was about one chance in ten of guessing his calling. He looked +equally like a successful sporting man, an ex-prize fighter, a barman, +a racing tout, a book-maker, or a public house thrower-out. But the most +unprejudiced observer would never have taken him for a gentleman. + +It was a thrilling moment when the _Calais-Douvres_, slipping between +the waves, ran close in to the granite pier. She accomplished the feat +safely, and was quickly made fast. The gangway was thrown across, and +there was a mad rush of passengers hurrying to get ashore. A babel of +shouting voices broke loose: "London train ready!" "Here you are, sir!" +"Luggage, sir?" "Extry! extry!" + +Sir Lucius Chesney, who was rarely disturbed by anything, showed on +this occasion a fussy solicitude about his trunks and boxes; nor was +he appeased until he had seen them all on a truck, waiting for the +inspection of the customs officers. Mr. Hawker, slouching along the pier +with his ulster collar turned up and his hat well down over his eyes, +observed the military-looking gentleman and then the prominent +white-lettered name on the luggage. He passed on after an instant's +hesitation. + +"Sir Lucius Chesney!" he muttered. "It's queer, but I'll swear I've +heard that name before. Now, where could it have been? The bloke's face +ain't familiar--I never ran across him. But the name? Ah, hang me if I +don't think I've got it!" + +Mr. Hawker did not get into the London train, though his goal was +the metropolis. He left the pier, and as he walked with apparent +carelessness through the town--he had no luggage--he took an occasional +crafty survey over his shoulder, as a man might do who feared that he +was being shadowed. When the train rattled out of Dover he was in the +public bar of a tavern not far from the Lord Warden Hotel, fortifying +himself with a brandy-and-soda after the rough passage across the +Channel. Meanwhile, Sir Lucius Chesney, seated in a first-class +carriage, was regarding with an ecstatic expression the one piece of +luggage that he had refused to trust to the van. This was a flat leather +case, and it contained something of much greater importance than the +dress-suit for which it was intended. + +Dover was honored by Mr. Hawker's presence until three o'clock in the +afternoon, and he took advantage of the intervening couple of hours to +eat a hearty meal and to count his scanty store of money, after which he +dozed on a bench in the restaurant until roused by a waiter. There are +two railway stations in the town, and he chose the inner one. He found +an empty third-class compartment, and his relief was manifest when the +train pulled out. He produced a short briar-root pipe, and stuffed it +with the last shreds of French Caporal tobacco that remained in his +pouch. + +"Give me the shag of old England," he said to himself, as he puffed away +with a poor relish and watched the flying sides of the deep railway +cutting. "This is no class--it's cabbage leaf soaked in juice. I wonder +if I ain't a fool to come back! But it can't be helped--there was +nothing to be picked up abroad, after that double stroke of hard luck. +And there's no place like London! I'll be all right if I dodge the +ferrets at Victoria. For the last ten years they've only known me +clean-shaven or with a heavy beard, and this mustache and the rig will +puzzle them a bit. Yes, I ought to pass for a foreign gent come across +to back horses." + +The truth about Mr. Noah Hawkins, though it may shock the reader, must +be told in plain words. He was a professional burglar; none of your +petty, clumsy craftsmen that get lagged for smashing a shopkeeper's +till, but a follower to some extent in the footsteps of the masterful +Charles Peace. During the previous February he had come out of +Dartmoor--it was his third term of penal servitude--with a period of +police supervision to undergo. For the space of four months he regularly +reported himself, and then, in company with a pal of even higher +professional standing than himself, he suddenly disappeared from London. + +A well-planned piece of work, cleverly performed, made it advantageous +to the couple to go abroad. It was a question of money, not dread of +discovery and arrest; they had covered their tracks well, and they +believed that no suspicion could fall upon them. They were not prepared +for the ill-luck that awaited them on the Continent. Their fruit of hope +turned to ashes of despair, or very nearly so. They realized but a +fraction of the sum they had expected, and Hawker lost his share of even +that through the treachery of his pal, who departed by night from the +German town where they were stopping. So Hawker started for home, and +he had landed at Dover with, two sovereigns and a few silver coins. He +still believed that the police were ignorant of the business that had +taken him abroad; the worst that he feared was getting into trouble for +failing to report himself. + +"There isn't much danger if I'm sharp," he thought, as the Kentish +landscape, the Garden of England, sped by him in the gathering dusk; +"and I won't touch a crib of any sort till I've tried those other two +lays. It's more than doubtful about the papers--I forget what was in +them. And they may be gone by this time. But, leaving that out, I've got +a pretty sure thing up my sleeve. What happened in Germany put me on the +track--but for that I wouldn't have suspected. I'll make somebody fork +over to a stiff tune, and serve him d---- right. It's the first time I +was caught napping." + +The endless chimney-pots and glowing lights of the great city gladdened +Hawker's heart, and a whiff from the murky Thames bade him welcome home. +He gave up his ticket at Grosvenor road, and when the train pulled into +Victoria he walked boldly through the immense station. He loved London +with a thoroughbred cockney's passion, and he exulted in the sights and +sounds around him. + +Hawker spent his last coppers for a packet of tobacco, and broke one of +his sovereigns to get a drink. He speedily lost himself in the crowds of +Victoria street, satisfied that he had not been recognized or followed. +He went on foot to Charing Cross, and climbed to the top of a brown and +yellow bus. Three-quarters of an hour later he got off in Kentish Town +and made his way to a squalid and narrow thoroughfare in the vicinity of +Peckwater street. He stopped before a house in the middle of a dirty and +monotonous row, and looked at it reminiscently. He had lodged there five +years back, previous to his third conviction, and here he had been +arrested. He had not returned since, for on his release from Dartmoor he +went to live near his pal, who was then planning the lay that had ended +so disastrously. + +He pulled the bell and waited anxiously. A stout, slatternly woman +appeared, and uttered a sharp exclamation at sight of her visitor. She +would have closed the door in his face, but Hawker quickly thrust a leg +inside. + +"None o' that," he growled. "Don't you know me, missus?" + +"It ain't likely I'd furgit _you_, Noah Hawker! What d'ye want?" + +"A lodging, Mrs. Miggs," he replied. "Is my old room to let?" he added +eagerly. + +"It's been empty a week, but what's that to you? I won't 'ave no +jail-bird in my 'ouse. I'm a respectable woman, an' I won't be disgraced +again by the likes of you." + +"Come, stow that! Can't you see I'm a foreign gent from abroad? The +police ain't after me--take my word for it. I've come back here because +you always made me snug and comfortable. I'll have the room, and if you +want to see the color of my money--" + +He produced a half-sovereign, and a relenting effect was immediately +visible. A brief parley ensued, which ended in Mrs. Miggs pocketing the +money and inviting Mr. Hawker to enter. A moment after the door had +closed a rather shabby man strolled by the house and made a mental note +of the number. + +Presently a light gleamed from the window of the first floor back, which +overlooked, at a distance of six feet, a high, blank wall. Noah Hawker +put the candle on a shelf, locked the door noiselessly, and glanced +about the well-remembered room, with its dirty paper, frayed carpet and +scanty furniture. A little later, after listening to make sure that he +was not being spied upon, he blew out the candle and opened the window. +He fumbled for a minute, then closed the window and drew down the blind. +When he relighted the candle he held in one hand a packet wrapped in a +piece of mildewed leather. + +Seating himself in a rickety chair he lighted his pipe and opened the +packet, which contained several papers in a good state of preservation. +He read them carefully and thoughtfully, and the task occupied him for +half an hour or more. + +"Whew! It's a heap better than I counted on--I didn't have the time to +examine them right before," he muttered. "There may be a tidy little +fortune in it. I'll make something out of this, or my name ain't Noah +Hawker. The old chap is out of the running, to start with, so I must +hunt up the others. And that won't be easy, perhaps." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +HOME AGAIN. + + +By an odd coincidence, on the same day that Sir Lucius Chesney and Noah +Hawker crossed over from Calais, a P. and O. steamship, Calcutta for +London, landed Jack Vernon at the Royal Albert Docks. He had expected to +be met there by Mr. Hunston, the editor of the _Illustrated Universe_, +or by one of the staff; yet he seemed rather relieved than otherwise +when he failed to pick out a single familiar face in the crowd. He was +fortunate in having his luggage attended to quickly, and, that formality +done with, he walked to the dock station. + +The four or five intervening months, commencing with that tragic night +in the Ravenscourt Park studio, had wrought a great change in Jack; +though it was more internal, perhaps, than external. His old friends +would promptly have recognized the returned war-artist, laden with +honors that he did not care a jot for. He looked fit, and his step was +firm and elastic. His cheeks were deeply bronzed and well filled out. A +severe bullet wound and a sharp attack of fever had led to his being +peremptorily ordered home as soon as he was convalescent, and the sea +voyage had worked wonders and built up his weakened constitution. But he +was altered, none the less. There were hard lines about his mouth and +forehead, and in his eyes was a listless, weary, cynical look--the look +of a man who finds life a care and a burden almost beyond endurance. + +The train was waiting, and Jack settled himself in a second-class +compartment. He tossed his traveling-bag on the opposite seat, lighted +a cigar, and let his thoughts wander at will. At the beginning of his +great grief, when nothing could console him for the loss of Madge, the +_Illustrated Universe_, a weekly journal, had asked him to go out to +India and represent them pictorially in the Afridi campaign on the +Northwest frontier. He accepted readily, with a desperate hope in his +heart that he did not confide to his friends. He wasted no time in +leaving London, which had become intensely hateful to him. He joined the +British forces, and performed his duty faithfully, sending home sketches +that immensely increased the circulation of the _Universe_. And he did +more. At every opportunity he was in the thick of the fighting. Time and +again, when he found himself with some little detachment that was cut +off from the main column and harassed by the enemy, he distinguished +himself for valor. He risked his life recklessly, with an unconcern that +surprised his soldier comrades. But the Afridis could not kill him. He +recovered from a bullet wound in the shoulder and from fever, and now he +was back in England again. + +It was a dreary home-coming, without pleasure or anticipation. The sense +of his loss--the hopeless yearning for Madge--was but little dulled. He +felt that he could never take up the threads of his old life again; he +wished to avoid all who knew him. He had no plans for the future. His +studio was let, and the new tenant had engaged Alphonse--Nevill had +arranged this for him. He had received several letters from Jimmie, and +had answered them; but neither referred to Madge in the correspondence. +She was dead to him forever, he reflected with savage resentment of his +cruel fate. As for Diane, she had taken his three hundred pounds--it was +arranged through Nevill--and returned to the Continent. She had vowed +solemnly that he should never see or hear of her again. + +The train rolled into Fenchurch street. Jack took his bag and got out, a +little dazed by the unaccustomed hubbub and din, by the jostling throng +on the platform. Here, again, there was no one to meet him. He passed +out of the station--it was just four o'clock--into the clammy November +mist. He shivered, and pulled up his coat collar. He was standing on the +pavement, undecided where to go, when a cab drew alongside the curb. A +corpulent young gentleman jumped out, and immediately uttered an eager +shout. + +"Jack!" he cried. "So glad to see you! Welcome home!" + +"Dear old Jimmie! This is like you!" Jack exclaimed. As he spoke he +gripped his friend's hand, and for a brief instant his face lighted up +with something of its old winning expression, then lost all animation. +"How did you know I was coming?" he added. + +"Heard it at the office of the _Universe_. Did you miss Hunston?" + +"I didn't see him." + +"Then he got there too late--he said he was going to drive to the docks. +I'm not surprised. It's Lord Mayor's Day, you know, and the streets are +still badly blocked. I had a jolly close shave of it myself. How does it +feel to be back in dear old London?" + +"I think I prefer Calcutta," Jack replied, stolidly. "I'm not used to +fogs." + +Jimmie regarded him with a critical glance, with a stifled sigh of +disappointment. He saw clearly that strange scenes and stirring +adventures had failed to work a cure. He expected better things--quite +a different result. + +"Yes, it's beastly weather," he said; "but you'll stand it all right. +You are in uncommonly good condition for a chap who has just pulled +through fever and a bullet hole. By Jove! I wish I could have seen you +tackling the Afridis--you were mentioned in the papers after that last +scrimmage, and they gave you a rousing send-off. You deserve the +Victoria Cross, and you would get it if you were a soldier." + +"I didn't fight for glory," Jack muttered, bitterly. "I'm the most +unlucky beggar alive." + +Jimmie looked at him curiously. + +"You don't mean to say," he asked, "that you were hankering for an +Afridi bullet or spear in your heart?" + +"It's the best thing that could have happened. They tell me I bear a +charmed life, and I believe it's true. I never expected to come back, +if you want to know." + +"I'm sorry to hear you say that, old man. You need cheering up. Have you +any luggage besides that bag?" + +"I sent the rest on to the _Universe_ office." + +"Then come to my rooms--you know you left a lot of clothes and other +stuff there. You can fix up a bit, and then we'll go out and have a good +feed." + +"As you like," Jack assented, indifferently. "But I must see Hunston +first--he will go from the docks to the office, and expect to find me +there." + +They entered a cab and drove westward, through the decorated streets and +surging crowds of the city, down Ludgate Hill and up the slope of Fleet +street. Jack left his friend in the Strand, before the _Illustrated +Universe_ building, with its windows placarded with the paper's original +sketches and sheets from the current issue, and it was more than an +hour later when he turned up at Jimmie's luxurious chambers in the +Albany. He was in slightly better spirits, and he exhaled an odor of +brandy. He had a check for five hundred pounds in his pocket, and there +was more money due him. + +"Where's my war-paint?" he demanded. + +That meant, in plain English, Jack's dress clothes, and they were soon +produced from a trunk he had left in Jimmie's care. He made a careful +toilet, and then the two sallied forth into the blazing streets and +pleasure-seeking throngs. + +They went to the Continental, above Waterloo Place, and Jack ordered +the dinner lavishly--he insisted on playing the host. He chatted in +his old light-hearted manner during the courses, occasionally laughing +boisterously, but with an artificial ring that was perceptible to his +companion. His eyes sparkled, and his brown cheeks flushed under the +glow of the red-shaded lamps. + +"This is a rotten world, Jimmie," he said. "You know that, don't you? +But I've come home to have a good time, and I'm going to have it--I +don't care how." + +"I wouldn't drink any more," Jimmie urged. + +"Another bottle, old chap," Jack cried, thickly, as he lighted a fresh +cigar; "and then we'll wind up at the Empire." + +"None for me, thank you." + +"Then I'll drink it myself," vowed Jack. "Do you hear, _garcon_--'nother +bottle!'" + +Jimmie looked at him gravely. He had serious misgivings about the +future. + + * * * * * + +Many of London's spacious suburbs have the advantage of lying beyond the +scope of the fog-breeding smoke which hangs over the great city, and at +Strand-on-the-Green, on that 9th of November, the weather was less +disagreeable. + +A man and a woman came slowly from the direction of Kew Bridge, +sauntering along the wet flagstones of the winding old quay, which +was almost as lonely as a rustic lane. Victor Nevill looked very +aristocratic and handsome in his long Chesterfield coat and top hat; in +one gray-gloved hand he swung a silver-headed stick. Madge Foster walked +quietly by his side, a dainty picture in furs. She was as lovely as +ever, if not more so, but it was a pale, fragile sort of beauty. She had +spent the summer in Scotland and the month of September in Devonshire, +and had returned to town at the beginning of October. Change of air and +scenery had worked a partial cure, but had not brought back her merry, +light-hearted disposition. She secretly nursed her grief--the sorrow +that had fallen on her happy young life--and tried hard not to show it. +There was a wistful, far-away expression in her eyes, and she seemed +unconscious of the presence of her companion. + +"It's a beastly day," remarked Nevill. "I shouldn't like to live by the +river in winter. You need cheering up. What do you say to a box at the +Savoy to-night? There is plenty of time to arrange--" + +"I don't care to go, thank you," was the indifferent reply. + +The girl drew her furs closer about her throat, and watched a grimy +barge that was creeping up stream. She had become resigned to seeing a +good deal of Victor Nevill lately, but her treatment of him was little +altered. She knew his real name now, and that he was the heir of Sir +Lucius Chesney. She had accepted his excuses--listened to him with +resentment and indignation when he explained that he had assumed the +name of Royle because he wanted to win her for himself alone, and not +for the sake of his prospects. She realized whither she was trending, +but she felt powerless to resist her fate. + +They paused a short distance beyond the Black Bull, where the quay +jutted out a little like a pier. It was guarded by a railing, and Madge +leaned on this and looked down at the black, incoming tide lapping below +her. No other person was in sight, and the white mist seemed suddenly to +close around the couple. The paddles of a receding steamer churned and +splashed monotonously. From Kew Bridge floated a faint murmur of +rumbling traffic. It was four o'clock, and the sun was hidden. + +"You are shivering," said Nevill. + +"It is very cold. Will you take me home, please?" + +As she spoke, the girl turned toward him, and he moved impulsively +nearer. + +"I will take you home," he said; "but first I want to ask you a +question--you _must_ hear me. Madge, are you utterly heartless? Twice, +when I told you of my love, you rejected it. But I persevered--I did not +lose hope. And now I ask you again, for the third time, will you be my +wife? Do I not deserve my reward?" + +The girl did not answer. Her eyes were downcast, and one little foot +tapped the flagstone nervously. + +"I love you with all my heart, Madge," he went on, with deep and sincere +passion in his voice. "You cannot doubt that, whatever you may think of +me. You are the best and sweetest of women--the only one in the world +for me. I will make your life happy. You shall want for nothing." + +"Mr. Nevill, you know that I do not love you." + +"But you will learn to in time." + +"I fear not. No, I am sure of it." + +"I will take the risk. I will hope that love will come." + +"And you would marry me, knowing that I do not care for you in that way?" + +"Yes, gladly. I cannot live without you. Say yes, Madge, and make me the +happiest of men." + +"I suppose I must," she replied. She did not look him in the face. "My +father wishes it, and has urged me to consent. It will please him." + +"Then you will be my wife, Madge?" + +"Some day, if you still desire it." + +"I will never change," he said, fervently. + +It was a strange, ill-omened promise of marriage, and a bitter +realization of how little it meant was suddenly borne home to Nevill. +He touched the girl's hand--more he dared not do, though he longed to +take her in his arms and kiss her red lips. The coldness of her manner +repelled him. They turned and walked slowly along the river, while the +shadows deepened around them. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +A SHOCK FOR SIR LUCIUS. + + +They lingered but a moment at the house, standing irresolutely by the +steps. Madge did not invite Nevill to stop, which suited him in his +present mood. He pressed the girl's cold hand and strode away into the +darkness. His thoughts were not pleasant, and there was a sneering smile +on his face. + +"I have won her," he reflected. "Won her at last! She will be my wife. +But it is not a victory to be proud of--not worth the infamy I've waded +through. She consented because she has been hard driven--because I +compelled her father to put the screws on. How calmly she told me that +she did not love me! I can read her like a book. I hoped she had +forgotten Jack, but I see now that she cares for him as much as ever. +Oh, how I hate him! Is his influence to ruin my life? I ought to be +satisfied with the blow I have dealt him, but if I get a chance to +strike another--" + +A harsh laugh finished the sentence, and he hit out viciously with his +stick at a cat perched on a garden wall. + +A Waterloo train conveyed him cityward, and, avoiding the haunts of his +associates, he dined at a restaurant in the Strand. It was eight o'clock +when he went to his rooms in Jermyn street, intending to change his +clothes and go to a theatre. A card lay inside the door. It bore Sir +Lucius Chesney's name, and Morley's Hotel was scribbled on the corner of +it. Nevill scowled, and a look that was closely akin to fear came into +his eyes. + +"So my uncle is back!" he muttered. "I knew he would be turning up some +time, but it's rather a surprise all the same. He wants to see me, of +course, and I don't fancy the interview will be a very pleasant one. +Well, the sooner it is over the better. It will spoil my sleep to-night +if I put it off till to-morrow." + +He dressed hurriedly and went down to Trafalgar Square. Sir Lucius had +just finished dinner, and uncle and nephew met near the hotel office. +They greeted each other heartily, and Sir Lucius invited the young man +upstairs to his room. He was in a good humor, and expressed his +gratification that Nevill had come so promptly. + +"I want a long chat with you, my boy," he said. "Have you dined?" + +"Yes." + +Sir Lucius lighted a cigar, and handed his case to Nevill. + +"Been out of town this summer?" he asked. + +"The usual thing, that's all--an occasional run down to Brighton, a +month at country houses, and a week's shooting on the Earl of Runnymede's +Scotch moor." + +"London agrees with you. I believe you are a little stouter." + +"And you are looking half a dozen years younger, my dear uncle. How is +the liver?" + +"It ought to be pretty well shaken to pieces, from the way I've trotted +it about. It hasn't troubled me for months, I am glad to say. I've had +a most enjoyable holiday, and a longer one than I intended to take. I +stopped in Norway seven weeks, and then went to the Continent. I did the +German baths, Vienna and a lot of other big cities, and came to Paris. +There I met an old Anglo-Indian friend, and he dragged me down to the +Riviera for a month. But there is no place like home. I've been in town +only a couple of hours--crossed this morning. And to-morrow I'm off to +Priory Court." + +"So soon?" + +"Yes; I can't endure your fogs." + +There was an awkward pause. Nevill struck a match and put it to his +cigar, though it did not need relighting. Sir Lucius coughed, and +stirred nervously in his chair. + +"You remember that little matter I wrote you about," he began. "Have you +done anything?" + +"My dear uncle, I have left nothing undone that I could think of," +Nevill replied; "but I am sorry to say that I have met with no success +whatever. It was a most difficult undertaking, after so many years." + +"I feared it would be. You didn't advertise?" + +"No; you told me not to do that." + +"Quite right. I wished to avoid all publicity. But what steps did you +take?" + +"I made careful inquiries, interviewed some of the older school of +artists, and searched London and provincial directories for some years +back. Then I consulted a private detective. I put the matter in his +hands. He worked on it for a couple of months, and finally said that +it was too much for him. He could not discover a trace of either your +sister or her husband, and he suggested that they probably emigrated +to America or Australia years ago." + +"That is more than possible," assented Sir Lucius; "and it is likely +that they are both dead. But they may have left children, and for their +sakes--". He broke off abruptly, and sighed. "I should like to have a +talk with your private detective, if he is a clever fellow," he added. + +"He is clever enough," Nevill replied slowly, "but I am afraid you +would have to go a long distance to find him. He went to America a week +ago to collect evidence for a divorce case in one of the Western States." + +"Then he will hardly be back for months," said Sir Lucius. "No matter. +I think sometimes that it is foolish of me to take the thing up. But when +a man gets to my age, my boy, he is apt to regret many episodes in his +past life that seemed proper and well-advised at the time. I am convinced +that I was too harsh with your aunt. Poor Mary, she was my favorite +sister until--" + +He stopped, and his face hardened a little at the recollection. + +"I wish I could find her," said Nevill. + +"I am sure you do, my boy. I am undecided what steps to take next. It +would be a good idea to stop in town for a couple of days and consult +a private inquiry bureau. But no, not in this weather. I will let the +matter rest for the present, and run up later on, when we get a spell +of sunshine and cold." + +"I think that is wise. Meanwhile I am at your service." + +"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Victor, you must have incurred some +considerable expense in my behalf. Let me write you a check." + +"There is no hurry--I don't need the money," Nevill answered, +carelessly. "I will look up the account and send it to you." + +"Or bring it with you when you come down to Priory Court for Christmas, +if I can induce you to leave town." + +"I shall be delighted to come, I assure you." + +"Then we'll consider it settled." + +Sir Lucius lighted a fresh cigar and rose. His whole manner had changed; +he chuckled softly, and his smile was pleasant to see. + +"I have something to show you, my boy," he said. "It is the richest +find that ever came my way. Ha, ha! not many collectors have ever been +so fortunate. I know where to pry about on the Continent, and I have +made good use of my holidays. I sent home a couple of boxes filled with +rare bargains; but this one--" + +"You will be rousing the envy of the South Kensington Museum if you +keep on," Nevill interrupted, gaily; he was in high spirits because the +recent disagreeable topic had been shelved indefinitely. "What is it?" +he added. + +"I'll show you in a moment, my boy. It will open your eyes when you see +it. You will agree that I am a lucky dog. By gad, what a stir it will +cause in art circles!" + +Sir Lucius crossed the room, and from behind a trunk he took a flat +leather case. He unlocked and opened it, his back screening the +operation, and when he turned around he held in one hand a canvas, +unframed, about twenty inches square; the rich coloring and the outlines +of a massive head were brought out by the gaslight. + +"What do you think of that?" he cried. + +Nevill approached and stared at it. His eyes were dilated, his lips +parted, and the color was half-driven from his cheeks, as if by a sudden +shock. He had expected to see a bit of Saracenic armor, made in +Birmingham, or a cleverly forged Corot. But this-- + +"I don't wonder you are surprised," exclaimed Sir Lucius. "Congratulate +me, my dear boy." + +"Where did you get it?" Nevill asked, sharply. + +"In Munich--in a wretched, squalid by-street of the town, with as many +smells as Cologne. I found the place when I was poking about one +afternoon--a dingy little shop kept by a Jew who marvelously resembled +Cruikshank's Fagin. He resurrected this picture from a rusty old safe, +and I saw its value at once. It had been in his possession for several +years, he told me; he had taken it in payment of a debt. The Jew was +pretty keen on it--he knew whose work it was--but in the end I got it +for eleven hundred pounds. You know what it is?" + +"An undoubted Rembrandt!" + +"Yes, the finest Rembrandt in existence. No others can compare with it. +Look at the brilliancy of the pigments. Observe the masterful drawing. +See how well it is preserved. It is a prize, indeed, my boy, and worth +double what I paid for it. It will make a sensation, and the National +Gallery will want to buy it. But I wouldn't accept five thousand pounds +for it. I shall give it the place of honor in my collection." + +Sir Lucius paused to get his breath. + +"You don't seem to appreciate it," he added. "Remember, it is absolutely +unknown. Victor, what is the matter with you? Your actions are very +strange, and the expression of your face is almost insulting. Do you +dare to insinuate--" + +"My dear uncle, will you listen to me for a moment?" said Nevill. +"Prepare yourself for a shock. I fear that the picture is far better +known than you think. Indeed, it is notorious." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that this Rembrandt, which you purchased in Munich, is the +identical one that was stolen some months ago from Lamb and Drummond, +the Pall Mall dealers. The affair made a big stir." + +"Impossible!" + +"It is only too true. Did you read the papers while you were away?" + +"No; I scarcely glanced at them. But I can't believe--" + +"Wait," said Nevill. From a pocket-book he produced a newspaper +clipping, which he handed silently to his uncle. It contained an account +of the robbery. + +Sir Lucius read to the end. Then his cheeks swelled out, and turned from +red to purple; his eyes blazed with a hot anger. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed, "was ever a man so cruelly imposed upon? It is +a d--nable shame! You are right, Victor. This is the stolen Rembrandt!" + +"Undoubtedly. I can't tell you how sorry I feel for you." Nevill's +expression was most peculiar as he spoke, and the semblance of a smile +hovered about his lips. + +"What is to be done?" gasped his uncle, who had flung the canvas on +a chair, and was stamping savagely about the room. "It is clear as +daylight. The thieves disposed of the painting in Munich, to my lying +rascal of a Jew. Damn him, I wish I had him here!" + +"Under the peculiar circumstances, my dear uncle, I should venture to +suggest--" + +"There is only one course open. This very night--no, the first thing +to-morrow morning--I will take the picture to Lamb and Drummond's and +tell them the whole story. I can't honorably do less." + +"Certainly not," assented Nevill; it was not exactly what he had been +on the point of proposing, but he was glad that he had not spoken. + +"I won't feel easy until it is out of my hands," cried Sir Lucius. "Good +heavens, suppose I should be suspected of the theft! Ah, that infamous +scoundrel of a Jew! The law shall punish him as he deserves!" + +Rage overpowered him, and he seemed in danger of apoplexy. There was +brandy on the table, and he poured out a glass with a shaking hand. +Nevill watched him anxiously. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +AT A NIGHT CLUB. + + +Victor Nevill called for his uncle at nine o'clock the next morning--it +was not often he rose so early--and after breakfasting together the two +went on to Lamb and Drummond's. Sir Lucius carried the unlucky picture +under his arm, and he thumped the Pall Mall flagstones viciously with +his stick; he walked like a reluctant martyr going to the stake. + +Mr. Lamb had just arrived, and he led his visitors to his private +office. He listened with amazement and rapt interest to the story they +had come to tell him, which he did not once interrupt. When the canvas +was unrolled and spread on the table he bent over it eagerly, then drew +back and shook his head slightly. + +"I was not aware of the robbery until my nephew informed me last night," +explained Sir Lucius. "I have lost no time in restoring what I believe +to be your property. It is an unfortunate affair, and a most +disagreeable one to me, apart from any money considerations. But +it affords me much gratification, sir, to be the means of--" + +"I am by no means certain, Sir Lucius," Mr. Lamb interrupted, "that this +_is_ my picture." + +"There could not be two of them!" gasped Sir Lucius. + +"As a matter of fact, there _are_ two," was the reply. "It is a curious +affair, Sir Lucius, but I can speedily make it clear to you." + +Very concisely and briefly Mr. Lamb told all that he knew about the +duplicate Rembrandt, giving the gist of his interview months before with +Jack Vernon. + +"Then you mean to say that this is the duplicate?" asked Nevill. + +"No; I can't say that." + +Sir Lucius brightened suddenly. The loss of his prize was a heavy blow, +but it would be far worse, he told himself, if he had been tricked into +buying a false copy. He hated to think of such a thing--it was a wound +to his pride, an insult to his judgment. + +"I have reason to believe that the duplicate was a splendid replica of +the original, otherwise it would not have been worth the trouble of +stealing," Mr. Lamb went on. "Mr. Vernon assured me of that. So, under +the circumstances, I cannot be positive which picture lies here before +us. My eyesight is a little bad, and I prefer not to trust to it. Mr. +Drummond might recognize the canvas, but he is out of town. I am +disposed to doubt, however, that this is the original Rembrandt." + +"You think it is more likely to be the duplicate?" inquired Sir Lucius. + +"I do." + +Sir Lucius swelled out with indignation, and his cheerfulness vanished. + +"I am sorry to hear that" he said. "I can scarcely believe that I have +been imposed upon. I am somewhat of an authority on old masters, Mr. +Lamb." + +The dealer smiled faintly; he had known Sir Lucius in a business way for +a number of years. + +"The price you paid--eleven hundred pounds--favors my theory," he +replied. "Your Munich Jew, whom I happen to know by repute, is a very +clever scoundrel. It is most unlikely that he would have parted with a +real Rembrandt for such a sum. But I will gladly refund you the amount +if this proves to be the original." + +"I don't want the money," growled Sir Lucius. "I dare say you are right, +sir; and if so, it is not to my discredit that I have been taken in by +such a perfect copy. Gad, it would have deceived Rembrandt himself! But +the question still remains to be settled. How can that be done, and as +quickly as possible?" + +"Mr. Vernon, the artist, is the only person who can do that. He put a +private mark on the duplicate--" + +"Vernon--John Vernon?" interrupted Sir Lucius. "Surely, Victor, I have +heard you mention that name?" + +"Quite right, uncle," said Nevill. He made the admission promptly, +foreseeing that a denial might have awkward consequences in the future. +"I know Jack Vernon well," he added. "He is an old friend. But I am +sorry to inform you that he is not in England at present." + +This was false, for Nevill had noted in the morning paper that Jack was +one of the passengers by the P. and O. steamship _Ismaila_, which had +docked on the previous day. Mr. Lamb, it appeared, was not aware of the +fact. + +"Your nephew is correct, Sir Lucius," he said. "Mr. Vernon has been in +India for some months, acting as special war artist for the _Universe_. +But he is expected home very shortly--in the course of a week, I +believe." + +"I shall not be here then," said Sir Lucius. "I am to leave London +to-day. What would you suggest?" + +"Allow the canvas to remain in my hands--I will take the best of care +of it," replied Mr. Lamb. "I will write to you as soon as Mr. Vernon +returns, and will arrange that you shall meet him here." + +"Very well, sir," assented Sir Lucius. "Let the matter rest at that. +When I hear from you I will run up to town." + +He still hoped to learn that he had bought the original picture, and he +would have preferred an immediate solution of the question. He was in a +dejected mood when he left the shop with his nephew, but he cheered up +under the influence of a good lunch and a pint of port, and he was in +fairly good spirits when he took an afternoon train from Victoria to his +stately Sussex home. + +"Hang the Rembrandt!" he said at parting. "I don't care how it turns +out. Run down for a few days at the end of the month, Victor--I can give +you some good shooting." + +Glancing over a paper that evening, Mr. Lamb read of Jack Vernon's +return. But to find him proved to be a different matter, and at the end +of a week he was still unsuccessful. Then, meeting Victor Nevill on +Regent street, he induced him to join in the search for the missing +artist. The commission by no means pleased Nevill, but he did not see +his way to refuse. + + * * * * * + +For thirteen days Sir Lucius Chesney had been back at Priory Court, +happy among his horses and dogs, his short-horns and orchids; his +pictures rested temporarily under a cloud, and he was rarely to be found +in the spacious gallery. In London, Victor Nevill enjoyed life with as +much zest as his conscience would permit; Madge Foster dragged through +weary days and duller evenings at Strand-on-the-Green; and the editor of +the _Illustrated Universe_ wondered what had become of his bright young +war-artist since the one brief visit to the office. + +At two o'clock on a drizzling, foggy morning a policeman, walking up +the Charing Cross Road, paused for a moment to listen to some remote +strains of music that came indistinctly from a distance; then he +shrugged his shoulders and went on--it was no business of his. The +sounds that attracted the policeman's attention had their source in a +cross street to the left--in one of those evil institutions known as a +"night club," which it seems impossible to eradicate from the fast life +of West End London. + +It was a typical scene; there were many like it that night. The house +had two street doors, and behind the inner one, which was fitted with a +small grating and kept locked, squatted a vigilant keeper, equally ready +to open to a member or deny admittance to any one who had no business +there. On the first floor, up the dingy stairs, were two apartments. The +outer and smaller room had a bar at one side, presided over by a bright, +golden-haired young lady in _very_ conspicuous evening dress, whose +powers of _repartee_ afforded much amusement to her customers. These +were, many of them, in more or less advanced stages of intoxication, and +they comprised sporting men, persons from various unfashionable walks of +life, clerks who wanted to soar like eagles, and a few swell young men +who had dropped in to be amused. A sprinkling of women must be added. + +Both apartments were hung with engravings and French prints and +decorated with tawdry curtains, and in the larger of the two dancing was +going on. Here the crowd was denser and of the same heterogeneous kind. +It was a festival of high jinks--a sway of riotous, unbridled merriment. +A performer at the piano, with a bottle of beer within easy reach, +rapped out the inspiriting chords of a popular melody. Couples glided +over the polished floor, some lightly, some galloping, and all reckless +of colliding with the onlookers. There was a touch of the _risque_ in +the dancing, suggesting the Moulin Rouge of a Casino de Paris carnival. +Occasionally, during a lull, songs were sung by music-hall _artistes_ of +past celebrity, who were now glad of the chance to earn a few shillings +before an uncritical audience. The atmosphere was charged with the scent +of rouge and powder, brandy and stale sherry. Coarse jest and laughter, +ringing on the night, mocked at go-to-bed London. + +Two young men leaned against the wall of the dancing-room, close to +the door, both smoking cigars. They wore evening dress, considerably +rumpled, and their attitudes were careless. The elder of the two was +Tony Mostyn, a clever but dissipated artist of the decadent school, who +steered his life by the rule of indulgence and worked as little as +possible. + +"It's rather dull," he said; "eh, old chap?" + +"It gives one a bad taste," his companion replied. "I don't see why you +brought me here." + +The second speaker was Jack Vernon. He looked bored and weary, but his +cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled; the women who glanced pertly +at him as they swung by inspired him merely with disgust. He had come to +the club with Mostyn, after a dozen turns at the Alhambra, followed by a +prolonged theater supper. He had drunk more than was good for him during +the course of the evening, but the effects had about worn off. + +The story of the past two weeks--since Jack's return from India--was a +sad one. He tried his best to drown the bitter memories of Madge, of +what he had lost. He cut loose from Jimmie and other old friends, took +lodgings in an out-of-the-way quarter, and turned night into day. He had +plenty of money, and he had not been near the office of the _Universe_. +He found boon companions among the wildest acquaintances of his Paris +days, including Tony Mostyn and his set. But a fortnight had dispelled +the glamour, and life looked blacker to him than it had ever looked +before. Courage and manhood were at a low ebb. He laughed recklessly +as he wondered what the end would be. + +"Let us go and get a drink," he said to his companion. + +As he spoke a tumult broke out at the far end of the room. Scuffling +feet and men's angry voices mingled with cries of protest and women's +shrill screams. Then followed a heavy fall, a groan, and a rush of +people. The music had stopped and the dancers were still. + +"There's been a row," exclaimed Mostyn. "It's bad for the club." + +Idle curiosity led Jack to the spot, and Mostyn accompanied him. +They elbowed their way through, and saw a flashily-dressed man with +blue-black cheeks and a curling black mustache lying on the floor. He +was bleeding from an ugly wound on the forehead, where he had been +struck by a bottle. His assailant had slipped away, scared, and was +being smuggled out of the room and down stairs by his friends. + +"What a shame!" ejaculated a terrified woman. + +"It's no fair fighting," added another. + +"Shut up, all of you!" angrily cried a harsh-voiced man--clearly one in +authority--as he elbowed his way to the front. "Do you want to bring the +police down on us?" + +The warning had a prompt effect, and comparative silence ensued. The +injured man tried to rise, but his potations had weakened him more than +the loss of blood. + +"Where's the bloke what hit me?" he feebly demanded. + +His maudlin speech and woe-begone manner roused Jack's sympathy. He +knelt down beside him, and made a brief examination. + +"It's nothing serious--the bottle glanced off," he said. "Fetch water +and a sponge, and I'll soon stop the bleeding. Who has a bit of +plaster?" + +No sponge was to be had, but a basin of water was quickly produced. Jack +tore his handkerchief in two and wet part of it. He was about to begin +operations when a hand tapped him on the shoulder and a familiar voice +pronounced his name. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A QUICK DECISION. + + +Jack turned around, and when he saw Victor Nevill bending over him he +looked first confused and then pleasurably surprised. + +"Hello, old chap," he said. "Wait a bit, will you?" + +"You've led me a chase," Nevill whispered in a low voice. "I want to +talk to you. Important!" + +"All right," Jack replied. "I'll be through in a couple of minutes." + +He wondered if it could have anything to do with Diane, as he set to +work on the injured man. With deft fingers he bathed the cut, staunched +the blood, and applied a piece of plaster handed to him by a bystander; +over it he placed the dry half of his handkerchief. + +"You'll do now," he said. "It's not a deep cut." + +With assistance the man got to his feet. The shock had sobered him, and +he was pretty steady. He pulled his cap on his head, and winced with +pain as it stirred the bandage. + +"Where's the cowardly rat what hit me?" he demanded. + +"Never you mind about 'im," put in the proprietor of the club--a very +fat man with a ponderous watch-chain. "While the excitement was on 'e +'ooked it. You be off, too--I don't want any more rowing." Sinking his +voice to a faint whisper, he added: "You'd be worse off than the rest +of us, 'Awker, should the police 'appen to come." + +"Yes, go home, my good fellow," urged Jack. "You look ill; and what you +need is rest. You'll be all right in the morning." + +He pressed half a sovereign into the man's hand--so cleverly that none +observed the action--and then slipped back and joined Nevill and Mostyn, +who had a slight acquaintance with each other. The three had left the +room, and were going downstairs, before Mr. Noah Hawker recovered from +his surprise on learning that his gift was gold instead of a silver +sixpence. It chanced that he was reduced to his last coppers, and so the +half sovereign was a boon indeed. He nudged the elbow of a supercilious +looking young gentleman in evening dress who was passing. + +"That swell cove who fixed me up--he's just gone," he said. "He's a real +gent, he is! Could you tell me his name, sir?" + +"Aw, yes, I think I can," was the drawling reply. "He's an artist chap, +don't you know! Name of Vernon." + +"Might it be John Vernon?" + +"That's it, my man." + +The name rang in Noah Hawker's ears, and he repeated it to himself as he +stumbled downstairs. He was in such a brown study that he forgot to tip +the door-keeper who let him into the street. He pulled his cap lower to +hide his bandaged head, and struck off in the direction of Tottenham +Court road. + +"Funny how I run across that chap!" he reflected. "Vernon--John +Vernon--yes, it's the same, no doubt about it. But he's only an artist, +and I know what artists are. There's many on 'em, with claw-hammer coats +and diamonds in their shirt-fronts, as hasn't got two quid to knock +together. You won't suit my book, Mr. Vernon--you're not in the running +against the others. It's a pity, though, for he was a real swell, what I +_call_ a gent. But I'll keep him in mind, and it sort of strikes me I'll +be able to do him a good turn some day." + +Meanwhile, as Noah Hawker walked northward in the direction of Kentish +Town, Jack and his companions had reached Piccadilly Circus. Here Mostyn +left them, while Jack and Nevill went down Regent street. + +"A bit of a rounder, that chap," said Nevill. "He's not your sort. What +have you been doing with yourself for the last two weeks? I've not seen +you since you sailed for India, early in the summer." + +"How did you find me to-night?" asked Jack, in a tone which suggested +that he did not want to be found. + +"I met a Johnny who told me where you were. I vowed he was mistaken at +first, but he stuck to it so positively--" + +"You said you wanted to talk to me," Jack interrupted. "I suppose it is +about--" + +"No; you're wrong. _She_ is in Paris, and she won't trouble you again. +The fact is, I have a message for you from Lamb and Drummond. They've +been trying to find you for a fortnight." + +"Lamb and Drummond looking for me? Ah, yes, I think I know what they +want." + +"It's a queer business, isn't it? My uncle is mixed up in it--Sir Lucius +Chesney, you know." + +"Then he has told you--" + +"Only a little. It's not my affair, and I would rather not speak about +it. Can I tell Mr. Lamb that you will call upon him at five o'clock +to-morrow afternoon--or this afternoon, to be correct? They will want +to get my uncle from the country." + +"I will be there at that hour," Jack assented, and with a hasty +"Good-night" he was gone, striding rapidly away. Nevill looked after +him for a moment, and then sauntered home. The street lights showed +a sneering smile of satisfaction on his face. + +Jack could easily have picked up a cab, but he preferred to walk. He +went along the Strand, now waking up to the life and traffic of early +morning. Turning into Wellington street, he crossed Waterloo Bridge, and +the gray dawn was breaking when he let himself into a big, dingy house +not far from the river. Here, remote from his friends, he had chosen to +live, in two rooms which he had fitted up more than comfortably with +recent purchases. Even Jimmie did not know where he was--never dreamed +of looking for him on the Surrey side. His brain was too active for +sleep, and he sat up smoking another hour. + +It was two o'clock in the afternoon when Jack awoke from an unrefreshing +slumber; his head was heavy, and he would have liked to remain in bed +for the rest of the day. He remembered that he had two engagements; he +had promised to attend a "do" at a studio in Joubert Mansions, Chelsea, +where he would meet a lot of Tony Mostyn's set, and make night noisy +until the wee hours of the morning. At four o'clock he started to dress +for the evening. At five a cab put him down in Pall Mall, opposite the +premises of Lamb and Drummond. A clerk conducted him to the private +office, which was well lighted. Mr. Lamb was present, and with him a +soldierly, aristocratic-looking gentleman who had been summoned by wire +from Sussex. Victor Nevill would have been there also, but he had +pleaded a previous engagement. + +The military gentleman was formally introduced as Sir Lucius Chesney. +Jack shook hands with him nonchalantly, and wondered what was coming +next; he did not much care. Sir Lucius regarded Jack carelessly at +first, then with a stare that was almost impertinent. He adjusted a pair +of gold-rimmed eye-glasses, and looked again. He leaned forward in his +chair, under the influence of some strong agitation. + +"Bless my soul!" he muttered, half audibly. "Very remarkable!" + +"I beg your pardon, sir," said Jack. + +"Nothing! nothing!" replied Sir Lucius, in some confusion. "So you are +Mr. Vernon?" + +"That is my name, sir." + +Sir Lucius pulled himself together, and thoughtfully stroked his +mustache. An awkward pause was broken by Mr. Lamb, who proceeded to +state at some length the business that had rendered Jack's presence +imperative. Sir Lucius listened with rising indignation, as the story +poignantly recalled to him his bitter experience with the Munich Jew. +Jack, seeing the ludicrous side, with difficulty repressed an +inclination to smile. + +"Let me have the picture," he said. "I can settle the question at once." + +Sir Lucius rose eagerly from his seat. Mr. Lamb took the canvas from +an open safe and spread it on the table. Jack bent over it, standing +between the two. He laughed as he pointed to a peculiar +brush-stroke--insignificant in the general effect--down in the lower +right-hand corner. + +"There is my mark," he said, "and this is the duplicate I painted for +Martin Von Whele, nearly six years ago." + +"I thought as much," exclaimed Mr. Lamb. + +"Are you sure of what you are saying, young man?" asked Sir Lucius. + +"Quite positive, sir," declared Jack. "I assure you that--" + +"Yes, there can be no doubt about it," interrupted Mr. Lamb. "I was +pretty well satisfied from the first, but I would not trust my own +judgment, considering the poorness of my eyesight. This is the copy, and +the person who stole it from Mr. Vernon's studio disposed of it later to +the Jew in Munich, who succeeded--very naturally, I admit--in selling it +to you as the real thing, Sir Lucius." + +There was a _double entendre_ about the "very naturally" which Sir +Lucius chose, rightly or wrongly, to interpret to his own disadvantage. + +"Do you mean to insinuate--" he began, bridling up. + +"As for the genuine Rembrandt--_my_ picture," resumed Mr. Lamb, "its +disappearance is still shrouded in mystery. It can be only a matter of +time, however, until the affair is cleared up. But that is poor +consolation for the insurance people, who owe me £10,000." + +"It is well you safeguard yourself in that way," observed Jack. "I +shouldn't be surprised if your picture turned up as unexpectedly as mine +has done, and perhaps before long. But I can hardly call this my +property. Sir Lucius Chesney is out of pocket to the tune of eleven +hundred pounds--" + +"D--n the money, sir!" blurted out Sir Lucius. "I can afford to lose it. +And pray accept the Rembrandt from me as a gift, if you think you are +not entitled to it legally." + +"You are very kind, but I prefer that you should keep it." + +"I don't want it--won't have it! Take it out of my sight!--it is only a +worthless copy!" Sir Lucius, purple in the face, plumped himself down in +his chair. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Vernon," he added. "As a copy it is +truly magnificent--it does the greatest credit to your artistic skill. +It deceived _me_, sir! Whom would it not have deceived? There is an end +of the matter! I shall forget it. But I will go to Munich some day, and +beat that rascally Jew within an inch of his life!" + +"If you can catch him," thought Jack. "I had better leave the painting +with you for the present, Mr. Lamb," he said. "It may be of some use in +your search for the original." + +"Quite so," assented the dealer. "I will gladly retain it for the +present." + +"If that is all," Jack continued, "I will wish you good afternoon." + +"One moment, Mr. Vernon," said Sir Lucius, whose choleric indications +had completely vanished. "I--I should like to have an interview with +you, if you will consent to humor an old man. Your face interests me--I +admire your work. I propose to remain in town for a brief time, though +I am off to Oxford to-night, to visit an old friend, and will not be back +until to-morrow afternoon. Would you find it convenient to give me a +call to-morrow night at eight o'clock, at Morley's Hotel?" + +Jack was silent; his face expressed the surprise he felt. + +"I should like you to come down to Sussex and do some landscapes of +Priory Court," Sir Lucius further explained. + +"I am not working at present," Jack said, curtly. + +"But there is something else--a--a private matter," Sir Lucius replied, +confusedly. "I beg that you will oblige me, Mr. Vernon." + +"Very well, sir, since you wish it so much," Jack consented. "I will +come to Morley's Hotel at eight to-morrow evening." + +"Thank you, Mr. Vernon." + +Jack shook hands with both gentlemen, picked up his hat and stick, and +went off to an early dinner. Sir Lucius looked after him wistfully. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +ANOTHER CHANCE. + + +Sir Lucius Chesney remained for an hour to further discuss the affair +of the two Rembrandts with Mr. Lamb, and the conversation became so +interesting that he almost forgot that he had arranged to leave +Paddington for Oxford at eight o'clock; when he suddenly remembered the +fact he hurried off, fearful of losing his dinner, and St. Martin's in +the Fields indicated a quarter to seven as he entered Morley's Hotel. + +At that time a little party of three persons were sitting down to a +table in one of the luxurious dining-rooms of the Trocadero. Victor +Nevill was the host, and his guests were Stephen Foster and his +daughter; later they were all going to see the production of a new +musical comedy. + +Madge, as lovely as a dream in her lustrous, shimmering evening gown, +fell under the sway of the lights and the music, and was more like her +old self than she had been for months; the papers had been kept out of +her way, and she did not know that Jack had returned from India. Stephen +Foster was absorbed in the _menu_ and the wine-card, and Nevill, in the +highest of spirits, laughed and chatted incessantly. He was ignorant of +something that had occurred that very day, else his evening's pleasure +would surely have been spoiled. + +To understand the incident, the reader must go back to the previous +night, or rather an early hour of the morning. For the last of the West +End restaurants were putting out their lights and closing their doors +when Jimmie Drexell, coming home from a "smoker" at the Langham Sketch +Club, ran across Bertie Raven in Piccadilly. It was a fortunate meeting. +The Honorable Bertie was with a couple of questionable companions, and +he was intoxicated and very noisy; so much so that he had attracted the +attention of a policeman, who was moving toward the group. + +Jimmie, like a good Samaritan, promptly rescued his friend and took +him to his own chambers in the Albany, as he was obviously unfit to go +elsewhere. Bertie demurred at first, but his mood soon changed, and he +became pliant and sullen. He roused a little when he found himself +indoors, and demanded a drink. That being firmly refused, he muttered +some incoherent words, flung himself down on a big couch in Jimmie's +sitting-room, and lapsed into a drunken sleep. + +Jimmie threw a rug over him, locked up the whisky, and went off to bed. +His first thought, when he woke about nine the next morning, was of +his guest. Hearing footsteps in the outer room, he hurriedly got into +dressing-gown and slippers and opened the communicating door. He was not +prepared for what he saw. Bertie stood by the window, with the dull gray +light on his haggard face and disordered hair, his crushed shirt-front +and collar. A revolver, taken from a nearby cabinet, was in his hand. He +was about to raise it to his forehead. + +Jimmie was across the room at a bound, and, striking his friend's arm +down, he sent the weapon clattering to the floor. + +"Good God!" he cried. "What were you going to do?" + +"End it all," gasped Bertie. He dropped into a chair and gave way to a +burst of tears, which he tried hard to repress. + +"What does it mean?" exclaimed Jimmie, breathing quick and deep. "Are +you mad?" + +Bertie lifted a ghastly, distorted face. + +"It means ruin, old chap," he replied. "That's the plain truth. I wish +you had let me alone." + +"Come, this won't do, you know," said Jimmie. "You are not yourself +this morning, and I don't wonder, after the condition I found you in +last night. Things always look black after a spree. You exaggerate, of +course, when you talk about ruin. You are all unstrung, Bertie. Tell me +your troubles, and I'll do what I can to help you out of them." + +Bertie shuddered as his eyes fell on the pistol at his feet. + +"It's awfully good of you, old fellow," he answered huskily, "but you +can't help me." + +"How do you know that? Come, out with your story. Make a clean breast of +it!" + +Moved by his friend's kind appeal, the wretched young man confessed his +troubles, speaking in dull, hopeless tones. It was the old story--a +brief career on the road to ruin, from start to finish. A woman was at +the bottom of it--when is it otherwise? Bertie had not reformed when he +had the chance; Flora, the chorus-girl of the Frivolity, had exercised +too strong an influence over him. His income would scarcely have kept +her in flowers, and to supply her with jewels and dinners and a hundred +other luxuries, as well as to repay money lost at cards, he had plunged +deeper into the books of Benjamin and Company, hoping each time that some +windfall would stave off disaster. Disregarding the advice of a few +sincere friends, he had continued his mad course of dissipation. And +now the blow had fallen--sooner than he had reason to expect. A bill for +a large amount was due that very day, and Benjamin and Company refused +to renew it; they demanded both interest and principal, and would give +no easier terms. + +"You'd better let me have that," Bertie concluded, desperately, pointing +to the pistol. + +Jimmie kicked the weapon under the table, put his hands deep into the +pockets of his dressing gown, and whistled thoughtfully. + +"Yes, it's bad," he said. "So you've gone to the Jews! You ought to have +known better--but that's the way with you chaps who are fed with silver +spoons. I'm not a saint myself--" + +"Are you going to preach?" put in Bertie, sullenly. + +"No; my little lecture is over. Cheer up and face the music, my boy. +It's not as bad as you think. Surely your father will get you out of +the scrape." + +"Do you suppose I would tell him?" Bertie cried, savagely. "That would +be worse than--well, you know what I was going to do. It's just because +of the governor that I can't bear to face the thing. He has paid my +debts three times before, and he vowed that if I ran up any more bills +he would ship me off to one of his ranches in Western America. He will +keep his word, too." + +"Ranch life isn't bad," said Jimmie. + +"Don't talk about it! I would rather kill myself than go out there, away +from England and all that one cares for. You know how it is, old man, +don't you? London is the breath of life to me, with its clubs and +theaters, and suppers, and jolly good fellows, and--" + +"And Flora!" Jimmie supplemented drily. + +"D--n Flora! She threw up the Friv yesterday and slipped off to the +Continent with Dozy Molyneaux. I'm done with _her_, anyway! But what +does it all matter? I'm ruined, and I must go under. Give me a drink, +old chap--a stiff one." + +"You can't have it, Bertie. Now, don't get riled--listen to me. Where +was your father while you were going the pace so heavily?" + +"In Scotland--at Runnymede Castle. He's there still, and knows nothing +of what I've been doing. I dare say he thinks I've been living +comfortably on my income--a beggarly five hundred a year!" + +"What amount is the bill that falls due to-day?" + +"Seven hundred and fifty pounds, with interest." + +"And there are others?" + +"Yes; three more--all renewals." + +"And the total sum? Can you give it to me?" + +"What's the use?" Bertie muttered. "But if you want to know--" He took a +bit of paper from his pocket. "I counted it up yesterday," he added. "I +can't get clear of the Jews for less than twenty-five hundred pounds." + +"It's a heavy sum!" + +"I can't raise a fraction of it. And the worst of it is that Victor +Nevill is on--By Jove, I shouldn't have let that out!" + +"You mean that Nevill indorsed the paper--all of it?" + +"Only the first bill, and the next one Benjamin and Company took without +an indorsement, as they did with the later ones. Nevill warned me what +would happen if I kept on. I wish I had listened to him!" + +Jimmie looked very grave. + +"So Nevill steered you to the Jews!" he said, in a troubled tone. "It +was hardly the act of a friend. Have you spoken to him in regard to this +matter?" + +"Yes, but he was short of money, and couldn't help me," Bertie replied. +"He was awfully cut up about it, and went to see the Jews. It was no +good--they refused to renew the bill on his indorsement." + +"And heretofore they have accepted paper bearing your own signature +only! Of course they knew that you had future expectations, or that your +father would protect them from loss. It's the old game!" + +"My expectations are not what they were," Bertie said sullenly, "and +that's about what has brought things to a crisis. I can see through a +millstone when there is a hole in it. I have a bachelor uncle on my +mother's side--a woman-hater--who always said that he would remain +single and make me his heir. But he changed his mind a couple of months +ago, and married." + +"Be assured that Benjamin and Company know that," Jimmie answered; "it's +their reason for refusing to renew the bill." + +"Yes; Nevill told me the same. He advised me to own up to the governor." + +"How about your eldest brother--Lord Charters?" + +"No good," the Honorable Bertie replied, gloomily; "we are on bad terms. +And George is in New York." + +"Then I must put you on your feet again." + +"You!" + +"Yes; I will lift your paper--the whole of it." + +"Impossible! I can't accept money from a friend!" + +"I'm more than that, my boy--or will be. Isn't your brother going to +marry my cousin? And, anyway, we'll call it a loan. I'll take your I O U +for the amount, and you can have twenty years to repay it--a hundred if +you like. I can easily spare the money." + +"I tell you I won't--" + +"Don't tell me anything. It's settled. I mean to do it." + +Bertie broke down; his scruples yielded before his friend's persistence. + +"I'll pay it back," he cried, half sobbingly. "I'll be able to some day. +God bless you, Jimmie--you don't know what you've saved me from. Another +chance! I will make the most of it! I'll cut the old life and run +straight--I mean it this time. I'm done with cards and evil companions, +and all the rest of it!" + +"Glad to hear it," said Jimmie. "I want your word of honor that you +won't exceed your income hereafter, and that you will leave London for +six months and go home." + +"I will; I swear it!" + +"And you will have nothing more to do with Flora and her kind?" + +"Never again!" + +"I believe you," said Jimmie, patting the young man on the shoulder. +"Cheer up now and we'll breakfast together presently, and meanwhile I'll +send a man round to your rooms for some morning togs. Then I'll leave +you here while I go down to the city to see my bankers. I'll be back +before noon, and bring a solicitor with me; I want the thing done +ship-shape." + +With that, Jimmie retired to the bedroom, where he was soon heard +splashing in his tub. An hour later, when breakfast was over, he hurried +away. He returned at half-past twelve, accompanied by an elderly +gentleman of legal aspect, Mr. Grimsby by name. Bertie was ready, +dressed in a suit of brown tweeds, and the three went on foot to Duke +street, St. James'. They passed through the narrow court, and, without +knocking, entered the office of Benjamin and Company. No one was there, +but two persons were talking in a rear apartment, the door of which +stood open an inch or so. And one of the voices sounded strangely +familiar to Jimmie. + +"Listen!" he whispered to Bertie. "Do you hear that?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +ON THE TRACK. + + +In answer to Jimmie's question, Bertie gave him a puzzled look; he +clearly did not understand. At the same instant the conversation in the +next room was brought to a close. Some person said "Good-morning, +Benjamin," and there was a sound of a door closing and of retreating +footsteps; one of the speakers had gone, probably by another exit. The +house, as Jimmie suspected, fronted on Duke street, and it was the rear +portion that was connected with the court. + +The elderly Jew, who was Mr. Benjamin himself, promptly entered the +office, adjusting a black skull-cap to his head. He gave a barely +perceptible start of surprise at sight of his visitors; he could not +have known that they were there. He apologized extravagantly, and +inquired what he could have the pleasure of doing for them. Mr. Grimsby +stated their business, and the Jew listened with an inscrutable face; +his deep-sunken eyes blinked uneasily. + +"Do I understand," he said, addressing himself to the Honorable Bertie, +"that you wish to take up not only the bill which is due to-day--" + +"No; all of them, Benjamin," Bertie interrupted. "My friend wants to pay +you to the last penny." + +"I shall be happy to oblige," said the Jew, rubbing his hands. "I always +knew that you were an honest young gentleman, Mr. Raven. I am sorry that +I had to insist on payment, but my partner--" + +"Will you let me have the paper, sir," Jimmie put in, curtly. + +The Jew at once bestirred himself. He opened a safe in which little +bundles of documents were neatly arranged, and in a couple of minutes he +produced the sheaf of bills that had so nearly been the ruin of his +aristocratic young client. The first one was among the number; it had +been renewed several times, on Nevill's indorsement. + +The affair was quickly settled. The solicitor went carefully over Mr. +Benjamin's figures, representing principal and interest up to date, and +expressed himself as satisfied; it was extortionate but legal, he +declared. The sum total was a little over twenty-five hundred +pounds--Bertie had received less than two-thirds of it in cash--and +Jimmie promptly hauled out a fat roll of Bank of England notes and paid +down the amount. He took the canceled paper, nodded coldly to the Jew, +and left the money-lender's office with his companions. + +Mr. Grimsby, declining an invitation to lunch, hailed a cab and went off +to the city to keep an appointment with a client. The other two walked +on to Piccadilly, and Bertie remembered that morning, months before, +when Victor Nevill had helped him out of his difficulties, only to get +him into a tighter hole. + +"No person but myself was to blame," he thought. "Nevill meant it as a +kindness, and he advised me to pull up when he found what I was drifting +into--I never mentioned the last bill to him. Dear old Jimmie, he's +given me another chance! How jolly to feel that one is rid of such a +burden! I haven't drawn an easy breath for weeks." + +"We'll go to my place first," said Jimmie. "I want a wash after the +atmosphere of that Jew's den. And then we'll lunch together." + +It was a dull and cheerless day, but the sitting-room in the Albany +looked quite different to Bertie as he entered it. Was it only a few +hours before, he wondered, that he had stood there by the window in the +act of taking that life which had become too great a burden to bear? And +in the blackness of his despair, when he saw no glimmer of hope, the +clouds had rolled away. He glanced at the pistol, harmlessly resting on +a shelf, and a rush of gratitude filled his heart and brought tears to +his eyes. He clasped his friend's hand and tried incoherently to thank +him. + +"Come, none of that," Jimmie said, brusquely. "Let us talk of something +more interesting. I have a pot of money; and this stuff," pulling out +the packet of bills, "don't even make a hole in it. It was a jolly +little thing to do--" + +"It wasn't a little thing for me, old chap. I shall never forget, and +be assured that you will get your money back some day, with interest." + +"Oh, hang the money!" exclaimed Jimmie. "If I'm ever hard up I'll ask +for it. If you want to show your gratitude, my boy, see that you stick +to your promise and run straight as a die hereafter." + +"I swear I will, Jimmie. I would be worse than a blackguard if I didn't. +Don't worry--I've had my lesson!" + +"Then let it be a lasting one. There are plenty of fellows who _never_ +get clear of the Jews." + +Jimmie vanished into the next room, and in a few moments reappeared, +rubbing his face vigorously with a towel. + +"Do you remember in the Jew's den," he said abruptly, "my calling your +attention to the men talking in the back office?" + +"Yes, but I didn't know what you meant." + +"Didn't one of the voices sound familiar to you?" + +"By Jove, you're right, come to think of it. It reminded me of--" + +"Of Victor Nevill," said Jimmie. "Benjamin's companion talked exactly +like him, it struck me." + +"That's it. Queer, wasn't it? But, of course, it was only a coincidence. +Nevill couldn't have been there." + +"No; I hardly think so," Jimmie answered, slowly and seriously. + +"I'm positive about it," exclaimed Bertie. "Surely you wouldn't +insinuate that Nevill is a--" + +"No, I can't believe him to be that--a tout for money-lenders. But it +was wonderfully like his voice." + +"Don't get such an idea into your head," protested Bertie. "Nevill was +only in the place twice, and then he went to oblige me. He hates the +Jews, and won't have anything to do with them himself. And he don't +need to. He has a settled income of two or three thousand a year." + +"Yet he refused to help you, and pleaded that he was hard up?" + +"Yes," assented Bertie, "but he didn't put it exactly in that way. He +explained how he was fixed, and I quite understand it. He must save all +his spare cash just now. He is going to be married soon." + +"That's news," said Jimmie. "I hadn't an inkling of it." + +"Nor I," declared Bertie, "until a week ago. I was dining with Nevill, +and he had taken half a bottle too much, you know. That's when he let +it out." + +"Who is the girl?" + +"A Miss Foster, I believe. She lives somewhere near Kew Bridge, in a +big, old-fashioned house on the river. I suppose her father has money. +From what Nevill said--" + +A sharp exclamation fell from Jimmie's lips, and his face expressed +blank astonishment. + +"By Jove! Nevill engaged to Madge Foster?" he cried. + +"That's the girl, and he's going to marry her!" + +Jimmie turned away to hide his feelings. This was a most astounding +piece of news, but under the circumstances he was satisfied that it +must be true. So Nevill knew Miss Foster! That in itself was a strange +revelation! And suddenly a vague suspicion came into his mind--a +chilling doubt--as he recalled Nevill's demeanor, and certain little +actions of his, on the night when Jack Vernon's French wife confronted +him under the trees of Richmond Terrace. Had a jealous rival planned +that Diane should be there?--that she should come to life again to blast +the happiness of the man who believed her dead? He tried to put away the +suspicion, but it would not be stifled; it grew stronger. + +"I say, old man, what's gone wrong?" asked Bertie. "You're acting +queerly. I hope _you've_ not been hit in that quarter." + +Jimmie faced around and laughed. + +"No fear, Bertie," he said. "I'm not a marrying man. I wouldn't know +Miss Foster from your precious Flora, for I've never seen either of +them." He suddenly remembered the photograph Jack had shown him, and his +cheeks flushed. "It gave me a bit of a start to hear that Nevill was +going to be married," he added, hastily. "I thought he was too fond of +a bachelor's existence to tie himself to a wife." + +"It's funny what a woman can do with a chap," Bertie sagely observed. + +"_You_ ought to know," Jimmie replied, pointedly, as he pulled on his +coat. "Come along! It's past my lunch hour, and I'm hungry." + +On their way to a noted restaurant in the vicinity Jimmy engaged in deep +reflection. + +"I'll do it," he vowed, mentally. "I'll keep an eye on Mr. Victor +Nevill, and get to the bottom of this thing. I remember that I took a +dislike to him in Paris from the first. I hate a traitor, and if Nevill +has been playing the part of a false friend, I'll block his little game. +He seemed rather too anxious to take Diane away that night. And he'll +bear watching for another reason--I'm almost certain that it was his +voice I heard in the Jew's back room. Benjamin and Company, like charity, +may cover a multitude of sins. Nevill was going a rapid pace when he was +abroad, and he couldn't well have kept it up all these years on his +legacy." + + * * * * * + +It was eleven o'clock at night, and the theatres were pouring their +audiences from pit and stalls, galleries and boxes, into the crowded, +tumultuous, clamoring Strand, blazing and flashing like a vast, long +furnace, echoing to the roar of raucous throats, and throbbing to +the rumble of an endless invasion of cabs and private carriages. A +fascinating scene, and one of the most interesting that London can show. + +The uniformed commissionaire of the Ambiguity, reading the wishes of a +lady and gentleman who pressed across the pavement to the curb, promptly +claimed a hansom and opened the door. Stephen Foster helped his daughter +into it and followed her. Madge looked fragile and tired, but her sweet +beauty attracted the attention of the bystanders; she drew her fluffy +opera-cloak about her white throat and shoulders as she nestled in a +corner of the seat. Nevill, who had been separated from them by the +crush, came forward just then. + +"I'm sorry you won't have some supper," he said. "It is not late." + +"It will be midnight before we get home," Stephen Foster replied. "We +are indebted to you for a delightful evening." + +"Yes, we enjoyed it _so_ much," Madge added, politely. + +"I hope you will let me repeat it soon," Nevill said. + +The girl did not answer. She held out her hand, and it was cold to +Nevill's touch. He bade them both good-night, and stepped aside to give +the cabby his directions. He watched the vehicle roll away, and then +scowled at the commissionaire, who waited expectantly for a tip. + +"As beautiful as a dream," he thought, savagely, "but with a heart of +ice--at least to me. Will I never be able to melt her?" + +It is no easy matter to cross the Strand when the theaters are dismissing +their audiences, and five minutes were required for Nevill to accomplish +that operation; even then he had to avail himself of a stoppage of the +traffic by a policeman. He bent his steps to the grill-room of the Grand, +and enjoyed a chop and a small bottle of wine. Lighting a cigar, he +sauntered slowly to Jermyn street, and as he reached his lodgings a man +started up suddenly before him. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he said humbly, "but ain't you Mr. Victor Nevill?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +A FATEFUL DECISION. + + +Nevill paused, latch-key in hand; a cautious impulse checked the +admission of his identity. The individual who had accosted him, seen by +the glow of a distant street-lamp, was thickset and rakish-looking, with +a heavy mustache. He repeated his question uneasily. + +"If I've made a mistake--" he went on. + +"No, you are not mistaken," said Nevill. "But how did you learn my name, +and what do you want with me?" + +On a natural impulse, fancying he recognized a racing tipster who had +been of service to him in the past, he reached for his pocket; the +jingling of coin was heard. + +"Stow that--I'm not a beggar!" the man said, sharply. + +"I beg your pardon! I thought I recalled--" + +"We never met before, Mr. Nevill." + +"Then it's a queer time of night for a stranger to hunt me up. If you +have business with me, come in the morning; or, better still, write to +me." + +"I've got to talk to you to-night, sir, and I ain't to be put off. For +two blessed hours I've been hanging around this house, watching an' +waiting--" + +"A sad waste of time! You are an impudent fellow, whoever you are. I +refuse to have anything to do with you." + +"I think you'll change your mind, sir. If you don't you'll be sorry till +your dying day." + +"You scoundrel, do you dare to threaten me?" cried Nevill. "There is +only one remedy for ruffians of your kind--" He looked up and down the +street in search of a policeman. + +"You can call an officer if you like," the man said, scornfully; "or, if +you choose to order me away, I'll go. But in that case," he bent nearer +and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I'll take my secret straight to Sir +Lucius Chesney. And I'll warrant _he_ won't refuse to hear it." + +Nevill's countenance changed, and he seemed to wilt instantly. + +"Your secret?" he muttered. "Are you telling the truth? What is it?" + +"Do you suppose I'm going to give that away here in the street? It's a +private matter, and can only be told under shelter, where there ain't no +danger of eavesdroppers." + +"I'll trust you," replied Nevill, after a brief hesitation. "Come, you +shall go to my rooms. But I warn you in advance that if you are playing +a game of blackmail I'll have no mercy on you." + +"I won't ask none. Don't you fear." + +Nevill opened the house door, and the two went softly up the dimly lit +staircase. The gas-lamps were turned on, revealing the luxuries of the +front apartment, and the visitor looked about him with bewildered +admiration; he seemed to feel his unfitness for the place, and +instinctively buttoned his coat over his shabby linen. But that was only +for a moment. With an insolent smile he took possession of a +basket-chair, helped himself to a cigar, and poured some brandy from a +_carafe_ into a glass. Meanwhile Nevill had drawn the window curtains, +and when he turned around he had hard work to restrain his anger. + +"What the devil--," he began, and broke off. "You are the cheekiest +fellow I ever came across," he added. + +"It ain't often," replied the man, puffing away contentedly, "that I get +a chance to try a swell's tobacco and liquor. That's prime stuff, sir. I +feel more like talking now." + +"Then be quick about it. What is your business? And as you have the +advantage of me at present, it would be better if you began by stating +your name." + +"My name," the man paused half a second, "is Timmins--Joe Timmins. It +ain't likely that you--" + +"No; I never heard it," Nevill interrupted. He sat down at the other +side of the table, and endeavored to hide his anxiety and impatience. +"I can't spare you much time," he added. + +"Sure there ain't nobody within earshot?" + +"Quite sure. Make your mind easy." + +Mr. Joe Timmins--_alias_ Noah Hawker--expressed his satisfaction by +a nod. He produced a paper from his pocket, and slowly unfolded it. + +"If you will kindly read that," he said. + +Nevill took the document curiously. It consisted of half a dozen pages +of writing, well-worded and grammatical, but done by a wretched, +scrawling hand, and embellished with numerous blots and smudges. From +the first he grasped its import, and as he read on to the end his face +grew pale and his hands shook. With a curse he started to his feet and +made a step toward the grate, where the embers of a coal fire lingered. +Then, dropping down again, he laughed bitterly. + +"Of course this is only a copy?" he exclaimed. + +"That's all, sir," replied Mr. Timmins, with a grim smile. "It ain't +likely I'd been fool enough to bring the original here. I did the copy +myself, an' though I ain't much of a scholar, I do say as it reads for +what it's meant to be, word for word." + +"I want better proof than this, my man." + +"Ain't you satisfied? Look at the date of the letter, an' where it was +written, an' what it says. Could I invent such a thing?" + +"No; you couldn't," Nevill admitted. "You have the original letter, you +say?" + +"I've had that and other papers for years, hid away in a safe place, +which is where they lie now. It's only lately I looked into them deep, +so to speak, and saw what they might be worth to me. I studied them, +sir, and by putting things together I found there were three persons +concerned--three chances for me to try." + +"You are a cunning fellow," said Nevill. "Why did you bring the letter +to me?" + +"Because it pointed that way. I knew you were the biggest bird, and the +one most likely to pay me for my secret. It was quite a different matter +with the others--" + +"You haven't seen them?" + +"No fear!" Mr. Timmins answered, emphatically. "I spotted you as my man +from the first, and I'm glad you've got the sense to look at it right. +I hope we understand each other." + +"I don't think there can be much doubt about that," replied Nevill, +whose quick mind had grasped the situation in all its bearings; he +realized that there was no alternative--save ruin--but to submit to the +scoundrel's terms. But the bargain must be made as easy as possible. + +"I must know more than you have told me," he went on. "How did the +letter come into your possession? And why have you waited more than five +years to make use of it?" + +Mr. Timmins was not averse to answering the questions. He pulled his +chair closer, and in low tones spoke for some minutes, revealing all +that Nevill wished to know, and much besides that was of interest. + +"You'll find me a square-dealing customer," he concluded, "and I expect +the same of a gent like you." + +Nevill shrank from him with ill-concealed disgust and repulsion; contact +with the lower depths of crime affected his aristocratic sensibilities. + +"You swear that you have all the papers?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"And they are in a safe place?" + +"If I was to drop over dead, sir, they wouldn't be found in a hundred +years." + +"We'll proceed to the next question," Nevill said, abruptly. "To speak +with brutal frankness, Mr. Timmins, what is your price?" + +"One thousand pounds in cash, when the papers are handed over," was the +prompt reply, "and a signed agreement to pay me as much more when you +come into--" + +"Do you take me for a millionaire?" cried Nevill. "It's all right about +the agreement, but a thousand pounds is utterly beyond my means. Say two +hundred." + +Mr. Timmins shook his head, and glanced significantly about the room. + +"I can't take a shilling less," he firmly replied. "I know a good thing +when I have it, sir." + +Nevill temporized. He argued and entreated, but without avail. He had an +inflexible customer to deal with, who would not be put off with anything +but his pound of flesh. A decision that night was impossible, and +arrangements were made for another meeting within a few days. Then Mr. +Timmins filled his pocket with cigars and took his leave. + +Nevill let him out into Jermyn street, locked the door, and returned +to his sitting-room. His face was distorted with evil passions, and he +spilled the brandy on the table as he poured some into a glass. + +"Curse him!" he said, hoarsely. "_He_ again! Is he destined to blast my +life and ruin my prospects?" + + * * * * * + +The "do" at Joubert Mansions, Chelsea, by no means fell short of Jack's +forecast; on the contrary, it exceeded it. His memory failed him as to +what transpired after three in the morning; he woke at noon in a strange +bed, with a sense of overmastering languor, and a head that felt too big +for his body. Vance Dickens, with a palette on his thumb, was standing +over him. He laughed till the roof threatened to come off. + +"I wish you could see yourself," he howled. "It's not exactly the +awakening of Venus. You _wouldn't_ be undressed, so we had to tuck you +away as you were--some chaps helped to bring you here." + +"You beggar!" growled Jack. "You look as fresh as a new penny." + +"Two whiskies is my limit, old boy--I don't go beyond it. And I had +a page black-and-white to do to-day. Stir yourself, and we'll have +breakfast. The kettle is boiling. Wait--I'll bring you a pick-me-up." + +The pick-me-up, compounded on the principle that like cures like, did +not belie its name. It got Jack to his feet and soothed his head. The +two men were about of a size, and Dickens loaned his friend a shirt and +collar and a tweed suit, promising to send his dress clothes home by a +trusty messenger. + +"No; I'll attend to that," demurred Jack, who did not care to tell where +he lived. + +He nibbled at his breakfast, drank four cups of strong tea, and then +sauntered to the window. It was drizzling rain, and the streets between +the river and the King's road were wrapped in a white mist. + +"This sort of thing won't do," he reflected. "I must pull up short, or +I'll be a complete wreck." He remembered the brief, sad note--with more +love than bitterness in it--which he had received from Madge in reply to +his letter of explanation. "I owe something to her," he thought. "She +forgave me, and begged me to face the future bravely. And, by heavens, +I'll do it! I hope she doesn't know the life I've been leading since I +came back. Work is the thing, and I'll buckle down to it again." + +Fired by his new resolve, Jack settled himself in a cozy corner and +lighted a pipe. With a stimulating interest he watched Dickens, who had +finished his black-and-white, and was doing a water color from a sketch +made that summer at Walberswick, a quaint fishing village on the Suffolk +coast. He blobbed on the paint, working spasmodically, and occasionally +he refreshed himself at the piano with a verse of the latest popular +song. + +"By Jove, this is Friday!" he said suddenly; "and I'm due at the London +Sketch Club to-night. Will you come there and have supper with me at +nine?" + +"Sorry, but I can't," Jack replied, remembering his promise to Sir +Lucius Chesney. "I'm off now. I'll drop in to-morrow and get my +dress-suit--don't trouble to send it." + +Dickens vainly urged a change of mind. Jack was not to be coerced, and, +putting on a borrowed cap and overcoat, he left the studio. He walked to +Sloane square, and took a train to the Temple; but he was so absorbed +in a paper that he was carried past his station. He got out at +Blackfriars, and lingered doubtfully on the greasy pavement, staring at +the sea of traffic surging in the thick, yellow fog. He had reached +another turning-point in his life, but he did not know it. + +"I'll go to the 'Cheese,'" he decided, "and have some supper." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +A FRUITLESS ERRAND. + + +The merest trifles often have far-reaching results, and Jack's careless +decision, prompted by a hungry stomach, made him the puppet of fate. The +crossing at Blackfriars station is the most dangerous in London, and he +did not reach the other side without much delay and several narrow +escapes. It was a shoulder-and-elbow fight to the mouth of the dingy +little court in which is the noted hostelry he sought, and then +compensation and a haven of rest--the dining-room of the "Cheshire +Cheese!" Here there was no trace of the fog, and the rumble of wheels +was hushed to a soothing murmur. An old-world air pervaded the place, +with its low ceiling and sawdust-sprinkled floor, its well-worn benches +and tables and paneling. The engravings on the walls added to the charm, +and the head waiter might have stepped from a page of Dickens. Savory +smells abounded, and the kettle rested on the hob over the big +fireplace, to the right of which Doctor Johnson's favorite seat spoke +eloquently of the great lexicographer, who in time past was wont to +foregather here with his friends. + +Jack was too hungry to be sentimental. He sat down in one of the +high-backed compartments, and, glancing indifferently at a man sitting +opposite to him, he recognized the editor of the _Illustrated Universe_. + +"By Jove!" Hunston cried, in surprise, "you're the very chap I want to +see. Where have you been hiding yourself, Vernon? I searched for you +high and low." + +"I've not been out of town," said Jack. "I intended to look you up, or +to send my address, but one thing and another interfered--" + +"Yes, I understand," Hunston interrupted. "London is fresh to a man who +has just come back from India. I hope you've had your fling, and are +ready to do some work." + +"As soon as you like," Jack replied. + +"I'm glad to hear it--I was afraid you had given me the slip altogether. +I want some of your sketches enlarged to double-page drawings, and I am +thinking of issuing a photographic album of the snap-shots you took on +the frontier." + +"That's not a bad idea. I'll come in to-morrow." + +"I'll expect you, then. You haven't a studio at present?" + +"No." + +"Well, I can give you a room on the premises to work in. By the bye, +there is a letter for you at the office. It came this morning." + +"I'll get it to-morrow. I don't suppose it's important." + +"It is in a woman's handwriting," said Hunston, with a smile. + +"A woman?" exclaimed Jack. "Where does it come from--England or abroad?" + +"London postmark," was the reply. + +Jack changed color, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat. + +"It must be from Madge," he thought. "But why would she write to me?" + +"If you would like the letter to-night--" Hunston went on. + +"If it's no trouble," Jack replied, eagerly. + +"None whatever. I must go back to the office, anyway." + +Jack was impatient to start, and he no longer felt hungry. He ordered +a light supper, however, and ate it hurriedly. He finished at the same +time as Hunston, and they left the "Cheese" and plunged into the outer +fog and crowds. A short walk brought them to the _Universe_ building, +which was just closing its doors to the public. Hunston turned up the +gas in his office. + +"Here you are," he said, taking a letter from a pigeon-hole over the +desk. + +Jack looked at it sharply, and disappointment banished hope. He scowled +savagely, and an half-audible oath slipped from his lips. He had +recognized Diane's peculiar penmanship. She was in London, contrary +to promise, and had dared to write to him. + +"Sit down," said Hunston. "Have a cigar?" + +"No; I'm off," Jack answered dully, as he thrust the letter into his +pocket unopened. + +Hunston regarded him anxiously. + +"Ill see you to-morrow?" he asked. "You know it's rather important, and +I'll want one of the double pages by next Wednesday." + +"I'll turn up," Jack promised, in an absent tone. + +With that he hastened away, and as he trod the Strand his brain was in a +confused whirl, and he was oblivious of the frothing life about him. He +groped across Waterloo Bridge in the fog, and looked wistfully toward +the black river. He did not care to read the letter yet. It was enough +for the present to know that his wife had broken her word and returned +to London, doubtless with the intention of demanding more money. He +vowed that she should not have a penny. Fierce anger and resentment rose +in his heart as he remembered, with anguish as keen as it had ever been, +the blow Diane had dealt him. + +"I will show her no mercy," he resolved. + +In the privacy of his room, when he had locked the door and lighted the +gas, he took out the letter. His face was dark and scowling as he tore +it open, and read the few lines that it contained: + +"DEAR JACK:--You will fly into a passion when you find that I am in +London, but you won't blame me when you learn the reasons that have +brought me back. I knew that you had returned from India, and I want +to see you. Not having your address, I am sending the letter to the +_Universe_ office, and I hope it will be delivered to you promptly. Will +you come to 324 Beak street, at half-past eight to-morrow night? The +street door will be open. Go to the top of the stairs, and knock at the +first door on the left. Do not fear that I shall ask for money, or make +other demands. I have much to tell you, of the greatest importance to +your future happiness. If you do not come you will regret it all your +life. I will expect you. DIANE." + +With a bitter laugh Jack flung the letter on a table. It was not written +in French, for Diane was herself of English birth, though of her history +before she came to Paris her husband was ignorant; she had never spoken +to him of her earlier years, nor had he questioned her about them. + +"Does she think I am a fool, to be taken in so easily?" he said to +himself. "It is a lie--a trick! Money is her game, of course. She wants +to decoy me to her lodgings, and hopes to make me yield by threats of +exposure. And yet she writes with a ring of sincerity--something like +her old self in the first days of our marriage. Bah! it is only her +cunning." + +He read the letter again, and pondered it. + +"It was written yesterday," he muttered. "The appointment is for +to-night. What could she possibly have to tell me that concerns my +future happiness? Nothing! And yet, if she should really be +remorseful--By Jove! I _will_ go! It can do no harm. But if I find that +she has deceived me, and is playing the old game, by heavens! I'll--" + +Passion choked his utterance, and he concluded the sentence with a +mental threat. He suddenly remembered that he had promised to meet Sir +Lucius Chesney at eight o'clock that night. + +"I can't do it," he thought. "I'm not fit to talk to any man in this +mood. And he would probably detain me more than half an hour. No, I'll +write a short note to Sir Lucius, putting off the engagement, and leave +it at Morley's." + +Whether his decision was a wise one or not, was a question that Jack did +not attempt to analyze. He proceeded to carry his plans into effect. It +was then seven o'clock, and it took him twenty minutes to write the note +to Sir Lucius and exchange his borrowed clothes for a dark suit of his +own. He put Diane's letter into a side pocket, so that he might be sure +of the address, and then left the house. He did not take a cab, +preferring to walk. + +He handed the note in at Morley's Hotel, and steered across Trafalgar +square. At the top of the Haymarket, to his chagrin, he encountered +Jimmie Drexell, who urged him to have a drink at Scott's; he could not +well refuse, as it was nearly a fortnight since they had met. + +A quarter of an hour slipped by. Jimmie asked a great many questions, +but Jack was preoccupied and uneasy, and scarcely answered them. He +finally tore himself away on the plea of an urgent engagement, and +promised to call at the Albany the next day; he was reluctant to confide +in his friend. A distant clock was striking eight-thirty as he turned up +the Quadrant. + +Regent street was noisy and crowded, but Beak street was gloomy and +misty, depressing and lonely, in contrast. Jack found the right number, +and as he hesitated before the house--the door of which was partly +open--a man came abruptly out. He was tall and slim, dressed in dark +clothes, and with a soft hat that concealed all of his features except +an aquiline nose and a black beard and mustache. He stared hard at Jack +for an instant, then strode rapidly off to the eastward and was lost in +the fog. + +"A foreigner, from his actions," thought Jack. + +He pushed the door open, and mounted a steep and narrow staircase. +Reaching the first landing, he saw a door on his left. At the bottom +a faint streak of light was visible, but his low rapping brought no +response. He rapped again--three times, and each louder--but with the +same result. + +"No use to keep this up," he concluded, vexatiously. "I am a few minutes +late, and she has gone out, thinking that I would not come. There is no +mistake about the room. I won't wait--I'll write to her to-morrow, and +give her twenty-four hours to get out of London." + +He went slowly down the dark stairs, and as he stepped into the street +he brushed against a stout, elderly woman. With a muttered apology, he +moved aside. The woman turned and looked after him sharply for an +instant, then entered the house and closed the door. + +Jack thought nothing of the incident. How to put in the evening was +the question that concerned him. He was walking undecidedly down the +Quadrant when he saw approaching an artist friend whom he did not care +to meet. On the impulse of the moment he darted across the street, +narrowly missing the wheels of a hansom, and in front of the Café Royal +he ran into the arms of Victor Nevill. + +"Hello, old chap; you _are_ in a hurry!" cried Nevill. "What's up now? +Seen my uncle?" + +Jack was flushed and breathless. + +"No; I couldn't manage it," he panted. "I left a note at Morley's for +him. I had to make a call--party wasn't at home." + +"Where are you bound for? Morley's?" + +"No; it's too late. Shall we have some refreshment?" + +"Sorry, but I can't," replied Nevill. "I'm going to a reception. Will +you come to my rooms at eleven?" + +"Yes, if I'm not too far away. But don't count on me. Good-night, in +case I don't see you again." + +"Good-night," echoed Nevill. + +As he looked after Jack, the latter pulled out his handkerchief, +and a white object fluttered from it to the pavement. He walked on, +unconscious of its loss. Nevill hurried to the spot, and picked up +a letter. + +"A woman's!" he muttered, as he thrust it quickly into his pocket. "And +the writing seems familiar. I'll examine this when I get a chance. +Everything is fair in the game I am playing." + +Jack wandered irresolutely to Piccadilly Circus, seeking distraction. +In the American bar at the St. James' he met a man named Ingram, who +suggested that they should go to see a mutual friend--an artist--who +lived in Bedford Park. Jack agreed, and they drove in a cab. They found +a lot of other men they knew at the studio, and whisky and tobacco made +the hours fly. They left at two o'clock in the morning--a convivial +party of five--and they had to walk to Hammersmith before they picked up +a hansom. They dropped off one by one, and Jack was the only occupant +when he reached Sloane street. It was long past four when the cab put +him down at his lodgings on the Surrey side. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +A THUNDERBOLT FROM THE BLUE. + + +Another day dawned, as wet and gloomy as the preceding ones. It was the +middle of the morning when Jack got out of bed, and as he dressed he +heard the penetrating voices of newsboys ringing through the Waterloo +Bridge road. He could not distinguish what they were saying, though +he judged that the papers must contain some intelligence of unusual +importance. He rang for his breakfast, and his landlady, Mrs. Jones, +appeared in person, bringing coffee, rolls and bacon on a tray. Her face +was flushed with excitement. + +"Oh, Mr. Vernon, 'ave you 'eard?" she exclaimed. "There was a 'orrible +murder last night! I do pity the poor, dear creature--" + +"I don't want to be shocked," Jack curtly interrupted. "Murders are +common enough. But you might send me up a paper." + +"And you won't 'ear--" + +"Not now, my good woman." + +Mrs. Jones put down the tray, tossed her head, and departed in a huff. +The paper arrived five minutes later, and Jack glanced over it while he +sipped his coffee. One of the inside pages suddenly confronted him with +huge headlines: "The Beak Street Murder!" He read further down the +column, and his face turned as pale as ashes; he swayed in his chair. + +"My God!" he cried. "It is Diane!" + +The report of the affair was enlarged from a briefer account that had +appeared in a late edition on the previous night. It seemed that Mrs. +Rickett, the landlady and proprietress of 324 Beak street, had +discovered the crime at a quarter to ten in the evening. A red stain, +coming through the ceiling of her sitting-room, attracted her attention. +She went to the room overhead, which was occupied by a female lodger +calling herself Diane Merode. The door was locked, and her demands for +admittance brought no response. She promptly summoned the police, who +broke in the door and found the unfortunate woman, Merode, lying dead in +a pool of blood. She had been stabbed to the heart by a powerful blow +dealt from behind. + +"The murderer left no traces," the _Globe_ continued. "He carried off +the weapon, and, after locking the door, he took the key. According to +medical opinion, the deed was committed about half-past eight o'clock. +At that time there were several other lodgers in the top part of the +house, but they heard no noise whatever. Fortunately, however, there +is a clew. Mrs. Ricketts, who was out making purchases for breakfast, +returned about a quarter to nine. As she entered the doorway a man +slipped by her and hastened in the direction of Regent street. She had +a good look at him, and declares that she would be able to recognize him +again. The police are searching for the suspected person." + +Jack's breakfast was untasted and forgotten. His trembling hand had +upset the coffee, spilling it over the paper. He felt cold in every +vein, and his thoughts were in a state of wild chaos. It was hard to +grasp the truth--difficult to realize the import of those staring +headlines of black type! + +"Diane murdered! Diane dead!" he repeated, vacantly. "I can't believe +it!" + +After the first shock, when his brain began to throw off the numbing +stupor, he comprehended the terrible fact. The crime gave him no +satisfaction; it never occurred to him that he was a free man now. On +the contrary, a dull remorse stirred within him. He remembered his wife +as she had been five years before, when she had loved him with as much +sincerity as her shallow nature would permit, and her charms and beauty +had bound him captive by golden chains. There were tears in his eyes as +he paced the floor unsteadily. + +"Poor Diane!" he muttered. "She has paid a frightful penalty for the +sins of her wayward life--more than she deserved. She must have been +lying dead when I rapped on her door last night. Yes, and the fatal blow +had been struck but a short time before! The assassin was the +foreign-looking man who came down the stairs as I went up! There can be +no doubt of it! But who was he? And what was his motive? A discarded +lover, perhaps! What else could have prompted the deed?" + +He suddenly paused, and reeled against the wall; he clenched his hands, +and a look of sharp horror distorted his face. + +"By heavens, this is awful!" he gasped. "I never thought of it before! +The police are looking for me--I remember now that I met the landlady +when I left the house. I brushed against her and apologized, and she +stared straight at me! And the real murderer--the foreigner--appears to +have been seen by nobody except myself. What shall I do? It is on me +that suspicion has fallen!" + +The realization of his danger unnerved and stupefied Jack for an +instant. Dread phantoms of arrest and imprisonment, of trial and +sentence, rose before his eyes. One moment he determined to flee the +country; the next he resolved to surrender to the police and tell all +that he knew, so that the real murderer might be sought for without +loss of time. But the latter course was risky, fraught with terrible +possibilities. The evidence would be strong against him. He remembered +Diane's letter. He must destroy it! He hurriedly searched the pockets of +the clothing he had worn on the previous night, but in vain. + +"The letter is gone--I have lost it!" he concluded, with a sinking +heart. "But where and how? And if it is found--" + +There was a sharp rap at the door, and as quickly it opened, without +invitation. Two stern-looking men, dressed in plain clothes, stepped +into the room. Jack knew at once what the visit meant, and with a +supreme effort he braced himself to meet the ordeal. It was hard work +to stand erect and to keep his face from twitching. + +"You are John Vernon?" demanded one of the men. + +"Yes." + +"I will be very brief, sir. I am a Scotland Yard officer, and I am here +to arrest you on suspicion of having murdered your wife, known as Diane +Merode, at Number 324 Beak street, last night." + +"I expected this," Jack replied. "I have just seen the paper--I knew +nothing of the crime before. I am entirely innocent, though I admit that +the circumstances--" + +"I warn you not to say anything that may incriminate yourself. You must +come with me, sir!" + +"I understand that, and I will go quietly. I am quite ready. And at the +proper time I will speak." + +There was no delay. One of the officers remained to search the +apartments, and Jack accompanied the other downstairs. They got into +a cab and drove off, while Mrs. Jones shook her fist at them from the +doorway, loudly protesting that she was a disgraced and ruined woman +forever. + +The magistrate was sitting in the court at Great Marlborough street, and +Jack was taken there to undergo a brief preliminary formality. Contrary +to advice, he persisted in making a statement, after which he was +removed to the Holloway prison of detention to await the result of the +coroner's inquest. + +About the time that the cell-door closed on the unfortunate artist, +shutting him in to bitter reflections, Victor Nevill was in his rooms on +Jermyn street. Several of the latest papers were spread out before him, +and he brushed them savagely aside as he reached for a cigar-box. He +looked paler than usual--even haggard. + +"They have taken him by this time," he thought. "I was lucky to pick up +the letter, and it was a stroke of inspiration to send it to the police. +He is guilty, without doubt. I vowed to have a further revenge, my fine +fellow, if I ever got the chance, and I have kept my word. But there are +other troubles to meet. The clouds are gathering--I wonder if I shall +weather the storm!" + + * * * * * + +Enterprising reporters, aided by official leaking somewhere, obtained +possession of considerable facts, including the prisoner's arrest and +statement, before two o'clock, and the afternoon journals promptly +published them, not scrupling to add various imaginary embellishments. +The simple truth was enough to cause a wide-spread and profound +sensation, and it did so; for John Vernon's reputation as an artist, and +his Academy successes, were known alike to society and to the masses. It +was a rare morsel of scandal! + +Madge Foster's first knowledge of the murder was gleaned from a morning +paper, which, delayed for some reason, was not delivered until her +father had gone up to town. Toward evening she bought a late edition +from a newsboy who had penetrated to the isolated regions of Grove Park +and Strand-on-the-Green, and she saw Jack's name in big letters. When +she had read the whole account, the room seemed to swim around her, and +she dropped, half fainting, into a chair. + +"He is innocent--his story is true!" she cried, feebly. "I will never +believe him guilty! Oh, if I could only go to him and comfort him in his +great trouble!" + +Stephen Foster came home at seven o'clock, but he dined alone. Madge was +in her room, and would not come out or touch food. Her eyes were red and +swollen, and she had wept until the fountain of her tears was dried up. + +At four o'clock that same afternoon Mr. Tenby, the famous criminal +solicitor, was sitting in his private office in Bedford street, Strand, +when two prospective clients were announced simultaneously, and, by a +mistake on the part of the office-boy, shown in together. The visitors +were Jimmie Drexell and Sir Lucius Chesney, and, greatly to their mutual +amazement and the surprise of the solicitor, it appeared that they had +come on the same errand--to engage Mr. Tenby to look after the interests +of Jack Vernon. They were soon on the best of terms. + +"Mr. Vernon is an old friend of mine," Jimmie explained, "and I am going +to see him through this thing. I will stake my life on his innocence!" + +"I am glad to hear you say that," replied Sir Lucius. "I am convinced +myself that he is guiltless--that his story is true in every +particular. His face is a warranty of that. I am deeply interested in +the young man, Mr. Drexell. I have taken a fancy to him--and I insist on +aiding in his defense. Don't refuse, sir. Expense is no object to me!" + +"Nor to me," said Jimmie. "But it shall be as you wish." + +This understanding being reached, the matter was further gone into. +The solicitor, by adroit questioning, drew from Jimmie various bits of +information relating to the accused man's past life. His own opinion--he +had read all the papers--Mr. Tenby held in reserve behind a sphinx-like +countenance, nor did he vouchsafe it when it was finally settled that he +should defend the case. + +"The circumstantial evidence appears strong--very strong," he said +drily. "The situation looks black for Mr. Vernon. But I trust that the +police will find the foreign-looking individual whom the accused met +coming out of the house, if it is certain that--" He broke off sharply. + +"At all events, gentlemen," he added, "be assured that I shall do my +best." + +This promise from the great Mr. Tenby meant everything. He dismissed his +visitors, and they walked as far as Morley's Hotel together, discussing +the situation as hopefully as they could. It was evident to both, +however, that the solicitor was not disposed to credit Jack's innocence +or the truth of his statement. + +"I'll spend every dollar I have to get him free," Jimmie vowed, as he +went sadly on to the Albany. And much the same thing was in the mind of +Sir Lucius, though he wondered why it should be. He was the creature of +a whim that dominated him. + +The next day was Sunday, and on Monday the coroner held his inquest. +The accused was not present, but he was represented by Mr. Tenby, who +posed mainly as a listener, however, and asked very few questions. +Nothing fresh was solicited. Mrs. Rickett repeated her story, and the +letter from the murdered woman, which the prisoner admitted having lost, +was put in evidence. The proceedings being merely a prelude to a higher +court, the jurors rendered an undecisive verdict. They found that the +deceased had been murdered by a person or persons unknown, but that +suspicion strongly pointed to her husband, John Vernon. They advised, +moreover, that the police should try to find the stranger whom the +accused alleged to have seen coming from the house. + +On Tuesday the unfortunate woman was decently buried, at Jimmie +Drexell's expense, and on the following day a more formal inquiry was +held at Great Marlborough street. Jack was there, and he had a brief and +affecting interview with Sir Lucius and Jimmie; he had previously seen +his solicitor at Holloway. He repeated to the magistrate the story he +had told before, and he was compelled to admit, by the Crown lawyers, +that the murdered woman had been his wife, that they had lived apart for +nearly six years, and that she had recently prevented him from marrying +another woman. What prompted these damaging questions, or how the +prosecution got hold of the lost letter, did not appear. Mrs. Rickett +positively identified the prisoner, and medical evidence was taken. The +police stated that they had been unable as yet to find the missing man, +concerning whose existence they suggested some doubt, and that they had +discovered nothing bearing on the case in the apartments occupied by +either the accused or Diane Merode. Mr. Tenby, who was suffering from +a headache, did little but watch the proceedings. The inquiry was +adjourned, and John Vernon was remanded in custody for a week. + +But much was destined to occur in the interval. The solicitor had a +formidable rival in the person of Jimmie Drexell. The shrewd American, +keeping eyes and ears open, had formed suspicions in regard to the +principal witness for the Crown. And he lost no time in making the most +of his clew, wild and improbable as it seemed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE. + + +On the day of the inquiry at Great Marlborough street, about five +o'clock in the afternoon, Jimmie Drexell walked slowly and thoughtfully +up the Quadrant. The weather had turned cold, and his top hat and +fur-lined coat gave him the appearance of an actor in luck. He was bound +on a peculiar errand, and though he hoped to succeed, he was not blind +to the fact that the odds were very much against him. + +"I shall probably put my foot in it somehow," he reflected dolefully, +"and make a mess of the thing. But if I fail, it won't convince me that +I am wrong. I had my eye on that woman in court, and she was certainly +keeping something back. She seemed confused--in dread of some question +that was never asked. And once or twice I thought she was on the point +of making some startling revelation. I must play a cunning game, for +poor old Jack's sake. If Mrs. Rickett can't save him, and the police +don't find the mysterious stranger, I'm afraid he will be in a devilish +bad way." + +Jimmie turned into Beak street, and pulled the bell of Number 324. He +waited several minutes before the landlady came, and then she opened +the door but a couple of inches, and peered distrustfully out. Jimmie +craftily thrust a foot in, so that the door could not be closed. + +"You do not know me, madam," he said, "but I come as a friend. I wish to +have a short conversation with you." + +Mrs. Rickett's distrust turned to alarm. In her agitation she retreated +a little, and Jimmie carried the first outworks and entered the hall. + +"I must talk to you privately," he added. "We may be overheard here." + +In a tremulous voice the landlady invited him to follow her, and she led +the way to a cozy apartment on the ground floor that was half kitchen +and half sitting-room. A kettle was steaming merrily on the fire, and +overhead an ominous red stain was visible on the ceiling. + +Mrs. Rickett sank limply into a chair, and Jimmie, after closing the +door and removing his hat, seated himself opposite. He assumed an air +of grave importance. + +"My good woman, perhaps you can guess why I am here," he began. "I was +present to-day at Great Marlborough street police-court. I watched the +proceedings closely, and my experience in such cases, and my infallible +sense of discrimination, enabled me to make a discovery." He paused for +breath, and to note the effect of his peroration; he wondered if the +words were right. "I am satisfied," he went on, "that the evidence you +gave--" + +"Oh, Lor', it's come! it's come!" interrupted Mrs. Rickett. "I knew it +would! I've been in fear and tremblin'! Why didn't I speak at the right +time? Indeed, I tried to, but I sorter got choked up! Oh, sir, have pity +on a lone widow!" + +Her face grew white, and she gasped for breath; she threatened to go +into a fit of hysterics. + +"Come, come; there is nothing to be alarmed about," said Jimmie, who +could scarcely hide his delight. "Take comfort, my good woman. You may +have been foolish and thoughtless, but I am sure you have done nothing +criminal. I am here as a friend, and you can trust me. I wish to learn +the truth--that is all. From motives which I can understand, you kept +back some important evidence in connection with this sad tragedy--" + +"I did, sir--I don't deny it. I didn't tell what I should, though I +nearly got the words out a 'eap of times. Please don't carry me off to +prison, sir. I knowed you was a police officer in disguise the minute +I clapped eyes on you--" + +"I have nothing to do with the police," Jimmie assured her. + +"Really? Then perhaps you're a detective--a private one?" + +"Yes, it is something like that. I am making inquiries privately, in +behalf of my unfortunate friend." + +"Meaning Mr. Vernon." + +"That's right. I am convinced of his innocence, and I want to prove it. +You need have no fear. On the contrary, if you tell me freely all that +you know, you shall be well rewarded." + +Mrs. Rickett took comfort, and fervently declared that her visitor +was a real gentleman. She offered him a cup of tea, which he tactfully +accepted, and then fortified her inner self with one, preliminary to +making her statement. + +"I'm that flustered I 'ardly know what I'm doing," she began, wiping her +lips with a corner of her apron. "As to why I didn't speak before, it's +just this, sir. I liked that young man's face, 'im I met comin' out of +my 'ouse that night, and I thought afterward the woman might 'ave done +'im a bitter wrong, which, of course, ain't excusin' 'im for the +dreadful crime of murder, and I wouldn't 'ave you think it--" + +"Then you know something that might be harmful to Mr. Vernon?" Jimmie +interrupted. He began to suspect the situation. + +"That's it, sir!" + +"But, my good woman, Mr. Vernon is absolutely innocent. Take my word +for it. The other man, who left the house just before my friend, is the +guilty person." + +"I didn't believe in that other man at first," Mrs. Rickett replied; +"but it looks like the story might be true, after all. And if it is--" + +"Well?" + +"Then I can tell something about _him_; leastwise I think so." + +"Go on!" Jimmie said, eagerly. + +"I 'eard it from that French woman, Dinah Mer--I never _can_ pernounce +the name," continued Mrs. Rickett. "Pore creature, what a 'orrible end; +though it's a mercy it was so sudden like. But, as I was saying, sir, +she lodged in my 'ouse last spring, and she come back only three days +before the murder. She never 'ad much to say for 'erself, an' I judged +she was stiff and proud. You'll believe I was taken all aback, then, +when she walked into this 'ere very room one evening--it was last +Thursday, the day before the murder--an' takes off her cloak as cool as +you please. 'Mrs. Rickett,' she says, 'I'm feelin' badly. Can you give +me a cup of tea?' Of course I says yes. I was 'aving my own tea at the +time, and I asked 'er to join me, sociable like. By an' by she got to +tellin' me about 'erself. It appears she wasn't really French, but was +born at Dunwold, a village in Sussex, an' lived there till she was grown +up, after which she went abroad. Then she says to me, of a sudden: 'I +met a man to-day--'" + +"One moment!" Jimmie interrupted. He took a note-book and pencil from +his pocket, and jotted down a few lines. "Please resume now," he added. +"What did the deceased tell you?" + +"She told me that she'd met a man on Regent street from her native +English village, meaning Dunwold," Mrs. Rickett went on, "and that he +give her a bad fright. 'Is he an enemy of yours?' I asked. 'Yes, a +bitter one,' she says, 'an' I'm mortal afraid of him. An' the worst of +it is I'm sure he saw me, though I give 'im the slip by going into Swan +and Edgar's at one door and out at another. If he finds me, Mrs. Rickett, +'e'll kill me.' I told 'er not to worrit 'erself, an' I clean furgot the +matter till the next night, when the pore dear creature was stabbed to +the 'eart. I thought I should 'ave lost my 'ead, what with the crowds +that gathered, an' the police in the 'ouse, an' the doctors a viewin' +the departed corpse, an'--" + +Jimmie checked her by a gesture. + +"Are you sure you have told me everything?" he asked. + +"Every blessed word, sir. It's the first and only time the woman spoke +to me of 'erself." + +Jimmie jotted down a few more notes, and his hand shook like a leaf, so +greatly was he thrilled by the value of his discovery. Then he put Mrs. +Rickett through a cross-examination, in what he flattered himself was a +strictly legal style. Certainly Mr. Tenby could not have done it better, +for the landlady had nothing more to tell. + +"I 'ope you're satisfied," she said. "And you won't forget what you +promised--that I shouldn't get into trouble?" + +"I'll see to that," Jimmie replied. "It can be easily managed. I trust +that what you have told me will lead to the acquittal of my friend. Here +are ten pounds for you, and, if all goes well, I shall probably add to +it at another time." + +The landlady thrust the bank notes into her broad bosom. She was +overpowered by the munificence of the gift, and poured out her +gratitude copiously. + +"I've just recollected something," she went on. "There's a secret closet +in the room where the pore woman lodged, an' last spring I 'appened to +show it to 'er. It sort of took 'er fancy, and--" + +"Did the police find it or examine it?" cried Jimmie. + +"No, sir. I forgot to speak of it." + +"Let me see it, please! It may lead to something of importance." + +Mrs. Rickett willingly conducted her visitor through the hall and up the +staircase. A sense of the recent tragedy seemed to haunt the room, with +its drawn curtains and tawdry furnishings, and the dark stain on the +floor. The landlady shuddered, and glanced fearfully around. She made +haste to open a narrow closet, and to slide open a disguised panel at +the back of it, which disclosed a small recess. Jimmie, who was at her +shoulder, uttered a cry of surprise. He saw a gleam of white, and +reached for it quickly. He drew out an envelope, unaddressed and sealed, +with contents of a bulky nature. + +"Bless me! She _did_ 'ide something!" gasped Mrs. Rickett. "What can it +be?" + +"Writing, perhaps," replied Jimmie. "Will you permit me to have this, +Mrs. Rickett? I will examine it at my leisure, and tell you about it +later." + +"I've no objections, sir," the landlady replied, as another five-pound +note was slipped into her hand. "Take it and welcome!" + +Jimmie thanked her, and pocketed the envelope. + +"I will see you again," he said, "and tell you whether I succeed +or fail. And, meanwhile, I must ask you to keep my visit a strict +secret--to inform no one of what you have told me. And don't breathe a +whisper in regard to anything being found in the murdered woman's room. +Keep your own counsel." + +"I'll do that, sir, never fear. I'm a close-mouthed woman, and know how +to hold my tongue, which there ain't many females can say the same. And +I'm sure you'll do the right thing by me." + +"I will, indeed," Jimmie promised. "You shan't have cause to regret your +confidence. And if I can clear my friend through the assistance you have +given me, I will be more liberal than I have been on this occasion." + +"Thank you, sir, and I 'ope with all my 'eart you'll find the guilty +man," Mrs. Rickett declared, vehemently. "I never _did_ think Mr. Vernon +murdered that pore creature. Ah, but it's a wicked world!" + +She accompanied her visitor to the door, showered further effusive +gratitude upon him, and gazed after him till he had turned the corner. +Overjoyed by his unexpected success, hopeful of achieving great results, +Jimmie strode down Regent street, amid the lights and the crowds. The +crisp, cold air had dried the pavements, and the stars shone from a +clear sky. + +"What luck!" he thought, exultantly. "It was a happy inspiration to go +there to-night! Gad, I ought to be in Scotland Yard! There is no doubt +that the man who killed Diane was the same fellow she met the day +before. He hailed from her native village, and of course he was a +discarded lover. It is even possible that he was her husband, in the +days before she went to Paris, became a dancer, and married Jack. I must +utilize the information to the best advantage. The first thing is to run +down to Dunwold, find out all I can, and then put the police on the +track. For the present I will dispense with their services, though it +seems a bit risky to take matters into my own hands. But I rather fancy +the idea of playing detective, and I'll have a go at the business. I +won't tell the solicitor what I have discovered, but I think it will be +wise to confide in Sir Lucius Chesney. By the bye, he lives somewhere in +Sussex. He may be able to help me at the start." + +Jimmie remembered the mysterious envelope in his pocket, and it occurred +to him that the contents might alter the whole situation, and make a +trip to Dunwold unnecessary. He walked faster, impatient to reach the +Albany and investigate his prize in safety. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +A DISCOVERY. + + +Jimmie's first move, on entering his chambers, was to lock the door +behind him and turn up the gas. Then he produced the envelope, and tore +it open, wondering as he did so what penalty the law would exact for +such an offense. The enclosure consisted of a dozen closely-written +pages of note-paper, dated two days before the murder. It was in the +nature of a statement, or confession, which some whim had prompted Diane +to put down in writing. Her motive became clearer to Jimmie as he read +on. She had meant no treachery to Jack in her letter. She had come to +London, a repentant woman, to do him a real service--to open his eyes to +various things--and for that purpose she had made the appointment at +Beak street on the fatal night. In all likelihood the document hidden in +the closet was due to a premonition of impending evil--a haunting dread +of the danger that was creeping upon the unfortunate woman. + +The statement was in the form of a letter, addressed to Jack Vernon on +the first page, and signed "Diane Merode" on the last. It ended quite +abruptly, and did not refer directly to the mysterious stranger or to +Diane's early life, though it hinted at certain things of importance +which she was resolved to tell. But what she disclosed was astounding +in itself, and when Jimmie threw down the pages, after reading them +attentively, his face showed how deeply he was agitated. It took much to +rouse his placid nature to anger, but now his eyes blazed with rage and +indignation. + +"By heavens, this is awful!" he said, hoarsely. "It is far worse than I +dreamed of! The consummate scoundrel! The treacherous blackguard! There +is no need to keep further watch on Victor Nevill. His record is +exposed. How true were my suspicions about that money-lending business! +He dropped some letters in Diane's room last spring, which she declares +proved him to be a partner in the firm of Benjamin and Company. I believe +her--I don't doubt it. The cursed tout! For how many years has he made +use of his social advantages to ruin young men--to decoy them into the +clutches of the Jews? It makes my blood boil! And the worst of it all is +the part he has played toward poor Jack--a false, black-hearted friend +from beginning to end; from the early days in Paris up to the present +time. If I had him here now--" + +He finished the sentence by banging his clenched fist on the table with +a force that made it quiver. + +Little wonder that Jimmie was indignant and wrathful! For Diane, weary +of being made a cat's-paw for an unscrupulous villain, remorseful for +the misery she had brought on one who once loved her, had confessed in +writing all of Victor Nevill's dark deeds. She had not known at first, +she said, that his sole aim had been to injure his trusting friend, else +she would have refused to help him. She had learned the truth since, and +she did not spare her knowledge of Nevill's dark deeds and cunning +tricks. She told how he had tempted her to desert her husband and flee +from Paris with him; how he had met her five years later in London, and +planned the infamous scheme which brought Jack and Diane together on +Richmond Terrace; and she declared that it was Victor Nevill also who +sent the anonymous letters to Madge Foster, the second of which had led +to the painful _denouement_ in the Ravenscourt Park studio. It was all +there in black and white--a story bearing the unmistakable evidence of +truth and sincerity. + +"This is a private matter," thought Jimmie, when he had calmed down a +little, "and I'm bound to regard it as such. The statement can't affect +the case against Jack--it is useless to Mr. Tenby--and it would be +unwise to make it public for the purposes of denouncing Nevill--at least +at present. I will put it away carefully, and give it to Jack when his +innocence is proved, which I trust will be very soon. As for Nevill, +I'll reckon with the scoundrel at the proper time. I'll expose him in +every club in London, and drive him from the country. He shall not marry +Miss Foster--I'll nip that scheme in the bud and open her eyes--and I'll +let Sir Lucius Chesney know what sort of a man his nephew is. He'll cut +him off with a penny, I'll bet. But all these things must wait until I +find Diane's murderer, and meanwhile I will lock up the confession and +keep my own counsel." + +Taking the letter, he reread the closing lines, studying the +curiously-worded phrases. + +"I am not writing this to send to you," Diane concluded, "but to hide in +a secret place where it will be found if anything happens to me; life is +always uncertain. I have much more to tell, but I am too weary to put it +on paper. You will know all when me meet, and when you learn my secret, +happiness will come into your life again." + +"It's a pretty clear case," reflected Jimmie. "The secret refers, +without doubt, to the man who murdered her. And the motive for it must +be traced back to her early life at Dunwold. She left a discarded lover +behind when she went to Paris. Ah, but why not a husband? Suppose she +was never really Jack's wife! In that case it is easy to see what she +meant by saying that she would make him happy again. By Jove, I'm +anxious to ferret the thing out!" + +Jimmie looked at his watch; it was just seven o'clock. He put the letter +in his desk, safe under lock and key, and went straight to Morley's +Hotel. He dined with Sir Lucius Chesney, and told him what he had +learned from his visit to Mrs. Rickett. He made no mention of what he +had found in the secret closet, nor did he refer to Victor Nevill. + +Sir Lucius was amazed and delighted, hopeful of success. He thoroughly +approved Jimmie's plan, and gave him a brief note of introduction to the +Vicar of Dunwold. + +"I wish I could go with you," he said; "but, unfortunately, I have two +important engagements in town to-morrow." + +The interview was a long one, and it was eleven o'clock when Jimmie left +the hotel. He went straight home to bed, and an early hour the next +morning found him gliding out of Victoria station in a South Coast +train. + + * * * * * + +On the previous night, while Jimmie and Sir Lucius were dining at +Morley's, Victor Nevill emerged from his rooms in Jermyn street, and +walked briskly to Piccadilly Circus. He looked quite unlike the spruce +young man of fashion who was wont to disport himself in the West End at +this hour, for he wore tweeds, a soft hat, and a rather shabby overcoat. +He took a cab in Coventry street, and gave the driver a northern +address. As he rode through the Soho district he occasionally pressed +one hand to his breast, and a bundle of bank notes, tucked snugly away +there, gave forth a rustling sound. The thought of them aggravated him +sorely. + +"A thousand pounds to that black-mailing scoundrel!" he muttered. "It's +a steep price, and yet it means much more than that to me. There was no +other way out of it, and I can't blame the fellow for making a hard +bargain and sticking to it. If all goes smoothly, and I get possession +of the papers, it's ten to one I will be secure, with nothing more to +fear. It was fortunate that Timmins picked _me_ out. It would have meant +ruin to my prospects had he sold his knowledge elsewhere. He is a clever +rascal, and he knows that it will be to his interest to keep his mouth +shut hereafter. What risk there may be from other quarters is so slight +that I needn't worry about it." + +It had not been an easy matter to find the thousand pounds, and in the +interval he had twice seen Mr. Timmins, and vainly tried to beat down +his price. The money was finally squeezed out of Stephen Foster, with +extreme reluctance on his part, and by means which he resented bitterly +but was powerless to combat. He had angrily upbraided his unscrupulous +young confederate, who would not even tell him for what purpose he +wanted the sum. Nevill was indifferent to Stephen Foster's wrath and +reproaches. He had accomplished his object, and he was too hardened by +this time to feel any twinges of conscience. He was now going to meet +the man Timmins by appointment, and buy from him the valuable papers in +his possession. + +It was nine o'clock when the cab put him down in one of the noisy +thoroughfares of Kentish Town. He paid the driver, and entered a public +house on the corner. He ordered a light stimulant, and on the strength +of it he re-examined the rather vague written directions Mr. Timmins had +given him. He came out five minutes later, and turned eastward into a +gloomy and squalid neighborhood. He lost his bearings twice, and then +found himself at one end of Peckwater street. He took the first turn to +the left, and began to count the houses and scan their numbers. + +While Nevill was speeding along the Kentish Town road in a cab, Mr. +Timmins, _alias_ Noah Hawker, was at home in the dingy little room which +he had selected for his residence in London. With a short pipe between +his teeth, he reclined in a wooden chair, which was tipped back against +the wall. On a table, within easy reach of him, were a packet of tobacco +and a bottle of stout. A candle furnished light. + +"I wonder if the bloke'll turn up," he reflected, as he puffed rank +smoke from his mouth. "If he don't he knows what to expect--I ain't a +man to go back on my word. But I needn't fear. He'll come all right, and +he'll have the dust with him. Is it likely he'd throw away a fortune, +such as I'm offerin' him? Not a bit of it! I'll be glad when the thing +is done and over with. A thousand pounds ain't to be laughed at. I'll go +abroad and spend it, where the sun shines in winter and--" + +At this point Mr. Hawker's soliloquies were interrupted by footsteps +just outside the room. + +"That's my swell," he thought, "and he's a bit early. He must be in a +hurry to get hold of the documents." + +The door opened quickly and sharply, and two sinewy, plainly-dressed men +stepped into the room. Hawker knew his visitors to be detectives. + +His jaw dropped, his face turned livid with rage and fear, and he tried +to thrust one hand behind him. But the move was anticipated, and he +abandoned all thought of resistance when the muzzle of a revolver stared +him in the eyes. + +"None of that, Hawker," said the detective who held the weapon. "You'd +best come quietly. Didn't expect to catch us napping, did you?" + +"I ain't done nothin'," panted Hawker, who was breathing like a winded +beast. + +"I didn't say you had," was the reply, "but you've been missing for a +few months. Last spring you stopped reporting yourself and went abroad. +We want you for that--nothing else _at present_." + +The two final words were spoken with an emphasis and significance that +did not escape the prisoner, and brought a desperate look to his face. +He seemed about to show fight, but the next instant a pair of irons were +clapped on his wrists, and he was helpless. + +A brief time was required to search the room, but nothing was found, +for all that Hawker owned was on his person. The bedding was pulled +apart, and the strip of ragged carpet was lifted up. Then the detectives +went downstairs with their prisoner, followed by the indignant and +scandalized Mrs. Miggs. She angrily upbraided Mr. Hawker, who received +her reproaches in sullen silence. Her breath was spent when she slammed +the door shut. + +The affair had been managed quietly, without attracting public +attention, and the street was as lonely and dark as usual. One of the +detectives whistled for a cab, which he had in waiting around the +corner, and just then a man walked quickly by the house, glancing keenly +at the little group as he passed. He slouched carelessly on into the +gloom, but not until he had been recognized by Noah Hawker. + +The cab came up, and the prisoner was bundled into it. He was apparently +very submissive and unconcerned as he sat with manacled hands between +his captors, but when the vehicle rolled into a more populous +neighborhood, the street lamps revealed the expression of burning, +implacable hatred that distorted his face. + +"It was that swell who betrayed me to the police," he thought bitterly. +"I was a fool to trust him. I know his little game, but he'll be badly +mistaken if he expects to find the papers. They'll be safe enough till I +want them again. I'll get square in a way he don't dream of, curse him! +Yes, I'll do it! I'd rather have revenge than money. A few days yet, and +then--" + +"What's that?" asked one of the detectives. + +"Nothing," Mr. Hawker replied, in a tone of sarcasm. "I was thinkin' of +a friend of mine, what'll be sorry I was took." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +THE VICAR OF DUNWOLD. + + +At a safe distance Victor Nevill stopped and turned around. When the cab +rolled away, he walked slowly back, looking keenly at the house as he +passed it. His demeanor was calm, but it was only skin deep. He felt +like swearing loudly at everybody and everything. His brain was in a +whirl of rage and fear, sharp anxiety and keen disappointment. He had +recognized Noah Hawker and seen the gleam of steel at his wrists, which +explained the situation as clearly as words could have done. + +"The poor chap has been tracked and arrested," he thought; "possibly for +some past burglary. Our negotiations are ended for the present, confound +the luck! But the papers! By Jove, suppose Hawker had them on his +person! If so, they will be found when he is searched. They will be +opened and examined, and the whole truth will come out. I can't be +sure that Hawker won't give away my part in the affair. I shall be +ruined--nothing short of it! What a luckless devil I am!" + +The iron hand of Nemesis seemed reaching out to grasp Nevill, and he +shuddered as he realized his danger. The rustle of the bank notes in his +breast pocket afforded him a momentary relief as he remembered that they +would give him a fresh start in case he had to flee from England. Then a +sudden thought lightened the gloom still more, and he clutched eagerly +at the ray of hope thus thrown out. + +"Hawker was too shrewd a man to be caught unawares," he reasoned. "He +kept the papers in a secure hiding-place, and he certainly would not +have taken them from it until I came and he saw the color of the money. +Nor is it likely that the police found them, though they must have +searched the place. If they are still in the room, why should I not try +to get possession of them? I could square up with Hawker afterward, when +he recovers his liberty. By Jove, it's worth risking!" + +Nevill walked as far as Peckwater street, debating the question. He did +not hesitate long, for there was too much at stake. He quickly made up +his mind, and retraced his steps to the dingy house from which the +detectives had taken their prisoner. He had planned his course of +procedure when the door opened to his knock, and Mrs. Miggs revealed her +distrustful countenance. Nevill tendered her half a sovereign on the +spot, and asked to see the room lately occupied by Mr. Noah Hawker. + +"It's a private matter," he explained. "Yes, I know that Mr. Hawker has +just been arrested and taken away. District detectives did that--they +were onto him for some breach of the law. I was after him myself, with +a Scotland Yard warrant, but I arrived too late, unfortunately." + +"Then what do you want?" grumbled the woman. + +"I want to search Hawker's room for some papers which I believe he hid +there. If I find them you shall be rewarded." + +Mrs. Miggs relaxed visibly. She had a wholesome respect for the police, +and she did not doubt that Nevill was other than he purported to be--a +Scotland Yard officer. She let him into the hall and closed the door. + +"You can come up," she said ungraciously, "but I don't think there's +anything there." + +She lighted a candle and guided Nevill upstairs. He could scarcely +restrain his excitement as he entered the little room. He glanced keenly +about, noting the half-empty bottle of stout and the dirty glass. + +"Did the police search here?" he inquired. + +"Of course they did, but they didn't find nothin', 'cause there wasn't +anything to find. 'Awker was as poor as Job!" + +"They examined his person?--his clothes, I mean?" + +"Yes, an' all they got was a knife, and a pistol, and some loose silver +and coppers." + +"They didn't discover any papers?" + +"No; I'm sure o' that," asserted Mrs. Miggs. "I can't stand 'ere all +night," she impatiently added. + +Nevill took the hint, and set to work in good spirits. The landlady +watched him scornfully while he hauled the carpet and bedding about, and +examined all the joints of the few articles of furniture. He then +proceeded--there was no fireplace in the room--to tap every part of the +walls, and to try the flooring to see if any boards were loose. But the +walls were solid and untampered with, and the nails in the floor had +clearly not been disturbed for many years. He spent half an hour at his +task, and the result was a barren failure. He realized that it would be +useless to search further. He looked sharply at the landlady, and said, +on a sudden impulse: + +"You knew Mr. Hawker pretty well, I think. Perhaps he asked you to +oblige him by taking care of the papers I am looking for; they could not +possibly be of any advantage to you in the future, and if you have them +I should be glad to buy them from you. I would give as much as--" + +"I only wish I _did_ 'ave them!" interrupted Mrs. Miggs. "I wouldn't +'esitate a minute to turn 'em into money. But I don't know nothin' of +them, sir, an' you see yourself they ain't 'id in this room, an' Mr. +'Awker never put foot in any other part of the 'ouse." + +The woman's expression of disappointment, her manner, satisfied Nevill +that his suspicion was baseless. There was nothing more to be done, so +he gave Mrs. Miggs an additional half-sovereign, cautioned her not to +speak of his visit, and left the house. His last state of mind was worse +than his first, and dread of exposure, tormenting visions of a dreary +and perpetual exile from England, not to speak of more bitter things, +haunted him as he strode moodily toward the lights of the Kentish Town +road. + +"The papers may be in that room, hidden so securely as to baffle any +search," he said to himself, "and if that is the case there is still +hope. But it is more likely that Hawker had them concealed under his +clothing or in his boots. I will know in a day or two--if the police +find them, they will make the matter public. All I can do is to wait. +But the suspense is awful, and I wish it was over." + +The next day was cold, sunny and bracing--more like the end of February +than the end of November. At nine o'clock in the morning Victor Nevill +crawled out of bed after a troubled night; with haggard face and dull +eyes he looked down into Jermyn street, wondering, as he recalled the +events of the previous night, what another day would bring forth. + +At the same hour, or a little later, Jimmie Drexell was at Hastings. +Having to wait some time for another train, he walked through the pretty +town to the sea, and the sight of its glorious beauty--the embodiment of +untrammeled freedom--made him think sadly of poor Jack in a prison cell. + +"Never mind, I'll have him out soon!" he vowed. + +He returned to the station, and was whirled on through the flat, green +country to the charming Sussex village of Pevensey, with its ruined old +castle and rambling street, and the blue line of the Channel flashing in +the distance. His journey did not end here, and he was impatient to +continue it. He procured a horse and trap at the Railway Arms, gleaned +careful instructions from the landlord, and drove back a few miles along +the hedge-lined roads, while the sea faded behind him. + +It was eleven o'clock when he reached the retired little hamlet of +Dunwold. He put up his vehicle at a quaint old inn, and refreshed +himself with a simple lunch. Then he sought the vicarage, hard by the +ancient church with its Norman tower, and, on inquiring for Mr. +Chalfont, he was shown into a sunny library full of books and +Chippendale furniture, with flowers on the deep window-seats and +a litter of papers on the carved oak writing-desk. + +The vicar entered shortly--an elderly gentleman of benevolent aspect and +snowy beard, but sturdy and lithe-limbed for his years, clearly one of +those persons who seemed predestined for the placidity of clerical life. +After a penetrating glance he greeted his visitor most graciously, and +expressed pleasure at seeing him. + +"I am sure that you are a stranger to the neighborhood," he continued. +"Our fine old church draws many such hither. If you wish to go over it, +I can show you many things of interest--" + +"At another time," Jimmie interrupted, "I should be only too delighted. +I regret to say that it is quite a different matter that brings me +here--hardly a pleasant one. This will partly explain, Mr. Chalfont." + +He presented the letter Sir Lucius had given him, and when it had been +opened and read he poured out the whole story of Diane's life and end, +of the charge against Jack Vernon, and the clew that the murdered woman +had revealed to her landlady. + +The vicar rose from his chair, showing traces of deep agitation and +distress. + +"A friend of Sir Lucius Chesney is a friend of mine," he said, hoarsely. +"I shall be glad to help you--to do anything in my power to clear your +friend. I believe that he is innocent. Your sad story has awakened old +memories, Mr. Drexell. And it is a great shock to me, as you will +understand when I tell you all. I seldom read the London papers, and +it comes as a blow and a surprise to me that Diane Merode has been +murdered." + +"Then you know her by that name?" exclaimed Jimmie. "This is indeed +fortunate, Mr. Chalfont. I feared that you would find it difficult to +identify the woman--to recall her. And the man whom she proclaimed as +her enemy--do you know _him_?" + +"Judge for yourself," replied the vicar, as he sat down and settled back +in his chair. "I will state the facts, distinctly and briefly. That will +not be hard to do. To begin, I have been in this parish for thirty +years, and I am familiar with its history. I remember when Diane +Merode's father came home with his young bride. He was a doctor, with +some small means of his own, and he lived in the second house beyond the +church. His wife was a French girl, well educated and beautiful, and he +met and married her while on a visit to France; his name was George +Hammersley. They settled here in the village, but I do not think that +they lived very happily together. Their one child, christened Diane, +was born two years after the marriage. She inherited her mother's +vivacious disposition and love of the world, and I always felt +misgivings about her future. She spent five years at a school in Paris, +and returned at the age of sixteen. Within less than two years her +parents died within a week of each other, of a malignant fever that +attacked our village. A friend of George Hammersley's took Diane to his +home--it appeared that she had no relatives--and nine months later she +married a man, nearly twenty years her senior, who had fallen +passionately in love with her." + +"By Jove, so she was really married before!" cried Jimmie. "But I beg +your pardon, Mr. Chalfont, for interrupting you." + +"This man, Gilbert Morris, was comparatively well-to-do," resumed the +vicar. "He owned a couple of ships, and when at home he lived in +Dunwold; but he was away the greater part of his time, sailing one or +the other of his vessels to foreign ports. Six months after the marriage +he started on such a voyage, leaving his youthful bride with an old +housekeeper, and just three weeks later Diane disappeared. Every effort +was made to trace her, but in vain, and it was believed that she had +gone to London. Before the end of the winter our village squire returned +from abroad, and declared that he had recognized Diane in Paris, and +that she was a popular dancer under the name of Merode. About the same +time it was reported in the papers that the vessel on which Gilbert +Morris had set sail, the _Nautilus_, had been lost in a storm, with all +hands on board. There was every reason to credit the report--" + +"But it was not true," exclaimed Jimmie. "I can read as much in your +eyes, Mr. Chalfont. What became of Gilbert Morris?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +RUN TO EARTH. + + +The vicar hesitated for a moment, and then looked his companion straight +in the face. + +"That unhappy man, Gilbert Morris, was spared by the sea," he answered +in a low voice. "The ship was lost, as reported, but he and two of the +crew were picked up by a sailing vessel and carried to South America. +Months elapsed before they were heard of, and Diane had been gone for +a year when Gilbert Morris returned to Dunwold. The news was a terrible +shock to him, for he had loved his wife with all the depth of a fierce +and fiery nature. His affection seemed to turn to rage, and it was +thought best to keep him in ignorance of the fact that Diane had been +seen in Paris. Brain fever prostrated him, and when he recovered +physically from that his mind was affected--in other words, he was +a homicidal lunatic, with a fixed determination to find and kill his +wife." + +"By heavens!" exclaimed Jimmie. "The scent is getting warm! What was +done with the man?" + +"He was sent to a private madhouse in Surrey." + +"And is he there still?" + +"No, he is not," the vicar replied agitatedly. "He succeeded in making +his escape more than a week ago. The matter was hushed up, because it +was hoped that he would come back to Dunwold, and that he could be +quietly captured here. But, in spite of the utmost vigilance, he was +not found or traced; and this very morning I received a letter from +Doctor Bent, the proprietor of the madhouse, stating that he had +furnished the London police with a description of his missing patient." + +"That settles it!" cried Jimmie, jumping up in excitement. "Gilbert +Morris is the man!" + +"Yes, I fear he is the murderer," assented the vicar. "But, pray sit +down, Mr. Drexell, and we will talk further of the sad affair. Lunch +will be ready in a few minutes, and I shall be glad to have you--" + +"Thanks, but I can't stop," Jimmie interrupted, as he put on his hat. +"I'm off to town to help the police to find the guilty man." + +"But surely, my dear sir, this is a very hasty conclusion--" + +"Can you doubt for one moment, in your heart, that Gilbert Morris killed +that unfortunate woman?" + +"The circumstances all point that way," admitted Mr. Chalfont. "Yes, it +is a pretty clear case. It is distressing to think that the crime might +have been prevented, had the police been promptly informed of the +madman's escape. But only Doctor Bent and myself were aware of the +fact--excepting the attendants of the institution. As I told you, I knew +nothing of the murder until you informed me, and it was unlikely that +the doctor--though he must have read the papers--should have associated +the deed with Morris; he took charge of the place quite recently, and +could not have been well posted regarding the history of his patient." + +"He ought to be arrested for criminal neglect," Jimmie said, +indignantly. "He is in a measure responsible for the murder. Gilbert +Morris might have been retaken almost at once had the police been +informed at the time of the escape." + +"Just so!" the vicar agreed. + +"I'm off now," continued Jimmie. "I can't thank you enough, Mr. +Chalfont, for the information you have given me. I shall never forget +it, nor will my friend." + +"It was Providence that guided you here," replied the vicar. "His ways +are indeed marvelous. I wish you every success, Mr. Drexell. I trust +that your friend will speedily be at liberty, and if I can be of any +further service, count upon me." + +"I'll do that, sir," Jimmie assured him. + +The next minute he was striding away from the vicarage, and it was a +very perspiring and foam-flecked horse that pulled up outside the +Railway Arms at Pevensey half an hour later. Jimmie jumped out of the +trap, paid the account, and dashed over to the station. His arrival +was timely, for he learned that a through London train was due in ten +minutes. During the interval he found some vent for his impatience in +sending a wire to Sir Lucius Chesney, as follows: + +"Success! Back in town at three o'clock." + +Never had a railway journey seemed so long and tiresome to Jimmie as +that comparatively short one, in a fast train, from Pevensey to London. +He had a book and a newspaper, but he could not read; he smoked like a +furnace, and glared from the window at the flying landscape. He reached +Victoria station at five minutes past three, and just outside the gates +he met Sir Lucius. + +"I barely got here--I was afraid I'd miss you," the latter exclaimed +breathlessly; his face was a more ruddy color than usual. "I have +something to tell you," he went on; "something that happened--" + +"It's a jolly good thing, sir, that I went down to Pevensey," Jimmie +interrupted, as he drew his companion aside to a quieter spot. "You'll +scarcely believe what I have found out. The vicar told me a most amazing +story, and we spotted the murderer at once. He is Diane's real +husband--Jack was never legally married to her--and his name is Gilbert +Morris. He is an escaped lunatic--" + +"Gad, sir, the man is arrested!" gasped Sir Lucius. "He is in custody!" + +"Arrested?" cried Jimmie. + +"Yes; the afternoon papers are full of it. The police, furnished with +a description of the man and other information, apprehended him this +morning early in a Lambeth lodging-house. There were blood-spots on his +clothing, and in his pocket they found a bloodstained knife. He became +violent the moment he was arrested, and raved about his wife Diane, who +had deserted him, and how he had killed her to avenge his honor." + +"That's the man!" said Jimmie. "He's as mad as a March hare. Thank God, +they have got him!" + +"We'll soon have Mr. Vernon out," Sir Lucius replied, cheerfully. + +Jimmie told the rest of the story in the privacy of a cab, which drove +the two rapidly from Victoria station to Bedford street, Strand. They +found Mr. Tenby in his office, and had a long interview with him. The +solicitor had read the papers, and when he was put in possession of +the further important facts bearing on the case, he promised to secure +Jack's release as soon as the necessary legal formalities could be +complied with. Moreover, he promised to go to Holloway within the course +of an hour or two, and communicate the good news to the prisoner. Jimmie +was anxious to go with him, but he reluctantly abandoned the project +when the solicitor assured him that it would be most difficult to +arrange. + +"Be patient, gentlemen, and leave the matter in my hands," said Mr. +Tenby. "I think we shall have Mr. Vernon out of Holloway to-morrow, and +without a stain on his character." + +Sir Lucius and Jimmie walked to Morley's and separated. The former went +into the hotel, half resolved to pack up his luggage and take an early +train in the morning to Priory Court; he was tired of London and the +recent excitement he had passed through, and longed for his country +home. But, on second thought, he altered his mind, and concluded to wait +until Jack Vernon was a free man again; he was strangely interested in +the unfortunate young artist, and was as anxious as ever to have a talk +with him on matters of a private nature. + +Jimmie went to his chambers in the Albany, where he removed the dust of +travel and changed his clothes. He did not at once go out to dinner, +though he was exceedingly hungry. He was impulsive and impatient, and he +had conceived a plan whereby he might punish Victor Nevill's perfidy +without a public exposure, and at the same time, he fondly hoped, do +Jack a good turn. + +"It will hardly be safe to wait longer," he reflected, "for all I know +to the contrary, the girl may be married to-morrow. She will be glad to +have her eyes opened--I can't believe that she is in love with that +blackguard. As for Sir Lucius, I would rather face a battery of guns +than tell the dear old chap the shameful story to his face. But it must +be told somehow." + +Jimmie proceeded to carry out his plans. He took Diane's last letter +from its hiding-place, and sitting down to his desk he made two copies +of it, prefacing each with a brief explanation of how the statement had +come into his hands. It was a laborious task, and it kept him busy for +two hours. At nine o'clock he went out to dinner, and on the way to the +Cafe Royal he dropped two bulky letters into a street-box. One was +addressed to "Miss Madge Foster, Strand-on-the-Green, Chiswick, W." The +other to "Sir Lucius Chesney, Morley's Hotel." + + * * * * * + +It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the phenomenal November weather +showed no signs of breaking up. The sun shone brightly in Trafalgar +Square, and the people and busses, the hoary old Nelson Column and its +guardian lions, made a picture more Continental than English in its +coloring. + +But to Sir Lucius Chesney the world looked as black as midnight. He +paced the floor of his room, purple of countenance and savage of eye, +letting slip an occasional oath as he glanced at the sheets of Jimmie's +letter scattered over the table. The blow had hit him hard; it had +wounded him in his most tender spot--his family honor. His first +paroxysm of rage had passed, but he could not think calmly. His brain +was on fire with pent-up emotions--shame and indignation, bitter grief +and despair, a sense of everlasting disgrace. One moment he doubted; +the next the damning truth overwhelmed him and defied denial. + +"I can't believe it!" he muttered hoarsely. "It is too terrible! How +blindly I trusted that boy! I heard rumors about him, and turned a deaf +ear to them. I knew he was inclined to be dissolute and extravagant, but +I never dreamed of this! To drag the name of Chesney in the dirt! My +nephew a liar and a traitor, a scoundrel of the blackest dye to a +confiding friend, a seducer, a tout for money-lenders, a consort of +blood-sucking Jews! By heavens, I will confront him and hear the truth +from his own lips! How do I know that this letter is not a forgery? +Perhaps young Drexell never saw it." + +It was a slim ray of hope, but Sir Lucius took some comfort from it. He +put on his hat, took his stick, and marched down stairs. As he passed +through the office, a clerk handed him a letter that had just been +brought in. He waited until he was outside to open it, and with the +utmost amazement he read the contents: + +"Pentonville Prison. + +"My Dear Sir Lucius--I see by the papers that you are in town +temporarily, so I address you at Morley's instead of Priory Court. A very +curious thing has happened. A few days ago a prisoner who was arrested +for a breach of the police-supervision rules, but who was really wanted +for a much more serious affair, was put in my charge. This man, Noah +Hawker by name, sent for me and made a secret communication. He stated +that in his room in Kentish Town, where he was arrested, he had hidden +some papers of the greatest importance to yourself. He told me how to +find them, and yesterday I got them and brought them here. They are in a +sealed parcel, and the prisoner begs that they shall not be opened except +in your presence, as he wishes to tell you the whole story. So I thought +it best to send for you, and if convenient I should like to see you about +noon to-day. I am posting this early in the morning, and hope you will +receive it in good time. + +"Sincerely your old friend, + +"Major Hugh Wyatt." + +"I don't understand it," thought Sir Lucius. "It is certainly most +perplexing. What can it mean? I haven't seen Wyatt for years, but I +remember now that he was appointed Governor of Pentonville some time +ago. But who the deuce is the man Hawker? I never heard the name. Papers +of importance to me? What could they be, and how did the fellow get +them? There must be some mistake. And yet--" + +He read the letter a second time, and it turned his curiosity into a +desire to probe the mystery. He concluded to put off the interview with +his nephew, and see him later in the day. He hailed a cab, and told the +driver to take him to Pentonville. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +NOAH HAWKER'S DISCLOSURE. + + +True to his word, Mr. Tenby set the machinery of the law in motion as +speedily as possible. About the time when Sir Lucius entered the dreary +prison that lies Islington way, Gilbert Morris was brought to the court +in Great Marlborough street. Jack was present--a warder had driven him +from Holloway--and he promptly identified the prisoner as the man he had +seen coming out of the Beak street house on the night of the murder. +Other evidence was given by the police, and by Doctor Bent, the +proprietor of the Surrey madhouse, and the lunatic was remanded for a +week; he boasted of his crime while in the dock. Then a brief formality +ensued. Mr. Tenby applied for the discharge of his client, and the +magistrate granted it without delay. + +A free man again! The words seemed to ring in Jack's ears as he left the +court, but they meant little to him, so broken was he in spirit, so +ashamed of his unmerited disgrace. Jimmie was waiting for him, and +congratulated him fervently. The two shook hands with the solicitor, and +thanked him for what he had done, and they went quickly off in a cab. + +They drove to the Albany, and Jimmie ordered a lunch to be sent in from +a Piccadilly restaurant. Jack ate listlessly, but a bottle of prime +claret made him slightly more cheerful and brought some color to his +bleached features. He listened to all that Jimmie had to tell him--sat +with stern eyes and compressed lips while the black tale of Victor +Nevill's treachery was recounted. He could not doubt when he had read +the murdered woman's statement; it breathed truth in every word. He +crushed the letter in his hand, as though he wished it had been the +throat of his enemy. + +"Nevill, of all men!" he said, hoarsely. "A creeping serpent, masked as +a friend, who struck in the dark! And he was Diane's seducer! The night +he stole her from me we were drinking together in a _brasserie_ in the +Latin Quarter! And, as if that was not deep enough injury, he brought +her to England, years afterwards, to ruin my new-found happiness. There +was never such perfidy! I was not even aware that he knew Madge, much +less that he loved her. But she surely won't marry him now." + +"No fear!" replied Jimmie. "His retribution has come. I hope you will +pay him with interest, old chap." + +"I should like to confront him," Jack answered, "but it is wiser +not to; my passion would get the better of me. No, his punishment is +sufficient--you have avenged me, Jimmie. Think of what it means! Public +exposure, perhaps, exile from England, and the loss of his uncle's +fortune. He will suffer more keenly than any low-born criminal who goes +to the gallows. I will leave him to his conscience and his God." + +"You are too merciful--too kind-hearted," said Jimmie. "But it is +useless to argue with you. Come, we'll talk of something more cheerful +and forget the past. What are you going to do with yourself? Go back +to the art?" + +"I have no plans," Jack replied, bitterly, "except that I shall get away +from London as speedily as possible. I can't live down my disgrace here. +I shall probably return to India. I have lost faith in human nature, +Jimmie, and learned the mockery of friendship--no, by heavens, I +shouldn't say that! I have found out what true friendship is. I can +never forget what you did for me--how you worked to prove my innocence!" + +"It was a pleasure, old fellow. I would have done a hundred times as +much. But don't talk blooming nonsense about leaving London. Many an +innocent man falls under suspicion--there is not a shadow of disgrace +attached to it. Stay here and work! Go back to your studio! And marry +the woman you love. Why shouldn't you, now that you are free in every +sense? I'll bet anything you like that she cares for you as much as +ever--" + +"Stop; don't speak of _her_!" cried Jack. "I can't bear it!--the memory +of Madge brings torments! It is too late, too late! She can never be +mine!" + +"That's where you're wrong, old chap," said Jimmie. "I know how you feel +about it, but do listen to reason--" + +He broke off at the sound of a couple of sharp raps, and jumping up +he opened the door. Into the room strode Sir Lucius Chesney, with a +bewildered, agitated look on his face that had been there when he drove +away from Pentonville Prison an hour before, after a lengthy and most +startling interview with Major Wyatt and Noah Hawker. + +"I hope you will excuse my abrupt intrusion," he said quickly. "I went +to Tenby's office, and he told me where you had gone. I have something +very important to say--I will come to it presently. Mr. Vernon, I +congratulate you! No one can rejoice more sincerely than myself that +this black cloud has passed away from your life. You have paid dearly +for your youthful folly--your boyish infatuation with a French dancer." + +"You are very kind, sir," said Jack, as he accepted the proffered hand. +"I hear that I owe very much to you." + +"Thank God that I have found you--that I am not left desolate in my old +age!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, to the wonder of his companions. "Prepare +for a great surprise! Your name is not Vernon, but Clare?" + +"John Clare is my real name, sir." + +"And your father was Ralph Vernon Clare?" + +"Yes!" + +"I knew as much--it was needless to ask," replied Sir Lucius, in +tremulous tones; something glistened in his eye. He rested an arm on +Jack's shoulder and looked into his face. "My dear boy, your mother was +my youngest sister," he added. "And you are my nephew!" + +A rush of color dyed Jack's cheeks, and he stared in amazement; he could +not grasp the meaning of what he had just heard. + +"You my uncle, Sir Lucius?" he asked, hoarsely. + +"Yes, your uncle!" + +"By Jove, another mystery!" gasped Jimmie. "It knocks me breathless! I +don't know what to make of it--it beats the novels that wind up with the +discovery of the lost heir. At all events, Jack, you seem to be in luck. +I'm awfully glad!" + +"I--I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Jack. "I never suspected +anything of the sort, though I remember that my mother rarely spoke of +her early life." + +"That was her secret," replied Sir Lucius, "and she intended that it +should be revealed to you after her death. Read these; they will tell +you all!" + +Sir Lucius produced three papers from his pocket. Jack took them, and +he uttered an exclamation of astonishment as he saw that one was a +certificate of his mother's marriage, and another one of his own birth. +The third paper was a letter of a dozen closely written sheets, in the +dead hand that was so familiar to him. As he read on, his face showed +various emotions. + +"My poor mother, how she suffered!" he said when he had finished the +letter. "It is a strange story, Sir Lucius. So my mother was your +sister, and Victor Nevill was the son of another sister, which makes him +my cousin. My mother knew all these things, and yet she never told me!" + +"She had the family pride," Sir Lucius answered, with a sigh. "As for +Victor Nevill, I regret that the blood of the Chesneys runs in his +veins. But he is no longer any kin of mine--I disown him and cast him +out. The letter does not speak so harshly of me as I deserve. Your +mother, Mary, was my youngest and favorite sister--I loved her the more +because my wife had died childless soon after my marriage. I got a +clever young artist, Ralph Clare, down to Priory Court to paint Mary's +portrait, little foreseeing what would happen. She fell in love with +him, and fled to become his wife. It was a blow to my family pride, and +my anger was stronger than my grief. I vowed that I would never forgive +her, and when she wrote to me--once a short time after her flight, and +again ten years later--I returned her letters unopened. Her elder sister +was as obdurate as myself, and refused to have anything to do with her. +After the death of Elizabeth--that was Victor Nevill's mother--I began +to feel that I had been too harsh with Mary. My remorse grew, giving me +no rest, until recently I determined to find her. But I might never +have succeeded had not mere chance helped me. I was struck by your +resemblance to Mary when I first met you in Lamb and Drummond's shop--" + +He paused for a moment, struggling with emotion. + +"My boy, believe that I am truly repentant," he added. "I have no kith +or kin left but you--you alone can fill the empty void in my heart. You +must reign some day at Priory Court. Will you forgive me, as your mother +did at the last?" + +For an instant Jack hesitated. He remembered the sad story he had +just read--the story of his father's illness and death, his mother's +subsequent privations, and the grief caused by her brother's cruel +conduct, which continued to cloud her life after a distant relative +bequeathed to her a comfortable legacy. Then he recalled the last words +of the letter, and his face softened. + +"I forgive you freely, Sir Lucius," he said. "My mother wished me to +bear you no malice, and I cannot disregard that." + +"God bless you, my boy," replied Sir Lucius. "You have made me very +happy." + +"Come, cheer up!" put in Jimmie. "This is an occasion for rejoicing. I +have a bottle of champagne, and we'll drink it to the health of the new +heir." + +The wine was produced and opened, and Jack responded to the toast. + +"There is one thing that puzzles me, Sir Lucius," he said. "How did +these papers come into your hands? They could not have been among my +mother's effects." + +"Are you aware," replied Sir Lucius, "that on the night after your +mother's death her house in Bayswater was broken into by a burglar?" + +"Yes; I remember that." + +"Well, the burglar carried off, among other things that were of little +value, this packet of papers. He concealed them at his lodgings in +Kentish Town, and he chose a curious and ingenious hiding-place--a +recess behind a loose brick in the wall of the house, just below his +window. Shortly afterward the rascal--his name was Noah Hawker--was +caught at another crime, and sent to penal servitude for a term of +years. On his release last spring, on ticket-of-leave, he went abroad, +and when he returned to England several weeks ago he resurrected the +papers from their place of security, studied them, and saw an +opportunity for gain. He knew that they concerned three persons--you, +Victor Nevill and myself--and he was cunning enough to start with +Victor. He hunted him up and offered to sell the papers for a thousand +pounds. My nephew agreed to buy them, intending to destroy them and thus +retain his position as my sole heir--" + +"Then Nevill knew who I was?" exclaimed Jack. + +"Yes, he knew recently," Sir Lucius replied. "I must break off to tell +you that while I was abroad this summer, Victor promised, at my request, +to try to trace your mother; but I am thoroughly convinced now that he +made no effort whatever, and that he lied to me basely, with the hope of +making me believe that the task was impossible. To proceed, the man +Hawker was traced by the police, and arrested while awaiting the arrival +of my nephew to complete the sale of the papers. He believed that Victor +had betrayed him, and he determined to be revenged. So he confided in +the Governor of Pentonville Prison, who went to the house in Kentish +Town and found the papers. Then, at the prisoner's earnest request, he +sent for me this morning. I went to Pentonville and Hawker told me the +whole story and gave me the papers. By the way, he knows you, my boy, +and declares that you did him a kindness not long ago. It was at a +night-club, I think, and you bandaged a wound on his head." + +"I remember!" exclaimed Jack. "By Jove, was that the man?" + +"The fellow _must_ have been intent on revenge," said Jimmie, "to +incriminate himself so deeply." + +"That can't make much difference to Hawker, and he knows it," Sir Lucius +replied. "It seems that he was really wanted for something more serious +than failing to report himself to the police. In fact, as you will be +surprised to learn, he is said to be mixed up in the robbery of the +Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond. His pal was arrested in Belgium, and +has confessed. Hawker is aware that there is a clear case against him, +and I understand that he has made some sensational disclosures. I heard +this from the Governor of Pentonville, who happens to be an old friend of +mine. He hinted that the matter was likely to be made public in a day or +two." + +"Meaning the theft of the real Rembrandt," said Jack. "I don't suppose +it will throw any light on the mystery of the duplicate one." + +"It may," replied Sir Lucius; and he spoke more truly than he thought. +Major Wyatt had been too discreet to tell all that he knew. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +HOW THE DAY ENDED. + + +It was a day of strange events and sudden surprises. To Jack the +propitious fates gave freedom and a relative whose existence he had +never even suspected before; to Sir Lucius Chesney they brought a fresh +interest in life, a nephew whom he was prepared to take to his heart. +Let us see how certain others, closely connected with our story, fared +before the day was ended. + +Victor Nevill spent the afternoon at one of his clubs, where he won +pretty heavily at cards and drank rather more brandy than he was +accustomed to take. Feeling consequently in good spirits, he determined +to carry out a plan that he had been pondering for some time. He left +the club at six o'clock, and an hour later a cab put him down at the +lower end of Strand-on-the-Green. Mrs. Sedgewick admitted him to Stephen +Foster's house. The master had not returned from town, she said, but +Miss Foster was at home. Nevill asked to see her, and was shown into the +drawing-room, where a couple of red-shaded lamps were burning. He was +too restless to sit down, and, sauntering to the window, he drew aside +the curtains and looked out at the river, with the lights from the +railway bridge reflected on its dark surface. + +"There is no reason why I shouldn't do it--no reason why I should fear +a refusal on her part," he thought. "The clouds have blown over. Noah +Hawker's silence can be explained only in one way. The papers are hidden +where he is certain that they cannot be found, and no doubt he intends +to let the matter rest until he gets out of jail. As for Jack, it is not +likely that he will ever learn the truth or cross my path again. The +grave tells no secrets. I hope he will leave England when he is released. +That will probably be to-day, since the real murderer has been found." + +He turned away from the window, and smiled complacently as he dropped +into a big chair. + +"Yes, I will do it," he resolved. "I shall ask Madge to marry me within +a fortnight or three weeks, and we will go down to Nice or Monte +Carlo--I'll risk taking half of that thousand pounds. I dare say my +uncle will be a bit cut up when he hears the news; but I won't tell him +for a time, and after he sees my wife he will be only too eager to +congratulate me. Any man might be proud of such--" + +Soft footsteps interrupted his musing, and the next instant the door +opened. Madge entered the room, holding in one white hand a crumpled +letter. She wore a gown of lustrous rose-colored material, with filmy +lace on the throat and bosom, and her splendid hair strayed coyly over +her neck and temples. She had never looked more dazzlingly lovely, +Nevill thought, and yet-- + +He rose quickly from the chair, and then the words of greeting died on +his lips. He recoiled like a man who sees a ghost, and a sharp and +sudden fear stabbed him. In Madge's face, in her flushed cheeks and +blazing, scornful eyes, he read the signs of a woman roused to supremest +anger. + +"How dared you come?" she cried, in a voice that he seemed never to have +heard before. "How dared you? Have you no shame, no conscience? Go! Go!" + +"Madge! What has happened?" + +"Not that name from you! I forbid it; it dishonors me!" + +"I will speak! What does this farce mean?" + +"Need you ask? I know all, Victor Nevill! I know that you are a liar +and a traitor--that you are everything wicked and vile, infamous and +cowardly! Heaven has revealed the truth! I know that Diane Merode was +never Jack's wife! It was you, his trusted friend, who stole her from +him in Paris six years ago! You, who found her in London last spring, +and persuaded her to play the false and wicked part that crushed the +happiness out of two lives! That is not all; but it would be useless +to recount the rest of your dastardly deeds. Oh, how I despise and hate +you! Your presence is an insult--it is loathsome! Go! Leave me!" + +Nevill had listened to this tirade with a madly throbbing heart, and a +countenance that was almost livid. He was stunned and bewildered; he did +not understand how it was possible for detection to have overtaken him. +His first impulse was to brazen the thing out, on the chance that the +girl's accusations were prompted more by surmise than knowledge. + +"It is false!" he cried, striving to compose himself. "You will be sorry +for what you have said. Has John Vernon told you these lies?" + +"I have not seen him; he probably knows nothing as yet. But he _will_ +learn all, and if you are within his reach--" + +"This is ridiculous nonsense," Nevill hoarsely interrupted. "It is the +work of an enemy. Some one has been poisoning your mind against me. Who +is my accuser?" + +"_Diane Merode!_" cried Madge, hissing the words from her clenched +teeth. "She accuses you from the grave! Here! Take this and read it--it +is a copy of the original. And then deny the truth if you dare!" + +Nevill clutched the proffered letter--the girl did not give him Jimmie's +extra enclosure. He read quickly, merely scanning the written pages, and +yet grasping their fateful import. He must have been more than human to +hide his consternation. The blow fell like a thunderbolt: betrayal had +come from the quarter whence he would have least expected it--from the +grave. His lips quivered uncontrollably. The pages dropped to the floor. + +"_Now_ do you deny it?" Madge demanded. "Answer, and go!" + +"I deny everything," he snarled hoarsely. "It is a forgery--a tissue of +lies! Believe me, Madge! Don't spurn me! Don't cast me off! I will prove +to you--" + +"I say go!" + +The girl's voice was as hard and cold as steel. She pointed to the door +as Nevill made a step toward her. Her ravishing beauty, lost to him +forever, maddened him. For an instant he was tempted to fly at her +throat and bruise its loveliness. But just then a bell pealed loudly +through the house. The front door was heard to open, and voices mingled +with rapid steps. An elderly man burst unceremoniously into the room, +and Nevill recognized Stephen Foster's clerk and shop assistant. Bad +news was stamped on his agitated face. + +"What is the matter, Hawkins?" Madge asked, breathlessly. + +"Oh, how can I tell you, Miss Foster? It is terrible! Your father--" + +"What of him?" + +"He is dead! He shot himself in his office an hour ago. The police--" + +The girl's cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble. She gave one cry +of anguish, reeled, and fell unconscious to the floor. Mrs. Sedgewick +rushed in, wringing her hands and wailing hysterically. + +"See to your young mistress--she has fainted," Nevill said, hoarsely. +"Fetch cold water at once." + +He looked once at Madge's pale and lovely face--he felt that it was +for the last time--and then he took Hawkins by the arm and pulled him +half-forcibly into the hall. + +"Tell me everything," he whispered, excitedly. "What has happened?" + +"There isn't much to tell, Mr. Nevill," the man replied. "Two Scotland +Yard men came to the shop at five o'clock. They arrested my employer for +stealing that Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond, and they found the +picture in the safe. Mr. Foster asked permission to make a statement in +writing--he took things coolly:--and they let him do it. He wrote for +half an hour, and then, before the police could stop him, he snatched +a pistol from a drawer and shot himself through the head. I was so +flustered I hardly knew what I was doing, but I thought first of Miss +Madge, whom I knew from often bringing messages and parcels to the +house--" + +"The statement? What was in it?" Nevill interrupted. + +"I don't know, sir!" + +"Then I must find out! I am off to town--I can't stop! You will be +needed here, Hawkins. Do all that you can for Miss Foster." + +With those words, spoken incoherently, Nevill jammed on his hat and +hurried from the house. He turned instinctively toward Grove Park, +remembering that the nearest railway station was there. He was haunted +by a terrible fear as he traversed the dark streets with an unsteady +gait. Worse than ruin threatened him. He shuddered at the thought of +arrest and punishment. He could not doubt that Stephen Foster had +written a full confession. + +"He would do it out of revenge--I put the screws on him too often!" he +reflected. "I _must_ get to my rooms before the police come; all my +money is there. And I must cross the Channel to-night!" + +All the past rose before him, and he cursed himself for his blind +follies. He just missed a train at Chiswick station, and in desperation +he took a cab to Gunnersbury and caught a Mansion House train. He got +out at St. James' Park, and pulling his coat collar up he hastened +across to Pall Mall. He chose the shortest cut to Jermyn street, and on +the north side of St. James' Square, in the shadow of the railings, he +suddenly encountered the last man he could have wished to meet. + +"My God, my uncle!" he cried, staggering back. + +"You!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, in a voice half-choked by anger. "Stop, you +can't go to your rooms--the police are there. What do they want with +you?" + +"You will find out in the morning," Nevill huskily replied; he reeled +against the railings. + +"It can't be much worse--I know all about your dastardly conduct!" +said Sir Lucius. "Hawker has given me the papers, and I have found +poor Mary's son--the friend you betrayed. But there is no time for +reproaches, nor could anything I might say add to your punishment. If +you have a spark of conscience or shame left, spare me the further +disgrace of reading of your arrest in the papers. Get out of England--" + +"My money is in my rooms!" gasped Nevill. "I can't escape unless you +help me!" + +Sir Lucius took a handful of notes and gold from his pocket. + +"Here are a hundred pounds--all I have with me," he said. "It will be +more than sufficient. Don't lose a moment! Go to Dover, and cross by the +night boat. And never let me see you or hear from you again! I disown +you--you are no nephew of mine! Do you understand? You have ruined your +life beyond redemption--you can't do better than finish it with a +bullet!" + +Nevill had no words to reply. He seized the money with a trembling hand, +and crammed it into his pocket. Then he slunk away into the darkness and +disappeared. + +On the following day a new sensation thrilled the public, and it may be +imagined with what surprise Sir Lucius Chesney and Jack Vernon--who had +especial cause to be interested in the revelation--read the papers. The +story was complete, for Mr. Shadrach, the Jew who managed business for +the firm of Benjamin and Company, took fright and made a full confession. +The _Globe_, after treating at length of the arrest and subsequent +suicide of Stephen Foster, continued its account as follows: + +"The history of the two Rembrandts forms one of the most curious and +unique episodes in criminal annals, and not the least remarkable feature +of the story is the manner in which it is pieced together by the +statement of Stephen Foster and the confession of Noah Hawker. When Lamb +and Drummond purchased the original Rembrandt from the collection of the +late Martin Von Whele, and exhibited it in London, Stephen Foster and +his confederate, Victor Nevill, laid clever plans to steal the picture. +They knew that a duplicate Rembrandt, an admirable copy, was in the +possession of Mr. John Vernon, the well-known artist, who was lately +accused wrongfully of murder. By a cunning ruse Foster stole the +duplicate, and on the night of the robbery he exchanged it for the real +picture, while Nevill engaged the watchman in conversation in the Crown +Court public-house. But two other men, Noah Hawker and a companion +called the Spider, had designs on the same picture. Hawker, while +prowling about, saw Stephen Foster emerge from Crown Court, but thought +nothing of that circumstance until long afterward. So he and the Spider +stole the false Rembrandt which Foster had substituted, believing it to +be the real one. + +"Hawker and his companion went abroad, and when they tried to dispose of +their prize in Munich they learned that it was of little value. They +sold it, however, for a trifling sum, and the dealer who bought it +disposed of it as an original to Sir Lucius Chesney. On his return to +England, hearing for the first time of the robbery, Sir Lucius took the +painting to Lamb and Drummond and discovered how he had been tricked. +Meanwhile Hawker and his companion quarreled and separated. Both had +been under suspicion since a short time after the theft of the +Rembrandt, and when the Spider was arrested in Belgium, for a crime +committed in that country, he made some statements in regard to the Lamb +and Drummond affair. Hawker, coming back to London, fell into the hands +of the police. He had before this suspected Stephen Foster's crime, and +when he found how strong the case was against himself, he told all that +he knew. Scotland Yard took the matter up, and quickly discovered more +evidence, which warranted them in arresting Foster yesterday. They found +the original Rembrandt in his safe, and the unfortunate man, after +writing a complete confession, committed suicide. His fellow-criminal, +Victor Nevill, must have received timely warning. The police have not +succeeded in apprehending him, and it is believed that he crossed to the +Continent last night." + +It was not until the middle of the day that the papers printed the +complete story. Sir Lucius and Jack had a long talk about that and +other matters, and in the afternoon they went together to the house at +Strand-on-the-Green, and left messages of sympathy for Miss Foster; she +was too prostrated to see any person, Mrs. Sedgewick informed them. +Three days later, after the burial of Stephen Foster, Jack returned +alone. He found the house closed, and a neighbor told him that Madge +and Mrs. Sedgewick had gone away and left no address. + +It was a bitter disappointment, and it proved the last straw to the +burden of Jack's troubles. For a week he tried vainly to trace the girl, +and then, at the earnest request of Sir Lucius, he went down to Priory +Court. There fever gripped him, and he fell seriously ill. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +CONCLUSION. + + +For weeks Jack hovered between life and death, and when the crisis was +finally passed, and he found himself well on the road to convalescence, +the new year was a month old. His first thoughts were of Madge, whose +disappearance was still a mystery; he learned this from Jimmie, who came +down to Priory Court more than once to see his friend. He had decided to +spend the winter in England, and since Jack's illness he had been trying +to find the girl. + +By medical advice the patient was sent off to Torquay, in Devonshire, to +recuperate, and Sir Lucius, who was anxious to restore his nephew to +perfect health again, accompanied him. Jimmie remained in London, +determined to prosecute his search for Madge more vigorously than ever. +Sir Lucius, who, of course, knew the whole story, himself begged Jimmie +to spare no pains. + +In the mild climate of Devon the days dragged along monotonously, and +Jimmie's letters spoke only of failure. But Jack grew stronger and +stouter, and in looks, at least, he was quite like his old self, with a +fine bronze on his cheeks, when he returned with Sir Lucius to Priory +Court in March. It was the close of the month, and many a nine days' +wonder had replaced in the public interest the tragic death of Stephen +Foster, the exposure of Benjamin and Company's nefarious transactions, +and the solved mystery of the two Rembrandts. The world easily forgets, +but not so with the actors concerned. + +Jack had been at Priory Court two days, and was expecting a visit from +Jimmie, when the latter wired to him to come up to town at once if he +was able. Sir Lucius was not at home; he was riding over some distant +property he had recently bought. So Jack left a note for him, drove to +the station, and caught a London train. He reached Victoria station at +noon, and the cab that whirled him to the Albany seemed to crawl. Jimmie +greeted him gladly, with a ring of deep emotion in his mellow voice. + +"By Jove, old fellow," he cried, "you are looking splendidly fit!" + +"Have you succeeded?" Jack demanded, impatiently. + +"Yes, I have found her," Jimmie replied. "It was by a mere fluke. I went +to a solicitor on some business, and it turned out that he was acting +for Miss Foster--you see her father left a good bit of money. He was +close-mouthed at first, but when I partly explained how matters stood, +he told me that the girl and her old servant, Mrs. Sedgewick, went off +to a quiet place in the country--" + +"And he gave you the address?" + +"Yes; here it is!" + +Jack took the piece of paper, and when he glanced at it his face +flushed. He wrung his friend's hand silently, looking the gratitude that +he could not utter, and then he made a bolt for the door. + +"I'm off," he said, hoarsely. "God bless you, Jimmie--I'll never forget +this!" + +"Sure you feel fit enough?" + +"Quite; don't worry about that." + +"Well, good luck to you, old man!" + +Jack shouted good-by, and made for Piccadilly. He sprang into the first +cab that came along, and he reached Waterloo just in time to catch a +Shepperton train. He longed to be at his destination, and alternate +hopes and fears beset him, as he watched the landscape flit by. He drew +a deep breath when he found himself on the platform of the rustic little +station. It was a beautiful spring-like day, warm and sunny, with birds +making merry song and the air sweet and fragrant. He started off at a +rapid pace along the hedge-bordered road, and, traversing the length of +the quaint old village street, he stopped finally at a cottage on the +farther outskirts. It was a pretty, retired place, lying near the +ancient church-tower, and isolated by a walled garden full of trees and +shrubbery. + +Jack's heart was beating wildly as he opened the gate. He walked up the +graveled path, between the rows of tall green boxwood, and suddenly a +vision rose before him. It was Madge herself, as lovely and fair as the +springtime, in a white frock with a pathetic touch of black at the +throat and waist. She approached slowly, then lifted her eyes and saw +him. And on the mad impulse of the moment he sprang forward and seized +her. He held her tight against his heart, as though he intended never to +release her. + +"At last, darling!" he whispered passionately. "At last I have found +you! Cruel one, why did you hide so long? Can you forgive me, Madge? Can +you bring back the past?--the happiness that was yours and mine in the +old days?" + +At first the girl lay mutely in his arms, quivering like a fragile +flower with emotions that he could not read. Then she tried to break +from his embrace, looking at him with a flushed and tear-stained face. + +"Let me go!" she pleaded. "Oh, Jack, why did you come? It was wrong of +you! I have tried to forget--you know that the past is dead!" + +"Hush! I love you, Madge, with a love that can never die. I won't lose +you again. Be merciful! Don't send me away! Is the shadow of the +past--the heavy punishment that fell upon me for boyish follies--to +blast your life and mine? Have I not suffered enough?" + +The girl slipped from his arms and confronted him sadly. + +"It is not that," she said. "I am unworthy of you, Jack. What is your +disgrace to mine? Would you marry the daughter of a man who--" + +"Are you to blame for your father's sins?" Jack interrupted. "Let the +dead rest! He would have wished you to be happy. You are mine, mine! +Nothing shall part us, unless--But I won't believe that. Tell me, Madge, +that you love me--that your feelings have not changed." + +"I do love you, Jack, with all my heart, but--" + +He stopped her lips with a kiss, and drew her to his arms again. + +"There is no but," he whispered. "The shadows are gone, and the world is +bright. Dearest, you will be my wife?" + +He read his answer in her eloquent eyes, in the passion of the lips that +met his. A joy too deep for words filled his heart, and he felt himself +amply compensated for all that he had suffered. + + * * * * * + +The marriage took place in June, at old Shepperton church, and Jimmie +was best man. Sir Lucius Chesney witnessed the quiet ceremony, and then +considerately went off to Paris for a fortnight, while the happy pair +traveled down to Priory Court, to spend their honeymoon in the ancestral +mansion that would some day be their own. And, later, Jack took his wife +abroad, intending to do the Continent thoroughly before buckling down +in London to his art; he could not be persuaded to relinquish that, in +spite of the sad memories that attached to it. + +Jimmie took a sudden longing for his native heath, and returned to New +York; but it is more than likely that he will spend a part of each year +in England, as so many Americans are eager to do. Madge does not forget +her father, unworthy though he was of such a daughter; and to Jack the +memory of Diane is untempered by bitter feelings; for he knows that she +repented at the last. The Honorable Bertie Raven has learned his hard +lesson, and his present conduct gives reasonable assurance that he will +run a straight course in the future, thanks to the friend who saved him. +Noah Hawker is doing five years "hard," and Victor Nevill is an outcast +and an exile in Australia, eking out a wretched existence on a small +income that Sir Lucius kindly allows him. + +As for the two Rembrandts, the original, of course, reverted to Lamb and +Drummond. The duplicate hangs in the gallery at Priory Court, and Sir +Lucius prizes it highly because it was the main link in the chain of +circumstances that gave him a nephew worthy of his honored name. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's In Friendship's Guise, by Wm. 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Murray Graydon + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of In Friendship's Guise, by Wm. Murray Graydon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: In Friendship's Guise + +Author: Wm. Murray Graydon + +Release Date: May 31, 2005 [EBook #15965] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN FRIENDSHIP'S GUISE *** + + + + +Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>In Friendship's Guise</h1> + +<h2>BY WM. MURRAY GRAYDON</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "The Cryptogram," etc.</h3> + +<h2>1899</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS" />CONTENTS.</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> + <a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I.—The Duplicate Rembrandt</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II.—Five Years Afterwards</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III.—An Old Friend</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV.—Number 320 Wardour Street</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V.—A Mysterious Discussion</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI.—A Visitor from Paris</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII.—Love's Young Dream</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII.—An Attraction in Pall Mall</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX.—Uncle and Nephew</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X.—A London Sensation</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI.—A Mysterious Discovery</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII.—A Cowardly Communication</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII.—The Tempter</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV.—The Dinner at Richmond</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV.—From the Dead</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI.—The Last Card</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII.—Two Passengers from Calais</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII.—Home Again</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX.—A Shock for Sir Lucius</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER XX.—At a Night Club</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI.—A Quick Decision</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII.—Another Chance</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXIII.—On the Track</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXIV.—A Fateful Decision</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b>CHAPTER XXV.—A Fruitless Errand</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><b>CHAPTER XXVI.—A Thunderbolt from the Blue</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><b>CHAPTER XXVII.—An Amateur Detective</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><b>CHAPTER XXVIII.—A Discovery</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"><b>CHAPTER XXIX.—The Vicar of Dunwold</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"><b>CHAPTER XXX.—Run to Earth</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI"><b>CHAPTER XXXI.—Noah Hawker's Disclosure</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII"><b>CHAPTER XXXII.—How the Day Ended</b></a><br /> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXXIII.—Conclusion</b></a><br /> + </p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IN_FRIENDSHIPS_GUISE" id="IN_FRIENDSHIPS_GUISE" ></a>IN FRIENDSHIP'S GUISE.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I" ></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>THE DUPLICATE REMBRANDT.</h3> + + +<p>The day began well. The breakfast rolls were crisper than usual, the +butter was sweeter, and never had Diane's slender white hands poured out +more delicious coffee. Jack Clare was in the highest spirits as he +embraced his wife and sallied forth into the Boulevard St. Germain, with +a flat, square parcel wrapped in brown paper under his arm. From the +window of the entresol Diane waved a coquettish farewell.</p> + +<p>"Remember, in an hour," she called down to him. "I shall be ready by +then, Jack, and waiting. We will lunch at Bignon's—"</p> + +<p>"And drive in the Bois, and wind up with a jolly evening," he +interrupted, throwing a kiss. "I will hasten back, dear one. Be sure +that you put on your prettiest frock, and the jacket with the ermine +trimming."</p> + +<p>It was a clear and frosty January morning, in the year 1892, and the +streets of Paris were dry and glistening. There was intoxication in the +very air, and Jack felt thoroughly in harmony with the fine weather. +What mattered it that he had but a few francs in his pocket—that the +quarterly remittance from his mother, who dreaded the Channel passage +and was devoted to her foggy London, would not be due for a fortnight? +The parcel under his arm meant, without doubt, a check for a nice sum. +He and Diane would spend it merrily, and until the morrow at least his +fellow-workers at Julian's Academy would miss him from his accustomed +place.</p> + +<p>Bright-eyed grisettes flung coy looks at the young artist as he strode +along, admiring his well-knit figure, his handsome boyish features +chiseled as finely as a cameo, the crisp brown hair with a slight +tendency to curl, his velvet jacket and flowing tie. Jack nodded and +smiled at a familiar face now and then, or paused briefly to greet a +male acquaintance; for the Latin Quarter had been his little world for +three years, and he was well-known in it from the Boulevard St. Michel +to the quays of the Seine. He snapped his fingers at a mounted +cuirassier in scarlet and silver who galloped by him on the Point Royal, +and whistled a few bars of "The British Grenadiers" as he passed the +red-trowsered, meek-faced, under-sized soldiers who shouldered their +heavy muskets in the courts of the Louvre. The memory of Diane's +laughing countenance, as she leaned from the window, haunted him in the +Avenue de l'Opera.</p> + +<p>"She's a good little girl, except when she's in a temper," he said to +himself, "and I love her every bit as much as I did when we were married +a year ago. Perhaps I was a fool, but I don't regret it. She was as +straight as a die, with a will of her own, and it was either lose her +altogether or do the right thing. I couldn't bear to part with her, and +I wasn't blackguard enough to try to deceive her. I'm afraid there will +be a row some day, though, when the Mater learns the truth. What would +she say if she knew that Diane Merode, one of the most popular and +fascinating dancers of the Folies Bergere, was now Mrs. John Clare?"</p> + +<p>It was not a cheerful thought, but Jack's momentary depression vanished +as he stopped before the imposing facade of the Hotel Netherlands, in +the vicinity of the Opera. He entered boldly and inquired for Monsieur +Martin Von Whele. The gentleman was gone, a polite garcon explained. He +had received a telegram during the night to say that his wife was very +ill, and he had left Paris by the first train.</p> + +<p>The happiness faded from Jack's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Gone—gone back to Amsterdam?" he exclaimed incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, to his own country, monsieur."</p> + +<p>"And he left no message for me—no letter?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, no, monsieur; he departed in great haste."</p> + +<p>An appeal to a superior official of the hotel met with the same +response, and Jack turned away. He wandered slowly down the gay street, +the parcel hanging listlessly under his left arm, and his right hand +jingling the few coins in his pocket. His journey over the river, begun +so hopefully, had ended in a bitter disappointment.</p> + +<p>Martin Von Whele was a retired merchant, a rich native of Amsterdam, and +his private collection of paintings was well known throughout Europe. He +had come to Paris a month before to attend a private sale, and had there +purchased, at a bargain, an exceedingly fine Rembrandt that had but +recently been unearthed from a hiding-place of centuries. He determined +to have a copy made for his country house in Holland, and chance brought +him in contact with Jack Clare, who at the time was reproducing for an +art patron a landscape in the Luxembourg Gallery—a sort of thing that +he was not too proud to undertake when he was getting short of money. +Monsieur Von Whele liked the young Englishman's work and came to an +agreement with him. Jack copied the Rembrandt at the Hotel Netherlands, +going there at odd hours, and made a perfect duplicate of it—a +dangerous one, as the Hollander laughingly suggested. Jack applied the +finishing touches at his studio, and artfully gave the canvas an +appearance of age. He was to receive the promised payment when he +delivered the painting at the Hotel Netherlands, and he had confidently +expected it. But, as has been seen, Martin Von Whele had gone home in +haste, leaving no letter or message. For the present there was no +likelihood of getting a cheque from him.</p> + +<p>The brightness of the day aggravated Jack's disappointment as he walked +back to the little street just off the Boulevard St. Germain. He tried +to look cheerful as he mounted the stairs and threw the duplicate +Rembrandt into a corner of the studio, behind a stack of unfinished +sketches. Diane entered from the bedroom, ravishingly dressed for the +street in a costume that well set off her perfect figure. She was a +picture of beauty with her ivory complexion, her mass of dark brown +hair, and the wonderfully large and deep eyes that had been one of her +chief charms at the Folies Bergere.</p> + +<p>"Good boy!" she cried. "You did not keep me waiting long. But you look +as glum as a bear. What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>Jack explained briefly, in an appealing voice.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry for your sake, dear," he added. "We are down to our +last twenty-franc piece, but in another fortnight—"</p> + +<p>"Then you won't take me?"</p> + +<p>"How can I? Don't be unreasonable."</p> + +<p>"You promised, Jack. And see, I am all ready. I won't stay at home!"</p> + +<p>"Is it my fault, Diane? Can I help it that Von Whele has left Paris?"</p> + +<p>"You can help it that you have no money. Oh, I wish I had not given up +the stage!"</p> + +<p>Diane stamped one little foot, and angry tears rose to her eyes. She +tore off her hat and jacket and dashed them to the floor. She threw +herself on a couch.</p> + +<p>"You deceived me!" she cried bitterly. "You promised that I should want +for nothing—that you would always have plenty of money. And this is how +you keep your word! You are selfish, unkind! I hate you!"</p> + +<p>She continued to reproach him, growing more and more angry. Words of +the lowest Parisian argot, picked up from her companions of the Folies +Bergere, fell from her lovely lips—words that brought a blush of shame, +a look of horror and repulsion, to Jack's face.</p> + +<p>"Diane," he said pleadingly, as he bent over the couch.</p> + +<p>Her mood changed as quickly, and she suddenly clasped her arms around +his neck.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Jack," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"I always do," he sighed.</p> + +<p>"And, please, please get some money—now."</p> + +<p>"You know that I can't."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you can. You have lots of friends—they won't refuse you."</p> + +<p>"But I hate to ask them. Of course, Jimmie Drexell would gladly loan me +a few pounds—"</p> + +<p>"Then go to him," pleaded Diane, as she hung on his neck and stopped his +protests with a shower of kisses. "Go and get the money, Jack, dear—you +can pay it back when your remittance comes. And we will have such a +jolly day! I am sure you don't want to work."</p> + +<p>Jack hesitated, and finally gave in; it was hard for him to resist a +woman's tears and entreaties—least of all when that woman was his +fascinating little wife. A moment later he was in the street, walking +rapidly toward the studio of his American friend and fellow-artist, +Jimmie Drexell.</p> + +<p>"How Diane twists me around her finger!" he reflected ruefully. "I hate +these rows, and they have been more frequent of late. When she is in a +temper, and lets loose with her tongue, she is utterly repulsive. But I +forget everything when she melts into tears, and then I am her willing +slave again. I wonder sometimes if she truly loves me, or if her +affection depends on plenty of money and pleasure. Hang it all! Why +is a man ever fool enough to get married?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On a corner of the Boulevard St. Michel and a cross street there is a +brasserie beloved of artists and art students, and slightly more popular +with them than similar institutions of the same ilk in the Latin +Quarter. Here, one hazy October evening, nine months after Mr. Von +Whele's hurried departure from Paris, might have been found Jack Clare. +Tête-à-tête with him, across the little marble-topped table, was his +friend Victor Nevill, whom he had known in earlier days in England, and +whose acquaintance he had recently renewed in gay Paris. Nevill was an +Oxford graduate, and a wild and dissipated young man of Jack's age; he +was handsome and patrician-looking, a hail-fellow-well-met and a +favorite with women, but a close observer of character would have +proclaimed him to be selfish and heartless. He had lately come into +a large sum of money, and was spending it recklessly.</p> + +<p>The long, low-ceilinged room was dim with tobacco smoke, noisy with +ribald jests and laughter. Here and there the waitresses, girls +coquettishly dressed, tripped with bottles and syphons, foaming bocks, +and glasses of brandy or liqueurs. The customers of the brasserie were +a mixed lot of women and men, the latter comprising' numerous +nationalities, and all drawn to Paris by the wiles of the Goddess of +Art. Topical songs of the day succeeded one another rapidly. A group of +long-haired, polyglot students hung around the piano, while others +played on violins or guitars, which they had brought to contribute to +the evening's enjoyment. At intervals, when there was a lull, the click +of billiard balls came from an adjoining apartment. Out on the +boulevard, under the glaring lights, the tide of revelers and +pleasure-seekers flowed unceasingly.</p> + +<p>"I consider this a night wasted," said Jack. "I would rather have gone +to the Casino, for a change."</p> + +<p>"It didn't much matter where we went, as long as we spent our last +evening together," Victor Nevill replied. "You know I leave for Rome +to-morrow. I fancy it will be a good move, for I have been going the +pace too fast in Paris."</p> + +<p>"So have I," said Jack, wearily. "I'm not as lucky as you, with a pot of +money to draw on. I intend to turn over a new leaf, old chap, and you'll +find me reformed when you come back. I've been a fool, Nevill. When my +mother died last February I came into 30,000 francs, and for the last +five months I have been scattering my inheritance recklessly. Very +little of it is left now."</p> + +<p>"But you have been working?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in a sort of a way. But you can imagine how it goes when a fellow +turns night into day."</p> + +<p>"It's time you pulled up," said Nevill, "before you go stone broke. You +owe that much to your wife."</p> + +<p>He spoke with a slight sneer which escaped his companion.</p> + +<p>"I like that," Jack muttered bitterly. "Diane has spent two francs to +my one—or helped me to spend them."</p> + +<p>"Such is the rosy path of marriage," Nevill remarked lightly.</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" said Jack.</p> + +<p>He laughed as he drained his glass of cognac, and then settled back in +his seat with a moody expression. His thoughts were not pleasant ones. +Since the early part of the year he and his wife had been gradually +drifting apart, and even when they were together at theatres or +luxurious cafes, spending money like water, there had been a restraint +between them. Of late Diane's fits of temper had become more frequent, +and only yielded to a handful of gold or notes. Jack had sought his own +amusements and left her much alone—more than was good for her, he now +reflected uneasily. Yet he had the utmost confidence in her still, and +not a shadow of suspicion had crossed his mind. He believed that his +honor was safe in her care.</p> + +<p>"I have wished a thousand times that I had never married," he said to +himself, "but it is too late for that now. I must make the best of it. +I still love Diane, and I don't believe she has ceased to care for me. +Poor little girl! Perhaps she feels my neglect, and is too proud to own +it. I was ready enough to cut work and spend money. Yes, it has been my +fault. I'll go to her to-night and tell her that. I'll ask her to move +back to our old lodgings, where we were so happy. And then I'll turn +over that new leaf—"</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with you, my boy?" broke in Victor Nevill. "Have you been +dreaming?"</p> + +<p>"I am going home," said Jack, rising. "It will be a pleasant surprise +for Diane."</p> + +<p>Nevill looked at him curiously, then laughed. He took out his watch.</p> + +<p>"Have another drink," he urged. "We part to-night—who knows when we +will meet again? And it is only half-past eleven."</p> + +<p>"One more," Jack assented, sitting down again.</p> + +<p>Brandy was ordered, and Victor Nevill kept up a rapid conversation, and +an interesting one. From time to time he glanced covertly at his watch, +and it might have been supposed that he was purposely detaining his +companion. More brandy was placed on the table, and Jack frequently +lifted the glass to his lips. With a cigar between his teeth, with +flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, he laughed as merrily as any in the +room. But he did not drink too much, and the hand that he finally held +out to Nevill was perfectly steady.</p> + +<p>"I must be off now," he said. "It is long past midnight. Good-by, old +chap, and bon voyage."</p> + +<p>"Good-by, my dear fellow. Take care of yourself."</p> + +<p>It was an undemonstrative parting, such as English-men are addicted to. +Jack sauntered out to the boulevard, and turned his steps homeward. His +thoughts were all of Diane, and he was not to be cajoled by a couple of +grisettes who made advances. He nodded to a friendly gendarme, and +crossed the street to avoid a frolicksome party of students, who were +bawling at the top of their voices the chorus of the latest topical song +by Paulus, the Beranger of the day—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Nous en avons pour tous les gouts."</p></div> + +<p>Victor Nevill heard the refrain as he left the brasserie and looked +warily about. He stepped into a cab, gave the driver hurried +instructions, and was whirled away at a rattling pace toward the Seine.</p> + +<p>"He will never suspect me," he muttered complacently, as he lit a +cigar.</p> + +<p>With head erect, and coat buttoned tightly over his breast, Jack went on +through the enticing streets of Paris. He had moved from his former +lodgings to a house that fronted on the Boulevard St. Germain. Here he +had the entresol, which he had furnished lavishly to please his wife. He +let himself in with a key, mounted the stairs, and opened the studio +door. A lamp was burning dimly, and the silence struck a chill to his +heart.</p> + +<p>"Diane," he called.</p> + +<p>There was no reply. He advanced a few feet, and caught sight of a letter +pinned to the frame of an easel. He turned up the lamp, opened the +envelope, and read the contents:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Dear Jack:—</p> + +<p>"Good-by forever. You will never see me again. Forgive me and try to +forget. It is better that we should part, as I could not endure a life of +poverty. I love you no longer, and I am sure that you have tired of me. I +am going with one who has taken your place in my heart—one who can +gratify my every wish. It will be useless to seek for me. Again, +farewell. DIANE."</p></div> + +<p>The letter fell from Jack's hand, and he trampled it under foot. He +reeled into the dainty bedroom, and his burning eyes noted the signs of +confusion and flight—the open and empty drawers, the despoiled dressing +table, the discarded clothing strewn on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Gone!" he cried hoarsely. "Gone at the bidding of some +scoundrel—perhaps a trusted friend and comrade! God help my betrayer +when the day of reckoning comes! But I am well rid of her. She was +heartless and mercenary. She never could have loved me—she has left me +because she knew that my money was nearly spent. But I love her still. I +can't tear her out of my heart. Diane, my wife, come back! Come back!"</p> + +<p>His voice rang through the empty, deserted rooms. He threw himself on +the bed, and tore the lace coverings with his finger nails. He wept +bitter tears, strong man though he was, while out on the boulevard the +laughter of the midnight revelers mocked at his grief.</p> + +<p>Finally he rose; he laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>"Damn her, she would have dragged me down to her own level," he +muttered. "It is for the best. I am a free man once more."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II" ></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>FIVE YEARS AFTERWARDS.</h3> + + +<p>Jack Vernon looked discontentedly at the big canvas on the easel, and +with a shrug of the shoulders he turned his back on it. He dropped his +palette and flung his sheaf of brushes into an open drawer.</p> + +<p>"I am not fit for anything to-day," he said petulantly. "I was up too +late last night. No, most decidedly, I am not in the mood for work."</p> + +<p>He sauntered to the huge end window of the studio, and looked out over +the charming stretch of Ravenscourt Park. It was an ideal morning toward +the close of April, 1897—such a morning as one finds at its best in the +western suburbs of mighty London. The trees were in fresh leaf and bud, +the crocuses were blooming in the well-kept beds, and the grass was a +sheet of glittering emeralds. The singing of birds vied with the jangle +of tram-bells out on the high-road.</p> + +<p>"A pull on the river will take the laziness out of me," thought Jack, as +he yawned and extended his arms. "What glorious weather! It would be a +shame to stop indoors."</p> + +<p>A mental picture of the silvery Thames, green-wooded and sunny, proved +too strong an allurement to resist. Jack did not know that Destiny, +watchful of opportunity, had taken this beguiling shape to lead him to +a turning-point of his life—to steer him into the thick of troubled and +restless waters, of gray clouds and threatening storms. He discarded +his paint-smeared blouse—he had worn one since his Paris days—and, +getting quickly into white flannel and a river hat, he lit a briar pipe +and went forth whistling to meet his fate.</p> + +<p>He was fond of walking, and he knew every foot of old Chiswick by heart. +He struck across the high-road, down a street of trim villas to a more +squalid neighborhood, and came out by the lower end of Chiswick Mall, +sacred to memories of the past. He lingered for a moment by the stately +house immortalized by Thackeray in Vanity Fair, and pictured Amelia +Sedley rolling out of the gates in her father's carriage, while Becky +Sharpe hurled the offending dictionary at the scandalized Miss +Pinkerton. Tempted by the signboard of the Red Lion, and by the +red-sailed wherries clustered between the dock and the eyot, he stopped +to quaff a foaming pewter on a bench outside the old inn.</p> + +<p>A little later he had threaded the quaint passage behind Chiswick +Church, left the sonorous hammering of Thorneycroft's behind him, and +was stepping briskly along Burlington Lane, with the high wall of +Devonshire House on his right, and on his left, far over hedges and +orchards, the riverside houses of Barnes. He was almost sorry when he +reached Maynard's boat-house, where he kept a couple of light and +serviceable craft; but the dimpled bosom of the Thames, sparkling in the +sunlight, woke a fresh enthusiasm in his heart, and made him long to +transfer the picture to canvas.</p> + +<p>"Even a Turner could not do it half justice," he reflected.</p> + +<p>It was indeed a scene to defy any artist, but there were some bold enough +to attempt it. As Jack pulled up the river he saw, here and there, a +fellow-craftsman ensconced in a shady nook with easel and camp-chair. His +vigorous strokes sent him rapidly by Strand-on-the-Green, that secluded +bit of a village which so few Londoners have taken the trouble to search +out. A narrow paved quay, fringed with stately elm trees, separated the +old-fashioned, many-colored houses from the reedy shore, where at high +tide low great black barges, which apparently go nowhere, lie moored in +picturesque array.</p> + +<p>It was all familiar to Jack, but he never tired of this stretch of the +Thames. He dived under Kew Bridge, shot by Kew Gardens and ancient +Brentford, and turned around off Isleworth. He rowed leisurely back, +dropping the oars now and again to light his pipe.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing like this to brace a fellow up," he said to himself, as +he drew near Maynard's. "I should miss the river if I took a studio in +town. I'll have a bit of lunch at the Red Lion, and then go home and do +an afternoon's work."</p> + +<p>A churning, thumping noise, which he had disregarded before, suddenly +swelled louder and warned him of possible danger. He was about off the +middle of Strand-on-the-Green, and, glancing around, he saw one of the +big Thames excursion steamers, laden with passengers, ploughing +up-stream within fifty yards of him, but at a safe distance to his +right. The same glimpse revealed a pretty picture midway between himself +and the vessel—a young girl approaching in a light Canadian canoe. She +could not have been more than twenty, and the striking beauty of her +face was due to those charms of expression and feature which are +indefinable. A crimson Tam-o'-Shanter was perched jauntily on her golden +hair, and a blue Zouave jacket, fitting loosely over her blouse, gave +full play to the grace and skill with which she handled the paddle.</p> + +<p>Jack was indifferent to women, and wont to boast that none could +enslave him, but the sight of this fair young English maiden, if it did +not weaken the citadel of his heart, at least made that organ beat a +trifle faster. He shot one look of bold admiration, then turned and bent +to the oars.</p> + +<p>"I don't know when I have seen so lovely a face," he thought. "I wonder +who she is."</p> + +<p>The steamer glided by, and the next moment Jack was nearly opposite to +the canoe. What happened then was swift and unexpected. Above the splash +of the revolving paddles he heard hoarse shouts and warning cries. He +saw green waves approaching, flung up in the wake of the passing vessel. +As he dropped the oars and leapt anxiously to his feet the frail canoe, +unfitted to encounter such a peril, was clutched and lifted broadside by +the foaming swell. Over it went instantly, and there was a flash of red +and blue as the girl was flung headfirst into the river.</p> + +<p>As quickly Jack clasped his hands and dived from his boat. He came to +the top and swam forward with desperate strokes. He saw the upturned +canoe, the floating paddle, the half-submerged Tam-o'-Shanter. Then a +mass of dripping golden hair cleft the surface, only to sink at once.</p> + +<p>But Jack had marked the spot, and, taking a full breath, he dived. To +the onlookers the interval seemed painfully long, and a hundred cheering +voices rent the air as the young artist rose to view, keeping himself +afloat with one arm, while the other supported the girl. She was +conscious, but badly scared and disposed to struggle.</p> + +<p>"Be quite still," Jack said, sharply. "You are in no danger—I will save +you if you trust me."</p> + +<p>The girl obeyed, looking into Jack's eyes with a calmer expression. The +steamer had stopped, and half a dozen row-boats were approaching from +different directions. A grizzled waterman and his companion picked up +the two and pulled them across to Strand-on-the-Green. Others followed +towing Jack's boat and the canoe, and the big steamer proceeded on her +way to Kew Pier.</p> + +<p>The Black Bull, close by the railway bridge, received the drenched +couple, and the watermen were delighted by the gift of a sovereign. A +motherly woman took the half-dazed girl upstairs, and Jack was led into +the oak-panelled parlor of the old inn by the landlord, who promptly +poured him out a little brandy, and then insisted on his having a change +of clothing.</p> + +<p>"Thank you; I fear I must accept your offer," said Jack. "But I hope you +will attend to the young lady first. Your wife seemed to know her."</p> + +<p>"Quite well, sir," was the reply. "Bless you, we all know Miss Madge +Foster hereabouts. She lives yonder at the lower end of the Green—"</p> + +<p>"Then she had better be taken home."</p> + +<p>"I think this is the best place for her at present, sir. Her father is +in town, and there is only an old servant."</p> + +<p>"You are quite right," said Jack. "I suppose there is a doctor near by."</p> + +<p>"There is, sir, and I will send for him at once," the landlord promised. +"If you will kindly step this way—"</p> + +<p>At that moment there was a stir among the curious idlers who filled the +entrance passage of the inn. An authoritative voice opened a way between +them, and a man pushed through to the parlor. His face changed color at +the sight of Jack, who greeted him with a cry of astonishment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III" ></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>AN OLD FRIEND</h3> + + +<p>There was gladness as well as surprise in Jack's hearty exclamation, for +the man who stood before him in the parlor of the Black Bull was his old +friend Victor Nevill, little altered in five years, except for a heavier +mustache that improved his dark and handsome face. To judge from +appearances, he had not run through with all his money. He was daintily +booted and gloved, and wore morning tweeds of perfect cut; a sprig of +violets was thrust in his button-hole. The two had not met since they +parted in Paris on that memorable night, nor had they known of each +other's whereabouts.</p> + +<p>"Nevill, old chap!" cried Jack, holding out a hand.</p> + +<p>Nevill clasped it warmly; his momentary confusion had vanished.</p> + +<p>"My dear Clare—" he began.</p> + +<p>"Not that name," Jack interrupted, laughingly. "I'm called Vernon on +this side of the Channel."</p> + +<p>"What, John Vernon, the rising artist?"</p> + +<p>"The same."</p> + +<p>"It's news to me. I congratulate you, old man. If I had known I would +have looked you up long ago, but I lost all trace of you."</p> + +<p>"That's my case," said Jack. "I supposed you were still abroad. Been +back long?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a couple of years."</p> + +<p>"By Jove, it's queer we didn't meet before. Fancy you turning up here!"</p> + +<p>"I stopped last night with a friend in Grove Park," Nevill answered, +after a brief hesitation, "and feeling a bit seedy this morning, I came +for a stroll along the river. I hear of a gallant rescue from the water, +and, of course, you are the hero, Jack. Is the young lady all right?"</p> + +<p>"I believe so."</p> + +<p>"Do you know who she is?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Madge Poster, sir," spoke up the landlord, "and I can assure you +she was very nearly drowned—"</p> + +<p>"Not so bad as that," modestly protested Jack.</p> + +<p>Victor Nevill's face had changed color again, and for a second there was +a troubled look in his eyes. He spoke the girl's name carelessly, then +added in hurried tones:</p> + +<p>"You must get into dry clothes at once, Jack, or you will be ill—"</p> + +<p>"Just what I told him, sir," interrupted the landlord. "Young men <i>will</i> +be reckless."</p> + +<p>"I am going back to town to keep an engagement," Nevill resumed. "Can I +do anything for you?"</p> + +<p>"If you will, old chap," Jack said gratefully. "Stop at my studio," +giving him the address, "and send my man Alphonse here with a dry rig."</p> + +<p>"I'll go right away," replied Neville. "I can get a cab at Kew Bridge. +Come and see me, Jack. Here is my card. I put up in Jermyn street."</p> + +<p>"And you know where to find me," said Jack. "I am seldom at home in the +evenings, though."</p> + +<p>A few more words, and Neville departed. Jack was prevailed upon by the +landlord to go to an upper room, where he stripped off his drenched +garments and rubbed himself dry, then putting on a suit of clothes +belonging to his host. The latter brought the cheering news that Miss +Foster had taken a hot draught and was sleeping peacefully, and that it +would be quite unnecessary to send for a doctor.</p> + +<p>A little later Alphonse and a cab arrived at the rear of the Black +Bull, where there was a lane for vehicular traffic, and Jack once more +changed his attire. He left his card and a polite message for the girl, +pressed a substantial tip on the reluctant landlord, and was soon +rattling homeward up Chiswick high-road, feeling none the worse for his +wetting, but, on the contrary, gifted with a keen appetite. He had sent +his boat back to Maynard's.</p> + +<p>"What a pretty girl that was!" he reflected. "It's the first time in +five years I've given a serious thought to a woman. But I shall forget +her as quickly—I am wedded to my art. It's rather a fetching name, +Madge Foster. Come to think of it, it was hardly the proper thing to +leave my card. I suppose I will get a fervid letter of gratitude from +the girl's father, or the two of them may even invade my studio. How +could I have been so stupid?"</p> + +<p>He ate a hearty lunch, and set to work diligently. But he could not keep +his mind from the adventure of the morning, and he saw more frequently +the face of the lovely young English girl, than that of the swarthy +Moorish dancer he was doing in oils.</p> + +<p>Those five years had made a different man of Jack Clare—had brought him +financial prosperity, success in his art, and contentment with life. He +was now twenty-seven, clean-shaven, and with the build of an athlete; +and his attractive, well-cut features had fulfilled the promise of +youth. But for six wretched months, after that bitter night when Diane +fled from him, he had suffered acutely. In vain his friends, none of +whom could give him any clew to his betrayer, sought to comfort him; in +vain he searched for trace of tidings of his wife, for her faithlessness +had not utterly crushed his love, and the recollections of the first +months of his marriage were very sweet to him. The chains with which the +dancer of the Folies Bergere bound him had been strong; his hot youth +had fallen victim to the charms of a face and figure that would have +enslaved more experienced men.</p> + +<p>But the healing power of time works wonders, and in the spring of the +succeeding year, when Paris burst into leaf and blossom, Jack began to +take a fresh interest in life, and to realize with a feeling little +short of satisfaction that Diane's desertion was all for the best, and +that he was well rid of a woman who must ultimately have dragged him +down to her own level. The sale of his mother's London residence, a +narrow little house in Bayswater, put him in possession of a fairly +large sum of money. He left Paris with his friend Jimmie Drexell, and +the two spent a year in Italy, Holland and Algeria, doing pretty hard +work in the way of sketching. Jack returned to Paris quite cured, and +with a determination to win success in his calling. He saw Drexell off +for his home in New York, and then he packed up his belongings—they had +been under lock and key in a room of the house on the Boulevard St. +Germain—and emigrated to London. His great sorrow was only an +unpleasant memory to him now. He had friends in England, but no +relations there or anywhere, so far as he knew. His father, an artist +of unappreciated talent, had died twenty years before. It was after his +death that Jack's mother had come into some property from a distant +relative.</p> + +<p>Taking his middle name of Vernon, Jack settled in Fitzroy Square. A +couple of hundred pounds constituted his worldly wealth. His ambition +was to be a great painter, but he had other tastes as well, and his +talent lay in more than one channel. Within a year, by dint of hard +work, he obtained more than a foothold. He had sold a couple of pictures +to dealers; his black-and-white drawings were in demand with a couple of +good magazines, and a clever poster, bearing his name, and advertising +a popular whisky was displayed all over London. Then, picking up a +French paper in the Monico one morning, he experienced a shock. The body +of a woman had been found in the Seine and taken to the Morgue, where +several persons unhesitatingly identified her as Diane Merode, the +one-time fascinating dancer of the Folies Bergere.</p> + +<p>Jack turned pale, and crushed the paper in his hand. Evening found him +wandering on the heights of Hampstead, but the next morning he was at +his easel. He was a free man now in every sense, and the world looked +brighter to him. He worked as hard as ever, and with increasing success, +but he spent most of his evenings with his comrades of the brush, with +whom he was immensely popular. He was indifferent to women, however, and +they did not enter into his life.</p> + +<p>But a few months before the opening of this story Jack had taken his new +studio at Ravenscourt Park, in the west of London. It was a big place, +with a splendid north light, and with an admirable train service to all +parts of town; in that respect he was better off than artists living in +Hampstead or St. John's Wood. He had a couple of small furnished rooms +at one end of the studio, in one of which he slept. He usually dined in +town, Paris fashion, but his breakfast and lunch were served by his +French servant, Alphonse, an admirable fellow, who had lodgings close by +the studio; he could turn his hand to anything, and was devoted to his +master.</p> + +<p>Jack had achieved success, and he deserved it. His name was well known, +and better things were predicted of him. The leading magazines displayed +his black-and-white drawings monthly, and publishers begged him to +illustrate books. He was making a large income, and saving the half of +it. Nor did he lose sight of his loftier goal. His picture of last year +had been accepted by the Academy, hung well, and sold, and he had just +been notified that he was in again this spring. Fortune smiled on him, +and the folly of his youth was a fading memory that could never cloud or +dim his future.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was two days after the adventure on the river, late in the afternoon. +Jack was reading over the manuscript of a book, and penciling possible +points for illustration, when Alphonse handed him a letter. It was +directed in a feminine hand, but a man had clearly penned the inclosure. +The writer signed himself Stephen Foster, and in a few brief sentences, +coldly and curtly expressed, he thanked Mr. Vernon for the great and +timely service he had rendered his daughter. That was all. There was no +invitation to the house at Strand-on-the-Green—no hope or desire for a +personal acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Jack resented the bald, stereotyped communication. He felt +piqued—slightly hurt. He had been trying to forget the girl, but now, +thinking of her as something out of his reach, he wanted to see her +again.</p> + +<p>"A conceited, crusty old chap—this Stephen Foster," he said to himself. +"No doubt he is a money-grubber in the city, and regards artists with +contempt. If I had a daughter like that, and a man saved her life, I +should be properly grateful. Poor girl, she can't lead a very happy +life."</p> + +<p>He lighted a pipe, read a little further, and then tossed the sheaf of +manuscript aside. He rose and put on a hat and a black coat—he wore +evening dress as little as possible.</p> + +<p>"Will you dine in town to-night, sir?" asked Alphonse, who was cleaning +a stack of brushes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, oh, yes," Jack answered. "You can go when you have finished."</p> + +<p>Whatever may have been his intention when he left the studio, Jack did +not cross the park toward the District Railway station. He walked slowly +to the high-road, and then westward with brisker step. He struck down +through Gunnersbury, by way of Sutton Court, and came out at the river +close to the lower end of Strand-on-the-Green.</p> + +<p>A girl was sitting on a bench near the shore, pensively watching the sun +drooping over the misty ramparts of Kew Bridge; she held a closed book +in one hand, and by her side lay a sketching-block and a box of colors. +She heard the young artist's footsteps, and glanced up. A lovely blush +suffused her countenance, and for an instant she was speechless. Then, +with less confusion, with the candor of an innocent and unconventional +nature, she said:</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Vernon."</p> + +<p>"That is kind of you," Jack replied, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I wanted to thank you—"</p> + +<p>"Your father has written to me."</p> + +<p>"But that is different. I wanted to thank you for myself."</p> + +<p>"I wish I were deserving of such gratitude," said Jack, thinking that +the girl looked far more charming than when he had first seen her.</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't say that. You know that you saved my life. I am a good +swimmer, but that morning my clothes seemed to drag me down."</p> + +<p>"I am glad that I happened to be near at the time," Jack replied, as +he seated himself without invitation on the bench. "But it is not a +pleasant topic—let us not talk about it."</p> + +<p>"I shall never forget it," the girl answered softly. She was silent for +a moment, and then added gravely: "It is so strange to know you. I +admire artists so much, and I saw your picture in last year's Academy. +How surprised I was when I read your card!"</p> + +<p>"You paint, yourself, Miss Foster?"</p> + +<p>"No, I only try to. I wish I could."</p> + +<p>She reluctantly yielded her block of Whatman's paper to Jack, and in the +portfolio attached to it he found several sketches that showed real +promise. He frankly said as much, to his companion's delight, and then +the conversation turned on the quaintness of Strand-on-the-Green, and +the constant and varied beauty of the river at this point—a subject +that was full of genuine interest to both. When the sun passed below the +bridge the girl suddenly rose and gathered her things.</p> + +<p>"I must go," she said. "My father is coming home early to-day. Good-by, +Mr. Vernon."</p> + +<p>"Not really good-by. I hope?"</p> + +<p>An expression of sorrow and pain, almost pitiful, clouded her lovely +face. Jack understood the meaning of it, and hated Stephen Foster in his +heart.</p> + +<p>"I shall see you here sometimes?" he added.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Then you do not forbid me to come again?"</p> + +<p>"How can I do that? This river walk is quite free, Mr. Vernon. Oh, +please don't think me ungrateful, but—but—"</p> + +<p>She turned her head quickly away, and did not finish the sentence. She +called a word of farewell over her shoulder, and Jack moodily watched +her slim and graceful figure vanish between the great elm trees that +guard the lower entrance to Strand-on-the-Green.</p> + +<p>"John Vernon, you are a fool," he said to himself. "The best thing for +you is to pack up your traps and be off to-morrow morning for a couple +of months' sketching in Devonshire. You've been bitten once—look out!"</p> + +<p>He took a shilling from his pocket, and muttered, as he flipped it in +the air: "Tail, Richmond—head, town."</p> + +<p>The coin fell tail upward, and Jack went off to dine at the Roebuck on +the hill, beloved of artists, where he met some boon companions and +argued about Whistler until a late hour.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV" ></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>NUMBER 320 WARDOUR STREET.</h3> + + +<p>The rear-guard of London's great army of clerks had already vanished in +the city, and the hour was drawing near to eleven, when Victor Nevill +shook off his lassitude sufficiently to get out of bed. A cold tub +freshened him, and as he dressed with scrupulous care, choosing his +clothes from a well-filled wardrobe, he occasionally walked to the +window of his sitting-room and looked down on the narrow but lively +thoroughfare of Jermyn street. It was a fine morning, with the scent of +spring in the air, and the many colors of the rumbling 'busses glistened +like fresh paint in the sunlight.</p> + +<p>His toilet completed, Victor Nevill pressed an electric bell, in answer +to which there presently appeared, from some mysterious source +downstairs, a boy in buttons carrying a tray on which reposed a small +pot of coffee, one of cream, a pat of butter, and a couple of crisp +rolls. Nevill ate his breakfast with the mechanical air of one who is +doing a tiresome but necessary thing, meanwhile consulting a tiny +memorandum-book, and counting over a handful of loose gold and silver. +Then he put on his hat and gloves, looked at the fit of his gray +frock-coat in the glass, and went into the street. At Piccadilly Circus +he bought a <i>boutonniere</i>, and as he was feeling slightly rocky after a +late night at card-playing, he dropped into the St. James. He emerged +shortly, fortified by a brandy-and-soda, and sauntered westward along +the Piccadilly pavement.</p> + +<p>A typical young-man-about-town, an indolent pleasure-lover, always +dressed to perfection and flush with money—such was Victor Nevill in +the opinion of the world. For aught men knew to the contrary, he thrived +like the proverbial lily of the field, without the need of toiling or +spinning. He lived in expensive rooms, dined at the best restaurants, +and belonged to a couple of good clubs. To his friends this was no +matter of surprise or conjecture. They were aware that he was +well-connected, and that years before he had come into a fortune; they +naturally supposed that enough of it remained to yield him a comfortable +income, in spite of the follies and extravagances that rumor attributed +to him in the past, while he was abroad.</p> + +<p>But Nevill himself, and one other individual, knew better. The bulk of +his fortune exhausted by reckless living on the Continent, he had +returned to London with a thousand pounds in cash, and a secured annuity +of two hundred pounds, which he was too prudent to try to negotiate. The +thousand pounds did not last long, but by the time they were spent he +had drifted into degraded and evil ways. None had ever dared to +whisper—none had ever suspected—that Victor Nevill was a rook for +money-lenders and a dangerous friend for young men. He knew what a +perilous game he was playing, but he studied every move and guarded +shrewdly against discovery. There were many reasons, and one in +particular, for keeping his reputation clean and untarnished. It was +a matter of the utmost satisfaction to him that his uncle, Sir Lucius +Chesney, of Priory Court in Sussex, cared but little for London, and +seldom came up to town. For Sir Lucius was childless, elderly, and +possessed of fifteen thousand pounds a year.</p> + +<p>Victor Nevill's progress along Piccadilly was frequently interrupted by +friends, fashionably dressed young men like himself, whose invitations +to come and have a drink he declined on the plea of an engagement. Just +beyond Devonshire House he was accosted eagerly by a fresh-faced, +blond-haired boy—he was no more than twenty-two—who was coming from +the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Bertie," Nevill said carelessly, as he shook hands. "I was on my +way to the club."</p> + +<p>"I got tired of waiting. You are half an hour over the time, Vic. I +thought of going to your rooms."</p> + +<p>"I slept later than I intended," Nevill replied. "I had a night of it."</p> + +<p>"So had I—a night of sleeplessness."</p> + +<p>The Honorable Bertie Raven, second son of the Earl of Runnymede, might +have stepped out of one of Poole's fashion-plates, so far as dress was +concerned. But there was a strained look on his handsome, patrician +face, and in his blue eyes, that told of a gnawing mental anxiety. He +linked arms with his companion, and drew him to the edge of the +pavement.</p> + +<p>"Is it all right?" he asked, pleadingly and hurriedly. "Were you able to +fix the thing up for me?"</p> + +<p>"You are sure there is no other way, Bertie?"</p> + +<p>"None, Vic. I have until this evening, and then—"</p> + +<p>"Don't worry. I saw Benjamin and Company yesterday."</p> + +<p>"And they will accommodate me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at my request."</p> + +<p>"You mean for your indorsement on the bill?" the lad exclaimed, +blushing. "Vic, you're a trump. You're the best fellow that ever lived, +and I can't tell you how grateful I am. God only knows what a weight +you've lifted from my mind. I'm going to run steady after this, and with +economy I can save enough out of my allowance—"</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, you are wasting your gratitude over a trifle. Could I +refuse so simple a favor to a friend?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know any one else who would have done as much, Vic. I was in an +awful hole. Will—will they give me plenty of time?"</p> + +<p>"As much as you like. And, I say, Bertie, this affair must be quite +<i>entre nous</i>. There are plenty of chaps—good fellows, too—who would +like to use my name occasionally. But one must draw the line—"</p> + +<p>"I understand, Vic. I'll be mum as an oyster."</p> + +<p>"Well, suppose we go and have the thing over," said Nevill, "and then +we'll lunch together."</p> + +<p>They turned eastward, walking briskly, and a few minutes later they +entered a narrow court off Duke street, St. James. Through a dingy and +unpretentious doorway, unmarked by sign or plate, they passed into the +premises of Benjamin and Company. In a dark, cramped office, scantily +furnished, they found an elderly Jewish gentleman seated at a desk.</p> + +<p>Without delay, with a smoothness that spoke well for the weight and +influence of Victor Nevill's name, the little matter of business, as the +Jew smilingly called it, was transacted. A three-months' bill for five +hundred pounds was drawn up for Bertie's signature and Nevill's +indorsement. The lad hesitated briefly, then wrote his name in a bold +hand. He resisted the allurements of some jewelry, offered him in part +payment, and received the amount of the bill, less a prodigious discount +for interest. The Jew servilely bowed his customers out.</p> + +<p>The Honorable Bertie's face was grave and serious as he walked toward +Piccadilly with his friend; he vaguely realized that he had taken the +first step on a road that too frequently ends in disgrace and ruin. But +this mood changed as he felt the rustling bank notes in his pocket. The +world had not looked so bright for many a day.</p> + +<p>"I never knew the thing was so easy," he said. "What a good fellow you +are, Vic! You've made a new man of me. I can pay off those cursed +gambling losses, and a couple of the most pressing debts, and have +nearly a hundred pounds over. But I wish I had taken that ruby bracelet +for Flora—it would have pleased her."</p> + +<p>"Cut Flora—that's my advice," replied Nevill.</p> + +<p>"And jolly good advice, too, Vic. I'll think about it seriously. But +where will you lunch with me?"</p> + +<p>"You are going to lunch with <i>me</i>," said Nevill, "at the Arlington."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In Wardour street, Soho, as many an enthusiastic collector has found out +to the depletion of his pocket-book, there are sufficient antique +treasures of every variety stored away in dingy shop windows and dingier +rooms to furnish a small town. Number 320, which by chance or design +failed to display the name of its proprietor, differed from its +neighbors in one marked respect. Instead of the usual conglomerate mass, +articles of value cheek by jowl with worthless rubbish, the long window +contained some rare pieces of china and silver, an Italian hall-seat of +richly carved oak, and half a dozen paintings by well-known artists of +the past century, the authenticity of which was an excuse for the amount +at which they were priced.</p> + +<p>Behind the window was a deep and narrow room, lined on both sides with +cabinets of great age and curious workmanship, oaken furniture belonging +to various periods, pictures restored and pictures cracked and faded, +cases filled with dainty objects of gold and silver, brass work from +Moorish and Saracenic craftsmen, tall suits of armor, helmets and +weapons that had clashed in battle hundreds of years before, and other +things too numerous to mention, all of a genuine value that put them +beyond the reach of a slim purse.</p> + +<p>In the rear of the shop—which was looked after by a salesman—was a +small office almost opulent in its appearance. Soft rugs covered the +floor, and costly paintings hung on the walls. The chairs and desk, the +huge couch, would have graced a palace, and a piece of priceless +tapestry partly overhung the big safe at one end. An incandescent lamp +was burning brightly, for very little light entered from the dreary +court on which a single window opened.</p> + +<p>Here, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Stephen Foster sat poring over a +sheaf of papers. He was a man of fifty-two, nearly six feet tall and +correspondingly built—a man with a fine head and handsome features, a +man to attract more than ordinary attention. His hands were white, slim +and long. His eyes were deep brown, and his mustache and beard—the +latter cut to a point—were of a tawny yellowish-brown color, mixed with +gray to a slight degree. It would be difficult to analyze his character, +for in many ways he was a contradiction. He was not miserly, but his +besetting evil was the love of accumulating money—the lever that had +made him thoroughly unscrupulous. He was rich, or reputed so, but in +amassing gold, by fair means or foul, lay the keynote to his life. And +it was a dual life. He had chosen the old mansion at Strand-on-the-Green +to be out of the roar and turmoil of London life, and yet within touch +of it. Here, where his evenings were mostly spent, he was a different +man. He derived his chief pleasures from his daughter's society, from a +table filled with current literature, from a box of choice Havanas. In +town he was a sordid man of business, clever at buying and selling to +the best advantage. He had loved his wife, the daughter of a city +alderman and a friend of his father's, and her death twelve years before +had been a great blow to him. Madge resembled her, and he gave the girl +a father's sincere devotion.</p> + +<p>Few persons knew that Stephen Foster was the proprietor of the +curio-shop in Wardour street—his daughter was among the ignorant—and +but one or two were aware that the business of Benjamin and Company, +carried on in Duke street, belonged also to him. None, assuredly, among +his sprinkling of acquaintances, would have believed that he could stoop +to lower things, or that he and his equally unscrupulous and useful +tool, Victor Nevill, the gay young-man-about-town, had been mixed up in +more than one nefarious transaction that would not bear the light of +day. He had taken the place in Wardour street within the past five +years, and prior to that time he had held a responsible position as +purchasing agent—there was not a better judge of pictures in +Europe—with the well-known firm of Lamb and Drummond, art dealers +and engravers to Her Majesty, of Pall Mall.</p> + +<p>A slight frown gathered on Stephen Foster's brow as he put aside the +packet of papers, and it deepened as he recognized a familiar step +coming through the shop. But he had a cheery smile of greeting ready +when the office door opened to admit Victor Nevill. The young man's face +was flushed with excitement, and he carried in one hand a crumpled copy +of the Westminster <i>Budget</i>.</p> + +<p>"Seen the evening editions yet?" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"No; what's in them?" asked the curio-dealer.</p> + +<p>"I was lunching at the Arlington, with the Honorable Bertie—By the +way, he took the hook," Nevill replied, in a calmer tone, "and when I +came out I bought this on the street. But read for yourself."</p> + +<p>He opened the newspaper, folded it twice, and tossed it down on Stephen +Foster's desk.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V" ></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>A MYSTERIOUS DISCUSSION.</h3> + + +<p>The paragraph in the Westminster <i>Budget</i> to which Victor Nevill +referred was headed in large type, and ran as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"This morning, at his palatial residence in Amsterdam, commenced the +sale of the gallery of valuable paintings collected by the late Mr. +Martin Von Whele, who died while on a visit to his coffee estate in +Java. He left everything to his son, with the exception of the pictures, +which, by the terms of his will, were to be disposed of in order to +found a hospital in his native town. Mr. Von Whele was a keen and +discriminating patron of art, a lover of both the ancient and the +modern, and his vast wealth permitted him to indulge freely in his +hobby. His collection was well known by repute throughout the civilized +world. But the trustees of the estate seem to have committed a grave +blunder—which will undoubtedly cause much complaint—in waiting until +almost the last moment to announce the sale. But few bidders were +present, and these had things pretty much their own way, apparently +owing to the gross ignorance of the auctioneer. The gem of the gallery, +the famous Rembrandt found and purchased in Paris some years ago by Mr. +Von Whele, was knocked down for the ridiculous sum of £2,400. The lucky +purchaser was Mr. Charles Drummond, of the firm of Lamb and Drummond, +Pall Mall."</p></div> + +<p>A remark that would not look well in print escaped Stephen Foster's lips +as he threw the paper on his desk.</p> + +<p>"A blunder?" he cried. "It was criminal! A rascally conspiracy, with +Drummond at the bottom of it—British cunning against Dutch stupidity! I +seldom miss anything in the papers, Nevill, and yet I never heard of Von +Whele's death. I didn't get a hint of the sale."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," replied Nevill. "It's a queer business. I thought the paragraph +would interest you. The sale continues—do you think of running over to +Amsterdam?"</p> + +<p>"No; I shan't go. It's too late. By to-morrow a lot of dealers will have +men on the spot, and the rest of the pictures will likely fetch full +value. But £2,400 for the Rembrandt! Why, it's worth five times as much +if it's worth a penny! There's a profit for you, Nevill. And I always +coveted that picture. I had a sort of a hope that it would drop into my +hands some day. I believe I spoke to you about it."</p> + +<p>"You did," assented Nevill, "and I remembered that at once when I read +of the sale. But I had another reason—one of my own—for calling your +attention to the matter."</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster apparently did not hear the latter remark.</p> + +<p>"I saw the Rembrandt when I was in Amsterdam, two years ago," he said +bitterly. "It was a splendid canvas—the colors were almost as fresh and +bright as the day they were laid on. And as a character study it was a +masterpiece second to none, and in my estimation superior to his +'Gilder,' which is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. It +represented a Pole or a Russian, with a face of intense ferocity. His +rank was shown by his rich cloak, the decorations on his furred hat, and +by the gold-beaded mace held in his hand. Von Whele declared that the +subject was John the Third, of Poland; but that was mere conjecture. And +now Drummond has the picture, and it will soon be drawing crowds around +the firm's window, I dare say. What a prize I have let slip through my +fingers!"</p> + +<p>"I want to ask you a question," Nevill started abruptly. "Suppose this +Rembrandt, or any other painting of value and renown, should be stolen +from a big dealer's shop. How could the thief dispose of it?"</p> + +<p>"He would have little or no chance of doing so at once," was the reply, +"unless he found some unscrupulous collector who was willing to buy it +and hide it away. But in the course of a few years, when the affair had +blown over, the picture could be sold for its full value, without any +risk to the seller, if he was a smart man."</p> + +<p>"Then, if you had this Rembrandt locked up in your safe, you would +regard it as a sound and sure investment, to be realized on in the +future?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I should consider it as an equivalent for £10,000," Stephen +Foster replied. "But there is not much of that sort of thing done—the +ordinary burglar doesn't understand the game," he went on, carelessly. +"And a good thing for the dealers, too. With my knowledge of the place, +I could very easily remove a picture from Lamb and Drummond's store-room +any night."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you know the ground thoroughly. Would you like to make £10,000 at +a single stroke, without risk?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I should hesitate long, if it was a sure thing," Stephen +Foster replied, laughingly. "Nevill, what are you driving at?" he added +with sudden earnestness.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, and I'll explain."</p> + +<p>Victor Nevill stepped to the door, listened briefly, and turned the key +noiselessly in the lock. He drew a chair close to his companion and sat +down.</p> + +<p>"I am going to tell you a little story," he said. "It will interest +you, if I am not mistaken."</p> + +<p>It must have been a very important and mysterious communication, from +the care with which Nevill told it, from the low and cautious tone in +which he spoke. Stephen Foster listened with a blank expression that +gradually changed to a look of amazement and satisfaction, of +ill-concealed avarice. Then the two discussed the matter together, +heedless of the passage of time, until the clock struck five.</p> + +<p>"It certainly appears to be simple enough," said Stephen Foster, "but +who will find out about—"</p> + +<p>"You must do that," Nevill interrupted. "If I went, it might lead to +awkward complications in the future."</p> + +<p>"It's the worst part, and I confess I don't like it. But I'll take a +night to think it over, and give you an answer to-morrow. It's an ugly +undertaking—"</p> + +<p>"But a safe one. If it comes off all right, I want £500 cash down, on +account."</p> + +<p>"It is not certain that it will come off at all," said Stephen Foster, +as he rose. "Come in to-morrow afternoon. Oh, I believe I promised you +some commission to-day."</p> + +<p>"Yes; sixty pounds."</p> + +<p>The check was written, and Nevill pocketed it with a nod. He put on his +hat, moved to the door, and paused.</p> + +<p>"By the by, there's a new thing on at the Frivolity—awfully good," he +said. "Miss Foster might like to see it. We could make up a little party +of three—"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, but my daughter doesn't care for theatres. And, as you know, +I spend my evenings at home."</p> + +<p>"I don't blame you," Nevill replied, indifferently. "It's a snug and +jolly crib you have down there by the river. And the fresh air does a +fellow a lot of good. I feel like a new man when I come back to town +after dining with you. One gets tired of clubs and restaurants."</p> + +<p>"Come out when you like," said Stephen Foster, in a voice that lacked +warmth and sincerity.</p> + +<p>"That's kind of you," Nevill replied. "Good-night!"</p> + +<p>A minute later he was walking thoughtfully down Wardour street.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI" ></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>A VISITOR FROM PARIS.</h3> + + +<p>It was seven o'clock in the evening, ten days after Jack's second +encounter with Madge Foster, and a blaze of light shone from the big +studio that overlooked Ravenscourt Park. The lord and master of it was +writing business letters, a task in which he was assisted by frequent +cigarettes. A tray containing whisky, brandy and siphons stood on a +Moorish inlaid smoking stand, and suggested correctly that a visitor was +expected. At noon Jack had received a letter from Victor Nevill, of whom +he had seen nothing since their meeting at Strand-on-the-Green, to say +that he was coming out at eight o'clock that night to have a chat over +old times. Alphonse, being no longer required, had gone to his lodgings +near by.</p> + +<p>"It will be a bit awkward if Nevill wants his dinner," Jack said to +himself, in an interval of his letter writing. "I'll keep him here a +couple of hours, and then take him to dine in town. He's a good fellow, +and will understand. He'll find things rather different from the Paris +days."</p> + +<p>There was a touch of pardonable pride in that last thought, for few +artists in London could boast of such luxuriously decorated quarters, or +of such a collection of treasures as Jack's purse and good taste had +enabled him to gather around him. The hard oak floor, oiled and polished +by the hands of Alphonse, was sparsely strewn with Oriental rugs and a +couple of tiger skins. A screen of stamped leather hid three sides of +the French stove. The eye met a picturesque confusion of inlaid cabinets +with innumerable drawers, oak chests and benches, easy chairs of every +sort, Chippendale trays and escritoires, Spanish lanterns dangling from +overhead, old tables worn hollow on top with age, countless weapons and +pieces of armor, and shelves stacked with blue delf china and rows of +pewter plates. A long costume case flashed its glass doors at a cosy +corner draped with art muslin. On the walls, many of them presented by +friends, were scores of water-colors and oil paintings, etchings and +engravings, no two of them framed alike. Minor articles were scattered +about in profusion, and a couple of bulging sketch-books bore witness to +their owner's summer wanderings about England.</p> + +<p>The letters finished and stamped, Jack closed his desk with a sigh of +relief. The evening was chilly, and he had started a small fire of coals +in the grate—he used his stove only in wintry weather. He pulled a big +chair to the blaze, stretched his legs against the fender, and fell +straightway into a reverie; an expression that none of his English +companions had ever seen there softened his handsome face.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what she is doing now," he thought. "I fancy I can see her +sitting opposite to her father, at the dinner table, with the soft +lamplight on her lovely cheeks, and that bewitching look in her eyes. +I am a conceited fool to believe that she cares for me, and yet—and +yet—By Jove, I would marry her in a minute. She is the most winsome +girl I ever saw. It is not like the passion I had for Diane—I was a +foolish, hot-headed boy then. Madge would be my good angel. In spite of +myself, she has come into my life and taken a deep hold on my heart—I +can't put her out again. Jack, my boy, you had better have gone on that +sketching tour—better have fled to Devonian wilds before it was too +late."</p> + +<p>But was it too late now? If so, the fact did not seem to trouble Jack +much, for he laughed softly as he stirred the fire. He, the impregnable +and boastful one, the woman-hater, had fallen a victim when he believed +himself most secure. It was unutterably sweet to him—this second +passion—and he knew that it was not to be shaken off.</p> + +<p>During the past ten days he had seen Madge frequently. Nearly every +afternoon, when the fading sun glimmered through a golden haze, he had +wandered down to Strand-on-the-Green, confident that the girl would not +be far away, that she would welcome him shyly and blushingly, with that +radiant light in her eyes which he hoped he could read aright. They had +enjoyed a couple of tramps together, when time permitted—once up the +towing-path toward Richmond, and again down the river to Barnes.</p> + +<p>They were happy hours for both. Madge was unconventional, and would +have resented a hint that she was doing anything in the least improper. +She had left boarding school two years before, and since then she had +rejoiced in her freedom, not finding life dull in the sleepy Thames-side +suburb of London. As for Jack, his conscience gave him few twinges in +regard to these surreptitious meetings. It would be different, he told +himself, had Stephen Foster chosen to receive him as a visitor. But he +had gathered, from what Madge told him, that her father was eccentric, +and detested visitors—that he would permit nothing to break the +monotonous and regular habits of the secluded old house. Madge admitted +that one friend of his, a young man, came sometimes; but she intimated +unmistakably that she did not like him. Jack was curious to know what +business took Stephen Foster to town every day, but on that subject the +girl never spoke.</p> + +<p>As the young artist sat watching the fire in the grate, his fancy +painted pleasing pictures. "Why should I not marry?" he mused. "Bachelor +life is well enough in its way, but it can't compare with a snug house, +and one's own dining-table, and a charming wife to drive away the +occasional blue-devils. I have money put aside, and it won't be long +till I'm making an easy twelve hundred a year. By Jove, I will—"</p> + +<p>A noisy rap at the door interrupted Jack's train of thought, and brought +him to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Come in!" he cried, expecting to see Nevill.</p> + +<p>But the visitor was a telegraph boy, bearing the familiar brown +envelope. Jack signed for it, and tore open the message.</p> + +<p>"Awfully seedy," Victor Nevill wired. "Sorry I can't get out to-night. +Am going to bed."</p> + +<p>"No answer," said Jack, dismissing the boy. With his hands in his +pockets he strolled undecidedly about the studio for a couple of +minutes. "I hope nothing serious is the matter with Nevill," he +reflected. "He's not the sort of a chap to go to bed unless he feels +pretty bad. What shall I do now? I must be quick about it if I want +to get any dinner in town. It's past eight, and—"</p> + +<p>There was the sound of slow footsteps out in the passage, followed by +the nervous jingling of the electric bell.</p> + +<p>"Who can that be?" Jack muttered.</p> + +<p>He pulled a cord that turned the gas higher in the big circlet of jets +overhead, and opened the door curiously. The man who entered the studio +was a complete stranger, and it was certain that he was not an +Englishman, if dress and appearance could decide that fact. He was +very tall and well-built, with a handsome face, so deeply tanned as +to suggest a recent residence in a tropical country. His mustaches were +twisted into waxed points, and there was a good deal of gray in his +beard, which was parted German fashion in the middle, and carefully +brushed to each side. His top hat was unmistakably French, with a flat +rim, and his boots were of patent leather. As he opened his long caped +cloak, the collar of which he kept turned up, it was seen that he was in +evening dress.</p> + +<p>"Do I address Monsieur Vernon, the artist?" he asked in good English, +with a French accent.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's right."</p> + +<p>"Formerly Monsieur John Clare?"</p> + +<p>"I once bore that name," said Jack, with a start of surprise; he was +ill-pleased to hear it after so many years.</p> + +<p>The visitor produced a card bearing the name of M. Felix Marchand, Parc +Monceaux, Paris.</p> + +<p>"I do not recall you," said Jack. "Will you take a seat."</p> + +<p>"We have not met until now," said M. Marchand, "but I have the honor to +be familiar with your work, and to possess some of it. Pictures are to +me a delight—I confess myself a humble patron of art—and a few years +ago I purchased several water-color sketches signed by your name. They +appealed to me especially because they were bits of Paris—one looking +down the river from the bridge of the Carrousel, and the other a night +impression of Montmartre."</p> + +<p>"I remember them vaguely," said Jack. "They, with others, were sold for +me by a dealer named Cambon—"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur is right. It was from Jacques Cambon, of the Quai Voltaire, +I obtained the sketches. They pleased me much, and I went again to seek +more—that was eighteen months later, when I returned to Paris after a +long absence. Imagine my disappointment to learn that Jacques Cambon +had no further knowledge of Monsieur Clare, and no more of his sketches +to sell."</p> + +<p>"No; I had come to London by that time—or was in Italy," said Jack. +"But perhaps—pardon me—you would prefer to carry on our conversation +in French."</p> + +<p>"Monsieur is thoughtful," replied M. Marchand. "He will understand that +I desire, while in England, to improve as much as possible my knowledge +of the language."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," assented Jack. "You speak it already like a native born," he +added to himself.</p> + +<p>"The years passed on," resumed the Frenchman, "but I did not forget the +author of my little sketches. A few weeks ago I resolved to cross the +Channel and pay a visit to London, which I last saw in 1891. I had but +lately returned from a long trip to Algeria and Morocco, and I was told +that the English spring was mild; in Paris I found the weather too cold +for my chest complaint. So I said to myself, 'I will make endeavor to +find the artist, John Clare.' But how? I had an idea. I went to the +school of the great Julian, and there my inquiries met with success. +'Monsieur Clare,' one of the instructors told me, 'is now a prosperous +painter of London, by the name of Vernon.' They gave me the address of +a magazine in your Rue Paternoster, and at that place I was this morning +informed where to find you. I trust that my visit is not an intrusion."</p> + +<p>"Oh, not at all," said Jack. "Who at Julian's can have known so much +about me?" he thought.</p> + +<p>"I have spoken with freedom—perhaps too much," M. Marchand went on. +"But I desired to explain clearly. I have come on business, monsieur, +hoping that I may be privileged to purchase one or two pictures to take +back with me to Paris."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," said Jack, "but I fear I have nothing whatever to +sell at present. I am indeed flattered by your kind interest in my work."</p> + +<p>"Monsieur has nothing?"</p> + +<p>Jack shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You see I do a great deal in the way of magazine drawing," he +explained. "The half-finished water-colors on the easels are orders. +I expect to have a large painting in the Royal Academy shortly."</p> + +<p>"Alas, I will not be able to see it," M. Marchand murmured. "I leave +London to-morrow." All the time he was speaking he had been looking with +interest about the studio, and his eyes still wandered from wall to +wall. "Ah, monsieur, I have a thought," he added suddenly. "It is of the +finished pictures, of your later work, that you speak. But surely you +possess many sketches, and among them would be some of Paris, such as +you placed with Jacques Cambon. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>Jack, in common with all artists, was reluctant to part with his +sketches. But he was growing uncomfortably hungry, and felt disposed to +make a sacrifice for the sake of getting rid of his importunate visitor.</p> + +<p>"I will show you my collection," he answered briefly.</p> + +<p>Lifting the drapery of a couch, he pulled out one of half a dozen fat +portfolios, of huge dimensions. He untied the strings and opened it, +exhibiting a number of large water-color drawings on bristol-board, most +of them belonging to his student days in Paris, some made in Holland and +Normandy. The sight of them, recalling his married life with Diane, +awoke unpleasant memories. He moved away and lighted a cigarette.</p> + +<p>The Frenchman began to turn the sketches over eagerly, and presently +Jack saw him staring hard at an unstiffened canvas which he had found. +It was the duplicate Rembrandt painted for Martin Von Whele. Jack had +not been reading the papers much of late, and was ignorant of the +Hollander's death.</p> + +<p>"That is nothing of any account," he said. "It is the copy of an old +master."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I have a little taste for the antique," replied M. Marchand. +"This is repulsive—it is a frightful face. Were it in my collection, +monsieur, it would quite spoil my pretty bits of scenery."</p> + +<p>He tossed the canvas carelessly aside, and finally chose a couple of +water-colors, both showing picturesque nooks of Paris.</p> + +<p>"I should like to have these," he said, "if monsieur is willing to name +a price."</p> + +<p>"Fifteen pounds for the two," Jack announced reluctantly. "Can I send +them for you?" he added.</p> + +<p>"No; I will take them with me."</p> + +<p>Jack tied up the portfolio and replaced it under the couch, an operation +that was closely watched by his visitor. Then he wrapped up the two +sketches, and received three five-pound notes.</p> + +<p>"May I offer you some refreshment?" he said, politely. "You will find +brandy there—"</p> + +<p>"I love the golden whisky of England," protested M. Marchand.</p> + +<p>He mixed some for himself, and after drinking it he wiped his lips with +a handkerchief. As he returned it to his pocket Jack saw on the white +linen a brown stain that he was sure had not been there before.</p> + +<p>M. Felix Marchand looked at his watch, shook hands with Jack, and hoped +that he would have the pleasure of seeing him again. Then he bowed +ceremoniously, and was gone, carrying the parcel under his arm. Jack +closed the door, and retired to an inner room to change his clothing for +the evening.</p> + +<p>"I'll have a grill at the Trocadero," he told himself, "and drop in at +the Alhambra for the last few numbers. A queer chap, that Frenchman! +Where did he pick up such good English? He was all right, of course, but +I can't help feeling a bit puzzled. Fancy his taking a craze for my +studies of Paris! I remember that they gathered dust for months in old +Cambon's window, until one day I missed them. It's a funny thing about +that brown mark which came off on his handkerchief after he wiped his +mustache. Still, I've known men to use such stuff to give them a healthy +color, though this chap didn't look as if he needed it. And he said he +suffered from a chest complaint."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At eight o'clock Jack was up and splashing in his bath, a custom that he +hugely enjoyed, winter and summer. He had come home the night before by +the last train, after dining with some friends he had picked up, and +spending an hour with them at the Alhambra.</p> + +<p>He dressed himself with unusual care and discrimination, selecting a +suit of dark brown tweeds that matched his complexion, and a scarf with +a good bit of red in it. Prepared for him in the studio, and presided +over by Alphonse in a white apron, were rolls and coffee, eggs and +bacon. The sun was shining brightly outside. The postman came while he +was at breakfast, and he read his batch of letters; from some of which +dropped checks. One he purposely saved for the last, and the +contents—only a few lines—brought a smile to his lips. He tore the +dainty sheet of note-paper into small pieces and threw them into the +fire. Then he filled his cigar case with choice Regalias, pulled on his +driving gloves, and perched a jaunty Alpine hat on his head.</p> + +<p>"Alphonse, you must be here all day," he said. "Mordaunt, of the +Frivolity, will send for that poster; and a messenger may come from the +Piccadilly Magazine—the drawings are in a parcel on my desk. Say to any +person who calls that I will not be back until evening."</p> + +<p>"I will remember," assured Alphonse.</p> + +<p>"By the by, Alphonse, you were living in a big house in the Parc +Monceaux half a dozen years ago?"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur is right."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember a gentleman by the name of Marchand—M. Felix +Marchand?"</p> + +<p>"My memory may be at fault," Alphonse answered, "but I do not recall a +person of that name."</p> + +<p>"Well, no matter. He may not have resided there then, and the Parc +Monceaux means a large neighborhood."</p> + +<p>Jack banished M. Marchand from his mind with ease, as he went out into +the sunshine and freshness of the spring morning; the singing of the +birds, and the beauty of the trees and flowers, told him that it was a +glorious thing to be alive. He waited a few moments at a nearby livery +stable, while the attendants brought out a very swell-looking and newly +varnished trap, and put into the shafts a horse that would have held his +own in Hyde Park.</p> + +<p>Chiswick high-road, with its constantly widening and narrowing +perspectives, its jumble of old and modern houses, had never looked more +cheerful as Jack drove rapidly westward. He crossed Kew Bridge, rattled +on briskly, and finally entered Richmond, where he pulled up by the curb +opposite to the station where centre a number of suburban railway lines.</p> + +<p>He had not long to wait—a glance at his watch told him that. Five +minutes later the rumble of an incoming train was heard, and presently +a double procession of passengers came up the steps to the street. Jack +had eyes for one only, a radiant vision of loveliness, as sweet and +fresh and blushing as a June rose. The vision was Madge Foster, her +graceful figure set off by a new spring gown from Regent street, and a +sailor hat perched on her golden curls. She stepped lightly into the +trap, and nestled down on the cushions.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack, what <i>will</i> you think of me after this," she cried, half +seriously.</p> + +<p>"I think that the famed beauties of Hampton Court would turn green +in their frames with envy if they could see you now," Jack answered +evasively, as he flicked the horses with his whip. "Here we go for +a jolly day. It will come to an end all too soon."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII" ></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.</h3> + + +<p>The trap rattled up crooked George street, and swung around and down +to classic-looking Richmond Bridge, with its gorgeous vistas of river +scenery right and left over the low parapets. Madge was very quiet for +a time, and it was evident that she felt some misgivings as to the +propriety of what she had consented to do at Jack's urgent request. She +had left home soon after her father's departure for town, and she must +be back before six o'clock to meet him on his return. Her secret was +shared with the old servant, Mrs. Sedgwick, who was foolishly fond of +the girl, and naturally well-disposed toward Jack because he had saved +Madge's life. This faithful creature, on the death of her young husband +twenty years before, had entered Mrs. Foster's service; she practically +managed Stephen Foster's establishment, assisted by a housemaid and by +the daily visits of a charwoman.</p> + +<p>Until Richmond was left behind, Jack was as serious and thoughtful +as his companion. He had a high sense of honor, a hatred of anything +underhanded, and his conscience pricked him a little. However, it was +not his fault, he told himself. Stephen Foster had no business to be +churlish and ungrateful, and treat his daughter as though she were a +school miss still in her teens. And what wrong could there be about the +day's outing together, if no harm was intended? It would all come right +in the end, unless, unless—</p> + +<p>He felt reassured as he stole a glance at Madge's face, and saw her quick +blush. She laughed merrily, and nestled a little closer to his side.</p> + +<p>"You are not sorry?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Sorry? Oh, no. It is so good of you, Jack, and the weather is +perfect—we could not have had a better day."</p> + +<p>Their depression vanished like a summer cloud, as they rode through +Twickenham and Teddington, under the shade of the great trees, enjoying +the occasional views of the shining river, and the peeps into the walled +gardens of the fine old houses.</p> + +<p>"It is all new to me," said Madge, with a sigh. "I used to go to Hampton +Court with father on Sundays, but that was long ago; he doesn't take me +anywhere now, except to the theatre once or twice a year."</p> + +<p>"It is a shame," Jack replied indignantly, "when you enjoy things so +much."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I dearly love Strand-on-the-Green. I am very happy there."</p> + +<p>"And you never long for a wider life?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—sometimes. I want to go abroad and travel. It must be delightful +to see the places and countries one has read about, to roam in foreign +picture galleries."</p> + +<p>"I would like to show you the Continent," said Jack. "We have the same +tastes, and—"</p> + +<p>A rapturous "Oh!" burst from Madge. They had turned suddenly in at +the gates of Bushey Park, and before them was the twenty-mile-long +perspective of the chestnut avenue, bounded by the white sunlit walls of +the hospitable Greyhound. The girl's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and in +her excitement, as some fresh bit of beauty was revealed, she rested a +tiny gloved hand on Jack's arm.</p> + +<p>"I will take you out often, if you will let me," he said.</p> + +<p>They drove out of the park, and swung around the weather-beaten wall of +Hampton Court. Red-coated soldiers were lounging by the barracks in the +palace yard, and the clear notes of a bugle rose from quarters; a tide +of people and vehicles was flowing in the sunlight over Molesey Bridge. +Jack turned off into the lower river road, and so on by shady and +picturesque ways to the ancient village of Hampton.</p> + +<p>They put up the horse and trap at the Flower Pot, and lunched in the +coffee-room of that old-fashioned hostelry, at a little table laid in +the bow-window, looking out on the quaint high-street. It was a charming +repast, and both were hungry enough to do it justice. The Chambertin +sparkled like rubies as it flowed from the cobwebbed bottle, and Jack +needed little urging from Madge to light a fragrant Regalia.</p> + +<p>Then they sauntered forth into the sunshine, down to the river shore, +and Jack chose a big roomy boat, fitted with the softest of red cushions. +He pulled for a mile or more up the rippling Thames, chatting gaily with +Madge, who sat opposite to him and deftly managed the rudder-ropes. A +little-known backwater was the goal, and suddenly he drove the boat under +a screen of low-drooping bushes and into a miniature lake set in a frame +of leafy trees that formed a canopy of dense foliage overhead.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of it?" Jack asked, as he ran the bow gently ashore +and pulled in the oars.</p> + +<p>"It is like fairyland. It is too beautiful for words."</p> + +<p>Madge averted her eyes from his, and pushed back a tress of golden hair +that had strayed from under her hat; she took off one glove, and dipped +the tips of her fingers in the water.</p> + +<p>"I wish I had brought a book," she said. "Why don't you smoke? You have +my permission, sir. But we must not stop long."</p> + +<p>Jack felt for his cigar-case and dropped it again. The next instant he +was beside the girl, and one arm encircled her waist.</p> + +<p>"Madge, my darling!" he cried. "Don't you know—can't you guess—why I +brought you here?"</p> + +<p>Her silence, the droop of her blushing face, emboldened him. The old, +old story, the story that was born when the world began, fell from his +lips. They were honest, manly words, with a ring of heartfelt passion +and pleading.</p> + +<p>"Have I surprised you, Madge?" he went on. "Have I spoken too soon? We +have known each other only a short time, it is true, but I could not +care more for you had we been acquainted for months or years. I am not +an impulsive boy—I know my own heart. I loved you from the day you came +into my life. I love you now, and will always love you. I will be a good +and true husband. Have you no answer for me, dear?"</p> + +<p>The girl suddenly raised her face to his. Half-shed tears glistened in +her eyes, but there was also a radiant look there which trilled his +heart with unspeakable joy. He knew that he had won her.</p> + +<p>"Madge, my sweet Madge!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>She trembled as his arm tightened about her waist.</p> + +<p>"Jack, do you really, really love me?"</p> + +<p>"More than I can tell you, dear. Can you doubt me? Have you nothing to +say? Do you think it so strange—"</p> + +<p>"Strange? Yes, it is more than I dared to hope for. Don't think me +unwomanly, Jack, for telling the truth, but—but I do love you with all +my heart."</p> + +<p>"Madge! You have made me the happiest man alive! God grant that I be +always worthy of your affection!"</p> + +<p>A bird began to sing overhead, and Jack thought it was the sweetest +music he had ever heard, as he drew Madge to him and pressed a lover's +first kiss on her lips. Side by side they sat there in the leafy +retreat, heedless of time, while the afternoon sun drooped lower in the +sky. They had much to talk of—many little confidences to exchange. They +lived over again the events of that brief period in which they had known +each other.</p> + +<p>"You have upset all my plans," said Madge, with a pretty pout. "I was +going to devote my life to art, and become a second Rosa Bonheur or Lady +Butler."</p> + +<p>"One artist in the family will be enough," her lover answered, +laughingly. "But you shall continue to paint, dearest. We will roam +over Europe with our sketch-books."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how delightful! To think of it—my dreams will be realized! I +knew your work, Jack, before I knew you. But I am so ignorant of the +world—even of the little world of London."</p> + +<p>"Madge, you are talking nonsense. You are my queen—you are the dearest, +sweetest little woman that ever man won. And I love you the better +because you are as fresh and pure as a flower, untainted by the wicked +world, where innocence rubs off her bloom on vice's shoulders. I am not +old, dear, but I have lived long enough to appreciate the value of—"</p> + +<p>"Hush, or I shall think you do not mean all you say. Oh, Jack, promise +me that you will never repent of your bargain. I wonder that some woman +did not enslave you long ago."</p> + +<p>A shadow crossed Jack's face, and he was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Madge," he said, hesitatingly, "I have not been a bad man in my time, +nor have I been a particularly good one. I was an art student in Paris +for years, and Paris is a city of dissipation, full of pitfalls and +temptations to young fellows like myself. There is something connected +with my past, which I feel it is my duty to—"</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me, Jack—please don't. I might not like to hear it. I will +try to forget that you had a past, and I will never ask you about it. +You are mine now, and we will think only of the present and the future. +I trust you, dear, and I know that you are good and true. You will +always love me, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Always, my darling," Jack replied in a tone of relief. He told himself, +as he kissed the troubled look from the girl's eyes, that it was better +to keep silence. What could he gain by dragging up the black skeleton of +the past? He was a free man now, and the withholding of that bitter +chapter of his life would be the wisest course. If the future ever +brought it to light, Madge would remember that she herself had checked +the story on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Jack, you are looking awfully serious."</p> + +<p>"Am I? Well, I won't any more. But, I say, Madge, when will you be my +wife? And how about speaking to your father? You know—"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell him yet, Jack, really—you must wait a while. You won't +mind, will you?"</p> + +<p>"I hate this deception."</p> + +<p>"So do I. But father has not been quite himself lately—I think +something troubles him."</p> + +<p>"Does he want to marry you to any one else?" Jack asked, jealously. "Is +there anything of the sort between him and that young chap who comes to +the house?"</p> + +<p>"I can't be certain, Jack, but sometimes I imagine so, though father +has never spoken to me about it. I dislike Mr. Royle, and discourage his +attentions."</p> + +<p>"His attentions?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack, don't look at me in that way—you make me feel wretched. +Won't you trust me and believe me? I love you with all my heart, and +I am as really yours as if I were married to you."</p> + +<p>"My darling, I <i>do</i> trust you," he said contritely. "Forgive me—I was +very foolish. I know that nothing can separate us, and I will await your +own time in patience. And when you are willing to have me speak to your +father—"</p> + +<p>"It shall be very soon, dear," whispered Madge, looking up at him with +a soft light in her eyes. "If I find him in a good humor I will tell him +myself. We are great chums, you know."</p> + +<p>Jack kissed her, and then glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Four o'clock," he said, regretfully. "We must be off."</p> + +<p>He pulled the boat back to Hampton, and ordered the hostler at the +Flower Pot to get the trap ready. The world looked different, somehow, +to the happy couple, as they drove Londonwards. Love's young dream had +been realized, and they saw no shadow in the future.</p> + +<p>The ride home was uneventful until they reached Richmond. Then, on the +slope of the hill in front of the Talbot, where the traffic was thick +and noisy, a coach with half a dozen young men on top was encountered, +evidently bound for a convivial dinner at the Star and Garter or the +Roebuck. A well-known young lord was driving, and beside him sat Victor +Nevill. He smiled and nodded at Jack, and turned to gaze after his fair +companion.</p> + +<p>"That was an old friend of mine," remarked Jack, as the trap passed on. +"A jolly good fellow, too."</p> + +<p>"Drive faster, please," Madge said, abruptly. "I am afraid it is late."</p> + +<p>There was a troubled, half-frightened look on her face, and she was very +quiet until the station was reached, where she was sure to get a train +to Gunnersbury within a few minutes. She sprang lightly to the pavement, +and let her hand rest in Jack's for a moment, while her eyes, full of +unspeakable affection, gazed into his. Then, with a brief farewell, she +had vanished down the steps.</p> + +<p>"She is mine," thought Jack, as he drove on toward Kew and Chiswick. "I +have won a pearl among women. I think I should kill any man who came +between us."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII" ></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>AN ATTRACTION IN PALL MALL.</h3> + + +<p>There was a counter-attraction in Pall Mall—a rival to Marlborough +House, opposite which, ranged along the curb, a number of persons are +usually waiting on the chance of seeing the Prince drive out. The rival +establishment was the shop of Lamb and Drummond, picture dealers and +engravers to Her Majesty. Since nine o'clock that morning, in the +blazing May sunshine, there had been a little crowd before the plate +glass window, behind which the firm had kindly exposed their latest +prize to the public gaze. Newspaper men had been admitted to a private +view of the picture, and for a couple of days previous the papers had +contained paragraphs in reference to the coming exhibition. Rembrandts +are by no means uncommon, nor do all command high prices; but this +particular one, which Martin Von Whele had unearthed in Paris, was +conceded to be the finest canvas that the master-artist's brush had +produced.</p> + +<p>It was the typical London crowd, very much mixed. Some regarded the +picture with contemptuous indifference and walked away. Others admired +the rich, strong coloring, the permanency of the pigments, and the +powerful, ferocious head, either Russian or Polish, that seemed to +fairly stand out from the old canvas. A few persons, who were keener +critics, envied Lamb and Drummond for the bargain they had obtained at +such a small figure.</p> + +<p>Early in the afternoon Jack Vernon joined the group before the shop +window; an interview with the editor of the <i>Piccadilly Magazine</i> had +brought him to town, and, having read the papers, he had walked from the +Strand over to Pall Mall. Memories of his Paris life, of the morning +when he had trudged home in bitter disappointment to the Boulevard St. +Germain and Diane, surged into his mind.</p> + +<p>"It is the same picture that I copied at the Hotel Netherlands," he said +to himself, "and it ought to sell for a lot of money. How well I recall +those hours of drudgery, with old Von Whele looking over my shoulder and +puffing the smoke of Dutch tobacco into my eyes! I was sorry to read of +his death, and the sale of his collection. He was a good sort, if he +<i>was</i> forgetful. By Jove, I've half a mind to box up my duplicate and +send it to his executors. I wonder if they would settle the long-standing +account."</p> + +<p>Several hours later, when Jack had gone home and was hard at work in his +studio, Victor Nevill sauntered down St. James street. He wore evening +dress, and carried a light overcoat on his arm. He stopped at Lamb and +Drummond's window for a few moments, and scrutinized the Rembrandt +carelessly, but with a rather curious expression on his face. Then he +looked at his watch—the time was half-past five—and cutting across +into the park he walked briskly to St. James' Park station. The train +that he wanted was announced, and when it came in he watched the row of +carriages as they flashed by him. He entered a first-class smoker, and +nodded to Stephen Foster. The two were not alone in the compartment, and +during the ride of half an hour they exchanged only a few words, and +gave close attention to their papers. But they had plenty to talk about +after they got out at Gunnersbury, and their conversation was grave and +serious as they walked slowly toward the river, by the long shady +streets lined with villas.</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster's house stood close to the lower end of +Strand-on-the-Green. It was more than a century old, and was larger +than it looked from the outside. It had the staid and comfortable stamp +of the Georgian period, with its big square windows, and the unique +fanlight over the door. Directly opposite the entrance, across the strip +of paved quay, was a sort of a water-gate leading down to the sedgy +shore of the Thames—a flight of stone steps, cut out of the masonry, +from the foot of which it was possible to take boat at high tide. In the +rear of the house was a walled garden, filled with flowers, shrubbery, +and fruit trees.</p> + +<p>Opening the door with his key, Stephen Foster led his guest into the +drawing-room, where Madge was sitting with a book. She kissed her +father, and gave a hand reluctantly to Nevill, whom she addressed as Mr. +Royle. She resumed her reading, perched on a couch by the window, and +Nevill stole numerous glances at her while he chatted with his host.</p> + +<p>The curio-dealer dined early—he was always hungry when he came back +from town—and dinner was announced at seven o'clock. It was a +protracted ceremony, and the courses were well served and admirably +cooked; the wine came from a carefully selected cellar, and was beyond +reproach. Madge presided at the table, and joined in the conversation; +but it evidently cost her an effort to be cheerful. After the dessert +she rose.</p> + +<p>"Will you and Mr. Royle excuse me, father?" she said. "I know you want +to smoke."</p> + +<p>"I hope you are not going to desert us, Miss Foster," Nevill replied. +"Your company is preferable to the best cigar."</p> + +<p>"We will go up stairs and smoke," said Stephen Foster. "Come, Royle; my +daughter would rather play the piano."</p> + +<p>The library, whither Nevill accompanied his host, was on the second +floor front. It was a cozy room, trimmed with old oak, with furniture to +match, lined with books and furnished with rare engravings and Persian +rugs. Stephen Foster lighted the incandescent gas-lamp on the big table, +drew the window curtains together, and closed the door. Then he unlocked +a cabinet and brought out a box of Havanas, a siphon, a couple of +glasses, and a bottle of whisky and one of Maraschino.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, and help yourself," he said. "Or is it too early for a +stimulant?"</p> + +<p>Nevill did not reply; he was listening to the low strains of music from +the floor beneath, where Madge was at the piano, singing an old English +ballad. He hesitated for a moment, and dropped into an easy chair. +Stephen Foster drew his own chair closer and leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"We are quite alone," he said, "and there is no danger of being +overheard or disturbed. You intimated that you had something particular +to say to me. What is it? Does it concern our little—"</p> + +<p>"No; we discussed that after we left the train. It is quite a different +matter."</p> + +<p>Nevill's usual self-possession seemed to have deserted him, and as he +went on with his revelation he spoke in jerky sentences, with some +confusion and embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"That's all there is about it," he wound up, aggressively.</p> + +<p>"All?" cried Stephen Foster.</p> + +<p>He got up and walked nervously to the window. Then he turned back and +confronted Nevill; there was a look on his face that was not pleasant to +see, as if he had aged suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Is this a jest, or are you serious?" he demanded, coldly. "Do I +understand that you love my daughter?—that you wish to marry her?"</p> + +<p>"I have told you so plainly. You must have known that I loved her—you +cannot have been blind to that fact all this time."</p> + +<p>"I have been worse than blind, Nevill, I fear. Have you spoken to Madge?"</p> + +<p>"No; I never had a chance."</p> + +<p>"Do you consider yourself a suitable husband for her?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" Nevill asked; he was cool and composed now. "If you are good +enough to be her father, am I not worthy to be her husband?"</p> + +<p>"Don't say that," Stephen Foster answered. "You are insolent—you forget +to whom you are speaking. Whatever our relations have been and are, +whatever sort of man I am at my desk or my ledgers, I am another person +at home. Sneer if you like, it is true. I love my daughter—the child of +my dead wife. She does not know what I do in town—you are aware of +that—and God forbid that she ever does learn. I want to keep her in +ignorance—to guard her young life and secure her future happiness. And +<i>you</i> want to marry her!"</p> + +<p>"I do," replied Nevill, trying to speak pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"How will you explain the deception—the fact that you have been coming +here under a false name?"</p> + +<p>"I will get around that all right. It was your suggestion, you remember, +not mine, that I should take the name of Royle. Look here, Foster, I +know there is some reason in what you say—I respect your motives. But +you misunderstand and misjudge me. I love the girl with all my heart, +with a true, pure and lasting affection. I might choose a wife in higher +places, but Madge has enslaved me with her sweet face and charming +disposition. As for our relations—you know what poverty drove me to. +Given a secure income, and I should never have stooped to dishonor. The +need of money stifled the best that was in my nature. It is not too late +to reform, though. I don't mean now, but when I come into my uncle's +fortune, which is a sure thing. Then, I promise you, I will be as +straight as you could wish your daughter's husband to be. Believe me, +I am sincere. No man could offer Madge a deeper affection."</p> + +<p>There was no doubt that Victor Nevill spoke the truth, for once in his +life; he loved Madge with a passion that dominated him, and he knew his +own unworthiness. Stephen Foster paced the floor with a haggard face, +with knitted brows.</p> + +<p>"It is impossible," he said to himself. "I would rather see her married +to some poor but honest clerk." He lighted a cigar and bit it savagely. +"What if I refuse?" he added aloud.</p> + +<p>A dangerous light flashed in Nevill's eyes.</p> + +<p>"I won't give her up," he replied; and in the words there was a hidden +menace which Stephen Foster understood.</p> + +<p>"Give her up?" he echoed. "You have not won her yet."</p> + +<p>"I know that, but I hope to succeed."</p> + +<p>"What do you expect me to do?"</p> + +<p>"All in your power. Give me a fair show."</p> + +<p>"The girl shan't be bullied or browbeaten—I won't force her into such a +step against her wishes. If she marries you, it will be of her own free +will."</p> + +<p>"That's fair enough. But I want an open field. You must keep other +admirers away from the girl, and there isn't any time to lose about it. +It may be too late now—"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that Madge has improved her acquaintance with the chap who +pulled her out of the river a couple of weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"Impossible, Nevill!"</p> + +<p>"It is perfectly true. And do you know who the man is? It is none other +than Jack Vernon, the artist."</p> + +<p>"By heavens, Jack Vernon! The same who—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the same. I did not tell you before."</p> + +<p>"And I did not dream of it. I wrote a letter of gratitude to the fellow, +and told Madge to get his address from the landlord of the Black Bull—I +did not know it myself, else—"</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you might have some scruples. It is too late for that +now."</p> + +<p>"It was like your cursed cunning," exclaimed Stephen Foster. "Yes, +I should have hesitated. But are you certain that Madge has seen the +fellow since?"</p> + +<p>"Certain? Why, I passed them in George street, Richmond, last evening, +as I was driving to the Star and Garter. They were together in a trap, +going toward Kew. That is the reason I determined to speak to you +to-night."</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster rose and hurried toward the door; his face was pale with +anger and alarm.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" cried Nevill. "What are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Sit still," was the hoarse reply. "I'll tell you when I return."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX" ></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>UNCLE AND NEPHEW.</h3> + + +<p>Victor Nevill was on his feet instantly, and by a quick move he +intercepted Foster and clutched him by the arm. He repeated his +question: "What are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Take your hand off me. I shall hear from Madge's own lips a denial of +your words. How dare you accuse her of stooping to an intrigue?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't call it that. Madge is young and innocent. She knows little +of the censorious world. She has been left pretty much to herself, and +naturally she sees no harm in meeting Vernon. As for denying my +words—she can't do that."</p> + +<p>"I will call her to account, and make her confess everything."</p> + +<p>"But not to-night," urged Nevill. "Come, sit down."</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster yielded to the solicitation of his companion, and went +back to his chair. He mixed a whisky and soda, and drank half of it.</p> + +<p>"I forget," he muttered, "that my little Madge has grown to womanhood. +Her very innocence would make her an easy prey to some unscrupulous +scoundrel. I must speak to her, Nevill."</p> + +<p>"Yes, by all means."</p> + +<p>"And why not to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Need you ask? Would not Madge know at once that it was I who told you? +And what, then, would be my chance of winning her?"</p> + +<p>"It couldn't be any poorer than it is now," thought Stephen Foster. +"Did she see you yesterday?" he said aloud.</p> + +<p>"No, by good luck she did not—at least I feel pretty sure of it. A +jolly good thing, too, for Vernon recognized me and nodded to me. But +whether Madge saw me or not won't make much difference under present +circumstances. If you go downstairs now and start a row with her, she +will be sure to suspect that you received your information from me."</p> + +<p>"Quite likely. What do you want me to do?"</p> + +<p>"Wait until to-morrow evening, when you return from town. Then tell +her that some stock-broking friend of yours in the city saw her near +Richmond station."</p> + +<p>"That is the best plan," assented Stephen Foster. "I will take your +advice."</p> + +<p>"Of course you will forbid her to have anything more to do with Vernon, +and will see that your wishes are enforced?"</p> + +<p>"Decidedly. The man has behaved badly, and I can't believe that he has +any honorable intentions. He has been simply amusing himself with the +girl."</p> + +<p>"That's like him," Nevill said carelessly. "Jack Vernon was always a +rake and a <i>roue</i>; though, as I am a friend of his, I ought not to tell +you this. But for your daughter's sake—"</p> + +<p>"I understand. The warning is timely, and I will see that the girl's +eyes are opened."</p> + +<p>"And you will give Madge to me if I can win her consent."</p> + +<p>"She shall marry the man she loves—the man of her choice," replied +Stephen Foster, "provided he is worthy of her. But I won't compel her +to do anything against her wishes."</p> + +<p>"I am not asking you to do that. I have your permission, then, to visit +here as a suitor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I shall be glad to see you a couple of times a week."</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster did not speak very cordially, and his expression was not +that of a father who has found a suitable husband for his daughter; but +Victor Nevill had gained his point, and was satisfied with what he had +so far accomplished. He was a vain man, and possessed an overweening +amount of self-confidence, especially where women were concerned.</p> + +<p>The two had other subjects to discuss. For a couple of hours—long after +Madge had forsaken the piano and gone to bed—a whispered conversation +was carried on that had no reference to the girl. It was nearly eleven +o'clock when Nevill left the house, and bade Stephen Foster good-night +on the step. He knew the way in spite of the darkness and the paucity +of street lamps. Having lighted a cigar, he walked briskly toward +Gunnersbury.</p> + +<p>"It was a narrow squeak yesterday," he reflected. "Until I met the girl +to-night, I was doubtful as to her having failed to see me on the coach. +It would have been most unfortunate had both of them recognized me; they +would have compared notes in that case, and discovered that Victor +Nevill and Mr. Royle were one and the same. I must be more careful in +future. Foster was rather inclined to be ugly, but he promised certain +things, and he knows that he can't play fast and loose with me. I am +afraid some harm has been done already, but it will blow over if he +keeps a tight rein on his daughter. As for Vernon, he must be forced to +decamp. Curse the fate that brought him across my path! There's not much +I would stop at if he became a dangerous rival. But there is no danger +of that. I have the inner track, and by perseverance I will win the +girl in the end. She is not a bit like other women—that's her +charm—but it ought to count for something when she learns that I am Sir +Lucius Chesney's heir. I've been going to the devil pretty fast, but I +meant what I told Foster. I love Madge with all my better nature, and +for her sake I would run as straight as a die. A look from her pretty +eyes makes me feel like a blackguard."</p> + +<p>Thus Nevill communed with himself until he neared Gunnersbury station, +when the distant rumble of a train quickened his steps. He had just time +to buy his ticket, dash down the steps, and jump into a first-class +carriage. Getting out at Portland road, he took a cab to Regent street, +and dropped in at the Cafe Royal for a few minutes. Then he started +toward his lodgings on foot. It was that witching hour when West End +London, before it goes to sleep, foams and froths like a glass of +champagne that will soon be flat and flavorless. Men and women, inclined +to be hilarious, thronged the pavements under the strong lights. Birds +of prey, male and female, prowled alertly.</p> + +<p>A jingling hansom swung from Piccadilly Circus into the Quadrant. Its +occupants were a short, Jewish-looking man with a big diamond in his +shirt-front, and a woman who leaned forward more prominently than her +companion. She was richly dressed, and—at least by gaslight—strikingly +beautiful, with great eyes of a purplish hue, and a mass of golden-red +hair that might or might not have been natural; only at close range +could one have detected the ravages of an unfortunate and unbridled +life—the tell-tale marks that the lavish use of powder and rouge could +not utterly hide.</p> + +<p>The vehicle very nearly ran Victor Nevill down—he had been about to +cross the street—and as he dodged back to the sidewalk his face was +for an instant close to the woman's, and he saw her distinctly. He +uttered an exclamation of surprise, and started as though an unseen hand +had dealt him a blow. He hesitated briefly, seemingly dazed, and then +started in pursuit. But he ran into a couple of men at the outset, and +by the time he had stammered an apology, and was free to look about him +again, the swift-moving hansom was lost to sight in a maze of similar +vehicles.</p> + +<p>"It's no use to follow in a cab," muttered Nevill. "And I must be +mistaken, anyway. It can't be she whom I saw—she is dead."</p> + +<p>He stood at the edge of the pavement, staring undecidedly up the curve +of the street. When a brace of painted women, emboldened by his +attitude, shot covert remarks at him, he turned on them sharply. But, +seeing a policeman approaching, he walked on.</p> + +<p>"By heavens, I was <i>not</i> mistaken!" he said to himself. "The papers must +have blundered—such things often happen. She is much altered, but they +were her eyes, her lips. To think that her peerless beauty should have +brought her so low! She is nothing to me now, though I nearly broke my +heart over her once. But she may serve as a useful tool. She will be a +trump card to play, if need be. She has probably come to London recently, +and if she stays any time it would not be a difficult matter for me to +find her. I daresay she drained the Russian's purse, and then served +him as she served me. The heartless vampire! But I am glad I saw her +to-night. With her aid it will be easier than I hoped, perhaps, to win +Madge."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Since ten o'clock an unexpected visitor had been waiting in Victor +Nevill's rooms on Jermyn street. In a big basket-chair, drawn close to +the light, sat Sir Lucius Chesney. He had helped himself to cigars and +brandy-and-soda, and had dipped into half a dozen late novels that were +scattered about the table, but without finding any to interest him. It +was long past twelve now, and he was beginning to feel drowsy and out of +temper. He wished he had remained in the smoking-room of his hotel, or +hunted up some old acquaintances at the Country Club.</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius was a medium-sized, slightly portly gentleman of fifty-eight, +though he did not look his age, thanks to the correct life he led. He +had a military carriage, a rubicund face, a heavy mustache, keen, +twinkling eyes, and a head of iron-gray hair. He was a childless +widower, and Victor Nevill, the son of his dead sister Elizabeth, was +his nephew, and presumably his heir. He had had another sister—his +favorite one—but many years ago he had cast her out of his life. He +lived alone at his fine old place in Sussex, Priory Court, near to the +sea and the downs. When he was at home he found occupation in shooting +and fishing, riding, cultivating hot-house fruits, and breeding horses +and cattle. These things he did to perfection, but his knowledge of art +was not beyond criticism. He was particularly fond of old masters, but +he bought all sorts of pictures, and had a gallery full of them. He made +bad bargains sometimes, and was imposed upon by unscrupulous dealers. +That, however, was nobody's business, as long as he himself was +satisfied.</p> + +<p>He cared nothing for London or for society, and seldom came up to town; +but he liked to travel, and a portion of each year he invariably spent +on the Continent or in more remote places. He smoked Indian cheroots +from choice—he had once filled a civil position in Bombay for eighteen +months—and his favorite wine was port. He was generous and +kind-hearted, and believed that every young man must sow his crop of +wild oats, and that he would be the better for it. But there was another +and a deeper side to his character. In his sense of honor he was a +counterpart of Colonel Newcome, and he had a vast amount of family +pride; a sin against that he could neither forget nor forgive, and he +was relentless to the offender.</p> + +<p>It was twenty minutes to one when Victor Nevill mounted the stairs and +opened his door, surprised to see that the gas was lighted in his rooms. +If he was unpleasantly startled by the sight of his visitor, he masked +his feelings successfully.</p> + +<p>"My dear uncle," he cried, "I am delighted to see you!"</p> + +<p>"You dog!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, with a beaming countenance. "You +night-bird! Do you know that I have been here since ten o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"I am awfully sorry, I assure you, sir. If you had only dropped me a +line or wired. I have been dining with a friend in the suburbs, and the +best train I could catch took me to Portland road."</p> + +<p>Possibly Sir Lucius did not believe this explanation. He glanced keenly +at his nephew, noting his flushed face and rumpled shirt-bosom, and a +shadow of displeasure crossed his features.</p> + +<p>"I hoped to spend a few quiet hours with you," he said. "I came to town +this evening, and put up at Morley's. I am off to Norway in the morning, +by a steamer that sails from the Thames, and from there I shall probably +go to the Continent. I have been feeling a little run down—livery—and +my physician has advised a complete change of air."</p> + +<p>"You are a regular globe-trotter," replied Victor, laughing to hide his +sudden look of relief. "I wish I could induce you to spend the season in +London."</p> + +<p>"That's well enough for an idle young dog like yourself—you can't exist +out of London. What are you doing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing in particular. I read a good bit—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, trashy novels. Does your income hold out?"</p> + +<p>"I manage to get along, with economy."</p> + +<p>"Economy? Humph! I have taken the liberty to look about your rooms. +The landlady remembered me and let me in. You have a snug nest—more +luxurious than the last time I was here. It is fit for a Sybarite. Your +brandy is old liquor, and must have cost you a pretty penny. Your cigars +are too good for <i>me</i>, sir, and I'll warrant you don't pay less than ten +pounds a hundred for them. As for your clothing, you have enough to +start a shop."</p> + +<p>"I must keep up appearances, my dear uncle."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so. I don't blame you for wanting to stand well with +your friends, if you can afford it. Your father and mother spoiled you. +You should have gone to the bar, or into the army or the church. +However, it is too late to talk about that now. But, to be frank with +you, my boy, it has come to my ears that you are leading a fast life."</p> + +<p>"It is false!" Victor cried, indignantly.</p> + +<p>"I sincerely trust so. I have heard only rumors, and I do not care to +attach any credence to them. But a word of warning—of advice—may not +be out of place. Young men must have their fling, and I think none the +worse of them for it. But you are not young, in your knowledge of the +world. It is six or seven years since you were thrown on the Continent +with a full purse. You have been able to indulge every whim and fancy. +You have had enough of wild oats. Fill your niche in Society and +Clubdom, if you like. Be a butterfly and an ornament, if you feel no +inclination for anything better. But be a gentleman—be honorable. If +you ever forget yourself, and bring a shadow of shame upon the unsullied +names of Chesney or Nevill, by gad, sir, you shall never touch a penny +of my money. I will leave it all to charities, and turn Priory Court +into a hospital. Mark that! If you go wrong, I'll hear of it. I'm good +for twenty years yet, if I'm good for a day."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have a very bad opinion of me, Uncle Lucius. I never give +your fortune a thought. As for the honor of the family, it is as dear to +me as it is to you."</p> + +<p>"Glad to hear you say it, my boy," replied Sir Lucius, breathlessly. "It +shows spirit. Well, I hope you'll overlook my sharp words. I meant them +for your good. And if you want a check—"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, awfully, but I don't need it," Victor interrupted, with a +stroke of inspiration. "My income keeps me going all right. It is only +in trifles that I am extravagant. I have inherited a taste, sir, for +good cigars and old brandy."</p> + +<p>"You dog, of course you have. Your maternal grandfather was noted for +his wine cellar, and he bought his Havanas by the thousand from Fribourg +and Treyer. That I should prefer cheroots is rank degeneracy. But I must +be off, or I shall get no sleep. I won't ask you to come down to the +dock in the morning—"</p> + +<p>"But I insist upon coming, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then breakfast with me at Morley's—nine o'clock sharp."</p> + +<p>Uncle and nephew parted on the best of terms, but Sir Lucius was not +altogether easy in mind as he walked down Regent street, tapping the +now deserted pavement with his stick.</p> + +<p>"I hope the boy is trustworthy," he thought. "He has some excuse for +recklessness and extravagance, but none for dishonor. I told him the +name of Chesney was unsullied—I forgot for a moment. It is strange that +Mary should be so much in my mind lately. Poor girl! Perhaps I was too +harsh with her. I wonder if she is still alive—if she has a son. But if +she came to me this moment, I could not forgive her. Nearly thirty years +have not softened me."</p> + +<p>He sighed heavily as he entered Trafalgar Square, and to a wretched +woman with an infant in her arms, crouching under the shadow of the +Nelson Column, he tossed a silver piece.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X" ></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>A LONDON SENSATION.</h3> + + +<p>It had rained most of the afternoon, and then cleared off beautifully +just before twilight. Strand-on-the-Green, ever changeful of mood, was +this evening as fresh and sweet-smelling as a bit of the upper +Thames—as picturesque as any waterside village a hundred miles from +London.</p> + +<p>By the grassy margin of the river, between Maynard's boat-house and the +elm trees, Jack Vernon strolled impatiently up and down. He was in low +spirits, and the beauty of the evening was wasted on him. He had been +here for fifteen minutes, and he told himself that he had been a fool to +come at all, at such an hour. He waited a little longer, and then, as he +was on the point of leaving, he heard light footsteps approaching, and +recognized them with a lover's keen perception. He hurried to meet the +slim, girlish figure, with a light cloak fluttering from her shoulders, +and Madge's little cry of pleasure was stifled on her lips as he kissed +them again and again.</p> + +<p>"My darling!" he whispered eagerly. "I scarcely dared to hope that you +would come to-night, but I could not stay away. Do you know that you +have treated me cruelly? I have not seen you for two days—since +Wednesday afternoon. And I have been here twice."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, Jack, but I could not help it. I missed you ever so much."</p> + +<p>"Where is your father?"</p> + +<p>"He is not at home—that is why I came. He is dining in town with an +old friend, and won't be back until the last train, at the very +earliest."</p> + +<p>"I am indebted to him. I was hungry for a sight of you, dearest."</p> + +<p>"And I longed to see you, Jack. But I am afraid we shall not be able to +meet as often as before."</p> + +<p>"Madge, what do you mean? Has anything gone wrong?"</p> + +<p>The girl linked her arm in his, and drew him to a darker and lonelier +spot by the water. In a few words, tremulously spoken, she told him what +he had already surmised—that her father had discovered her secret, and +had taxed her with it when he came home on the previous evening.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, it was my fault," Jack said, contritely. "I should not have +tempted you to go on that unlucky trip last Tuesday. So you were seen +near Richmond station by some meddlesome individual—probably when you +got out of the trap! But it may turn out for the best; your father could +not have been kept in ignorance much longer. Was he angry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jack; but he seemed more hurt and grieved. Oh, it was such a +wretched time!"</p> + +<p>"My poor girl! Does—does he want you to give me up?"</p> + +<p>"He forbade me to see you again."</p> + +<p>"And you are here!"</p> + +<p>"Did you expect me to obey him?"</p> + +<p>"What did you tell him, dearest?"</p> + +<p>"All—everything. I spoke up bravely, Jack. I told him I was a woman +now, and that I loved you with all my heart, and intended to marry you!"</p> + +<p>"My own plucky Madge! And I suppose that made him the more angry?"</p> + +<p>"No; my defiance surprised him—he thought I would yield. He talked +about ingratitude, and called me a foolish girl who did not know her own +mind. He looked awfully sad and stern, Jack, but when I kissed him and +begged him not to be angry, he melted a little."</p> + +<p>"And gave in?"</p> + +<p>"No, neither of us yielded; we agreed to a sort of a tacit truce. Father +did not speak of the matter again, and he went to town very early this +morning, before I was up. He left word with Mrs. Sedgewick that he would +not be back until late. I was sure he would go to your studio."</p> + +<p>"I have not seen him," replied Jack; "but I hope he will come. If he +doesn't I shall call on him and ask for your hand, and without delay. It +is the only honorable course. Until I set things right with him, and +satisfy him of my intentions, I can't blame him for thinking all sorts +of evil of me."</p> + +<p>"If he knew you as I know you, dear!"</p> + +<p>"But he doesn't," Jack said, bitterly. "Is it likely that he will consent +to let you marry a poor artist? No. But I can't—I won't—give you up, +Madge!"</p> + +<p>The girl rested her hands on his shoulders, and looked trustfully into +his face.</p> + +<p>"Dear Jack, don't worry," she whispered. "It will all come right in the +end. We love each other, and we will be true. Nothing shall part us. I +am yours always, and some day I will be your wife. Promise that you will +believe me—that you will never be afraid of losing me!"</p> + +<p>"I <i>do</i> believe you, darling," Jack said, fervently. "You have made me +happy again—your words have driven the clouds away. I could not live +without you, Madge. Since I have known you the whole world seems +brighter and better. For your sake I am going to make a name and a +fortune."</p> + +<p>He kissed her passionately, and for a few moments they stood watching +the incoming tide, and talking in a lighter vein. Then they parted, and +Madge slipped away toward the old house with its guardian elm trees. The +memory of her last words cheered Jack as he walked to the high-road and +thence to his studio. Alphonse had prepared him a tempting little +supper, and he did not go to town that night.</p> + +<p>The next morning London awoke to a new sensation, which quite eclipsed +the week-old theft of the Duchess of Hightower's jewels and the recent +mysterious murder at Hoxton. The news was at first meager and +unsatisfactory, and contained little more in substance than was found +in the big headlines and on the posters of the leading papers:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>DARING ROBBERY AT LAMB AND DRUMMOND'S.</p> + +<p>THE FAMOUS REMBRANDT CARRIED OFF—WATCHMAN BRUTALLY HANDLED.</p></div> + +<p>The early journals had gone to press before a full report of the affair +could reach them, but a detailed account appeared between ten and eleven +o'clock in the first edition of the afternoon papers. The Rembrandt was +gone—there was no doubt of it—and the story of its disappearance +contained many dramatic elements. A curious crowd gathered about the +premises of Lamb and Drummond on Pall Mall, to gaze at the now vacant +window, and the services of a policeman were required to keep the +sidewalk clear. Many persons recalled the similar case, some years +before, of the Gainsborough portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lamb, it appeared, had been detained at his place of business until +long after the closing hour, writing important letters. He left at nine +o'clock, and Raper, the night watchman, fastened the street door behind +him. During the night the policeman on duty in Pall Mall saw or heard +nothing suspicious about the premises. The Rembrandt was on an easel in +a large room back of the shop proper, and from it a rear door opened on +a narrow paved passage leading to Crown Court; the inmates heard no +noise in the night. At four o'clock in the morning a policeman, flashing +his lantern in Crown Court, found a window open at the back of Lamb and +Drummond's premises. He entered at once. Inside the gas was burning +dimly, and the watchman lay bound and gagged in a corner, with a strong +odor of drugs mingling with his breath. The Rembrandt had been cut out +of its frame and carried away.</p> + +<p>"The robbery was evidently well-planned, and is enveloped in mystery," +said the <i>St. James' Gazette</i>, "and the thieves left not the slightest +clew. It is difficult to conceive their motive. They cannot hope at +present to dispose of the picture, which is known by reputation in +Europe and America, nor is it certain that they could safely realize +on it after the lapse of years. The watchman, who has recovered +consciousness, declared that he has no knowledge of how the thieves +entered the building. It was about midnight, he states, when he was +knocked down from behind. He remembers nothing after that."</p> + +<p>The <i>Globe's</i> account was more sensational. "It has come to light," +wrote the enterprising reporter, "that Raper, the watchman, was in the +habit of slipping out to the Leather Bottle, on Crown Court, for a +drink at ten o'clock every evening, and leaving the back door of the +shop unlocked. He came into the private bar at the usual time last +night, and remained for twenty minutes. He drank a pint of ale, and was +seen conversing with a shabbily dressed stranger, whose face was +unfamiliar to the publican and the barmaid. This incident suggests two +theories. Did the affable stranger drug Raper's beer, and, at a later +hour of the night, while the watchman was in a stupor, force the window +with one or more companions and carry off the Rembrandt? Or was the +watchman in the plot? Did the thieves slip into the building while he +was in the Leather Bottle, and subsequently bind, gag and drug him, and +force open the window from the outside, in order to screen him from the +suspicions of his employers? We learn that Raper has been suspended from +his position, pending an investigation. Mr. Lamb informs us that the +Rembrandt was insured against fire and burglary for the sum of ten +thousand guineas. The company is the Mutual, and they are sure to do all +in their power to apprehend the thieves and save themselves from such a +heavy loss."</p> + +<p>Such was the gist of the newspaper accounts of the puzzling affair. And +now to see how they affected certain individuals who are not strangers +to the reader.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI" ></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY.</h3> + + +<p>Stephen Foster sat in his office at No. 320 Wardour street, with half a +dozen of the morning and afternoon papers scattered about his desk. It +was two o'clock, but he had not gone out to lunch, and it had not +occurred to him that the usual hour for it was past. Footsteps came down +the length of the shop, and Victor Nevill opened the door. He closed it +quickly behind him as he entered the room; his face expressed extreme +agitation, and he looked like a man who has spent a sleepless night.</p> + +<p>"You have seen them?" he exclaimed, pointing to the papers. "You have +read the different accounts?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have read them—that is all. They tell me nothing. You could +have knocked me down with a feather when I bought a <i>Telegraph</i> at +Gunnersbury station this morning, and saw the headlines."</p> + +<p>"And I first heard of it at breakfast—I got up rather late. I opened +the <i>Globe</i> and there it was, staring me in the eyes. It knocked my +appetite, I can assure you. What do you make of it?"</p> + +<p>"It's a mystery," replied Stephen Foster, "and I am all in the dark +about it. Devilish unfortunate, I call it."</p> + +<p>"Right you are! And it's more than that. You have seen the <i>Globe</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; here it is."</p> + +<p>"Did you know that the picture was insured?"</p> + +<p>"I judged that it was, but the fact was quite unimportant."</p> + +<p>"The Mutual people won't regard it in that light."</p> + +<p>"Hardly. Will you have a drink, my dear fellow? You are looking seedy."</p> + +<p>A stiff brandy-and-soda pulled Victor Nevill together, and for nearly an +hour the two men spoke in low and serious tones, occasionally referring +to the heap of papers.</p> + +<p>"Not the slightest clew," said Stephen Foster. "It is absurd to suspect +Raper of collusion with the thieves—his only fault was carelessness. +Leave the affair to the police. I shan't give it another thought."</p> + +<p>"That's easier said than done," Nevill replied. He rose and put on his +hat. "I must be off now. Oh, about the other matter—have you said +anything further to your daughter?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word."</p> + +<p>"She still defies you?"</p> + +<p>"She refuses to give the fellow up." Stephen Foster sighed. "The girl +has lots of spirit."</p> + +<p>"You won't let her have her own way?"</p> + +<p>"Not if I can prevent it."</p> + +<p>"Prevent it?" echoed Nevill, sneeringly. "What measures will you take?"</p> + +<p>"I shall see the artist."</p> + +<p>"Much good that will do," said Nevill. "Better begin by enforcing your +authority over your daughter."</p> + +<p>"I can't be harsh with her," Stephen Foster answered. "I am more +inclined to pity than anger."</p> + +<p>Under the circumstances, now that he knew how far matters had gone +with the woman he loved and his rival, Victor Nevill was curiously +unconcerned and unmoved, at least outwardly. It is true that he did not +despair of success, strong as were the odds against him. There was a +hard and evil expression on his face, which melted at times into a +cunning smile of satisfaction, as he walked down Wardour street.</p> + +<p>"I am on the right scent, and the game will soon be in my hands," he +reflected. "In another week I ought to be able to put an effectual spoke +in Jack Vernon's wheel. It will be a blow for Madge, but she will forget +him presently, and then I will commence to play my cards. I won't +fail—I'm determined to make her my wife. Shall I let Foster into the +scheme? I think not. Better let things take their course, and keep him +in ignorance of the fact that I had a hand in the revelation, if it +comes off. I'm afraid it won't, though."</p> + +<p>We must take the reader now to Ravenscourt Park, to the studio of Jack +Vernon. Early in the afternoon, while Victor Nevill was closeted with +Stephen Foster, the young artist was sitting at his easel. He had been +working since breakfast on a landscape, a commission from one of his +wealthy patrons. Things had gone unusually well with him lately. His +picture was on the line at the Academy, it had been favorably reviewed, +and he had received several offers for it. This indicated increased +fame, with a larger income, and a luxurious little home for Madge.</p> + +<p>"Will you have your lunch now, sir?" Alphonse called from the doorway +of an inner room.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you may fetch it," Jack replied. "I'm as hungry as a bear."</p> + +<p>He usually took his second meal at an earlier hour, but to-day he had +gone on working, deeply interested in his subject. He put aside his +brush and palette, and seated himself at the table, on which Alphonse +had placed a couple of chops, a bottle of Bass, and half a loaf of +French bread. When he had finished, he lighted a cigarette and opened +the <i>Telegraph</i> lazily. He had not looked at it before, and he uttered +a cry of surprise as his eyes fell on the headlines announcing the theft +of the Rembrandt. He perused the brief paragraph, and turned to his +servant.</p> + +<p>"Go out and buy me an afternoon paper," he said.</p> + +<p>Alphonse departed, and, having the luck to encounter a newsboy in the +street, he speedily returned with the latest edition of the <i>Globe</i>. It +contained nothing more in substance than the earlier issues, but the +full account of the mysterious robbery was there, a column long, and +with keen interest Jack read every word of it over twice.</p> + +<p>"It's a queer case," he said to himself, "and the sort of thing +that doesn't often happen. The last sensation of the kind was the +Gainsborough, years ago. What will the thieves do with their prize? +They can't well dispose of it. It will be a waiting game. I daresay +the watchman knows more than he cares to tell. And so the picture was +insured—over-insured, too, for I don't believe it would have brought +ten thousand pounds. That's rather an interesting fact. Now, if Lamb +and Drummond were like some unscrupulous dealers that I know, instead +of being beyond reproach, there would be reason to think—"</p> + +<p>He did not finish the mental sentence, but tossed the paper aside, and +rose suddenly to his feet.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, I'll hang up the duplicate!" he muttered. "I was going to +send it to Von Whele's executors, but it is worth keeping now, as a +curiosity. It will be an attraction to the chaps who come to see me. +I hope it won't get me into trouble. It is so deucedly like the original +that I might be accused of stealing it from the premises of Lamb and +Drummond."</p> + +<p>He crossed the studio, knelt down by the couch and pulled the drapery +aside, and drew out the half-dozen of bulging portfolios; they had not +been disturbed since the visit of his French customer, M. Felix +Marchand. He opened the one in which he knew he had seen the Rembrandt +on that occasion, but he failed to find it, though he turned over the +sketches singly. He examined them again, with increasing wonder, and +then went carefully through the other portfolios. The search was +fruitless. The copy of Martin Von Whele's Rembrandt was gone!</p> + +<p>"What can it mean?" thought Jack. "I distinctly remember putting the +canvas back in the biggest portfolio—I could swear to that. I have not +touched them since. Yet the picture is gone—missing—stolen. Yes, +stolen! What else? By Jove, it's a queer coincidence that both the +original and the copy should disappear simultaneously!"</p> + +<p>He struck a match and looked beneath the couch; there was nothing there. +He ransacked about the studio for a few minutes, and then summoned his +servant.</p> + +<p>"Was there a stranger here at any time during the last two weeks?" he +asked; "any person whom you did not know?"</p> + +<p>Alphonse shook his head decidedly.</p> + +<p>"There was no one, monsieur. I am certain of that."</p> + +<p>"And my friends—"</p> + +<p>"On such occasions as monsieur's friends called while he was out, I was +in the studio as long as they remained."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. When did you sweep under this couch?"</p> + +<p>"About three weeks ago, monsieur," was the hesitating reply.</p> + +<p>"No less than that?"</p> + +<p>"No less, monsieur."</p> + +<p>Jack was satisfied. There was no room for suspicion, he told himself. +The man's word was to be relied upon. But by what agency, then, had the +canvas disappeared? How could a thief break into the studio without +leaving some trace of his visit, in the shape of a broken window or a +forced lock? There had been plenty of opportunities, it is true—nights +when Alphonse had been at home and Jack in town.</p> + +<p>"Has monsieur lost something?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a large painting has been stolen," Jack replied.</p> + +<p>He went to the door and examined the lock from the outside, by the aid +of matches, though with no hope of finding anything. But a surprising +and ominous discovery rewarded him at once. In and around the key-hole, +sticking to it, were some minute fragments of wax.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, I have it!" cried Jack. "Here is the clew! Look, Alphonse! The +scoundrel, whoever he was, took an impression in wax on his first visit. +He had a key made from it, came back later at night, and stole the +picture. It was a cunning piece of work."</p> + +<p>"Monsieur is right," said Alphonse. "A thief has robbed him. You suspect +nobody?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul," replied Jack.</p> + +<p>Though the shreds of wax showed how the studio had been entered, he was +no nearer the solution of the mystery than before. He excepted the few +trustworthy friends—only three or four—who knew that he had the +duplicate Rembrandt.</p> + +<p>"And even in Paris there were not many who knew that I painted the +thing," he thought. "I painted it at the Hotel Netherlands, and when Von +Whele went home and left it on my hands, I locked the canvas up in an +old chest. No, I can't suspect any of my friends, past or present. But +then who—By Jove! I have overlooked one point! The man who stole the +picture knew just where it was kept, and he went straight to it. +Otherwise he would have rummaged the studio, and disarranged things +badly before he found what he wanted."</p> + +<p>A light flashed on Jack—a light of inspiration, of certainty and +conviction. He remembered the visit of M. Felix Marchand, that he had +commented on the painting, and had seen it restored to its place in the +portfolio. Beyond doubt the mysterious Frenchman was the thief. Armed +with his craftily-won knowledge, provided with a duplicate key to the +studio, he had easily and safely accomplished his purpose. At what hour, +and on what night, it was impossible to say. Probably a day or two after +his first visit in the guise of a buyer.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur must not take his loss too much to heart," said Alphonse, with +well-meant sympathy. "If he informs the police—"</p> + +<p>"I prefer to have nothing to do with the police, thank you. You may go, +Alphonse. I shall dine in town, as usual."</p> + +<p>When Alphonse had departed, Jack threw a sheet over the canvas on his +easel, put on a smoking jacket, lighted his pipe, and stretched himself +in an easy chair, to think about the startling discovery he had made.</p> + +<p>The mystery presented many difficult points for his consideration. The +rogue's sole aim was to get that particular painting, and he had taken +nothing else, though he might have walked off with his pockets filled +with valuable articles. He probably expected that the robbery would not +be discovered for a long time.</p> + +<p>But what was his object in stealing the Rembrandt? What did he hope to +do with a copy of so well-known a work of art? Was there any connection +between this crime and the one committed last night on the premises of +the Pall Mall dealers? That was extremely unlikely. It was beyond +question that Lamb and Drummond had had the original painting in their +possession, and that daring burglars had taken it.</p> + +<p>"I could see light in the matter," Jack reflected, "if the fellow had +visited my place after hearing of the robbery at Lamb and Drummond's. +In that case, his scheme would have been to get the duplicate +canvas—granted that he knew of its existence and whereabouts—and trade +it off for the original. But he could not have known until early this +morning, and he did not come then. I was sleeping here, and would have +heard him. No, my picture must have been taken at least a week or ten +days ago."</p> + +<p>Jack smoked two more pipes, and the dark-brown Latakia tobacco from +Oriental shores, stealing insidiously to his brain, brought him an idea.</p> + +<p>"It is chimeric and improbable," he concluded, "but it is the most likely +theory I have struck yet. Was my Frenchman the same chap who robbed Lamb +and Drummond? Did he or his confederates steal both paintings, knowing +them to be as like as two peas, with the intention of disposing of each +as the original, and thus killing two birds with one stone? By Jove, I +believe I've hit it! But, no, it is unlikely. Can I be right? I'll +reserve my opinion, anyway, until I have written to Paris to ascertain +if there is such a person as M. Felix Marchand, of the Pare Monceaux. If +there is <i>not</i>, then I will interview Lamb and Drummond, and confide the +whole story to them."</p> + +<p>He decided to write the letter at once, but before he could reach his +desk there was a sharp rap on the door. He opened it, and saw a tall, +well-dressed gentleman, with a tawny beard and mustache, who bowed +coldly and silently, and held out a card. Jack took it and read the +name. His visitor was Stephen Foster.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII" ></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>A COWARDLY COMMUNICATION.</h3> + + +<p>"You doubtless know why I have come," said Stephen Foster, as he stepped +into the room and closed the door. He looked penetratingly at the young +man through a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses.</p> + +<p>"I think I do, sir," Jack replied, "and I am very glad to see you. +I rather expected a visit from you. Take a seat, please."</p> + +<p>"Thank you—I prefer to stand. My business is very brief, Mr. Vernon. +It is quite unnecessary to enter into discussions or explanations. You +are aware, of course, that my daughter has told me everything. Do you +consider that you have acted honorably—that your conduct has been what +a gentleman's should be?"</p> + +<p>"It has, sir. Appearances are a little against me, I admit, but I have +a clear conscience, Mr. Foster. I love your daughter with all my heart, +and I have no higher aim in life than to make her my wife. I am heartily +glad of the opportunity to tell you this to your face. Believe me, it +was not from choice that I stooped to clandestine meetings."</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster laughed contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"You took an unfair advantage of an innocent and trustful girl," he +said. "My daughter is young, ignorant of the world, and she does not +know her own mind. You have cast a spell over her, as it were. She +defies me—she refuses to obey my orders. You have estranged us, Mr. +Vernon, and brought a cloud into what was a happy home. I appeal to you, +in a father's name, to release the girl from the ill-advised and foolish +promises she made you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot give her up, sir. I fear you do not understand how much +Madge—Miss Foster—is to me. If words could prove my sincerity, my +devotion to her—"</p> + +<p>"Her marriage to you is out of the question."</p> + +<p>"May I ask why?"</p> + +<p>"My reasons do not concern you."</p> + +<p>"But at least I am entitled to some explanation—it is no more than my +due," said Jack. "Why do you object to me as a son-in-law? I am not a +rake or an idler—you can easily satisfy yourself of my character, if +you like. I am not a rich man, but I can offer your daughter a +comfortable, even a luxurious, home. I have succeeded in my profession, +and in another year I shall doubtless be making an income of two or +three thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"I am ready to admit all that," was Stephen Foster's curt reply. "It +does not alter the position, however."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have higher views for your daughter!" Jack cried, +bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," Stephen Foster admitted, after a moment's hesitation. "I +don't mind saying as much. But this interview has already lasted longer +than I intended it should, Mr. Vernon. Have I appealed to you in vain?"</p> + +<p>"With all proper respect to you, sir, I can answer you in only one way," +Jack replied, firmly. "Your daughter returns my affection, and she is a +woman in ten thousand—a woman for whose love one might well count the +world well lost. I cannot, I will not, give her up."</p> + +<p>The young artist's declaration, strange to say, brought no angry +response from Stephen Foster. For an instant the hard lines on his +face melted away, and there was a gleam of something closely akin to +admiration in his eyes; he actually made a half-movement to hold out +his hand, but as quickly withdrew it. He turned and opened the door.</p> + +<p>"Is this your last word?" he asked from the threshold.</p> + +<p>"That rests with you. I cannot retreat from my position. Should I +renounce your daughter, after winning her heart, I would deserve to +be called—"</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," interrupted Stephen Foster. "I shall know what +measures to take in the future. Forewarned is forearmed. And, by the +way, to save you the trouble of hanging about Strand-on-the-Green, I +may tell you that I have sent my daughter out of town on a visit."</p> + +<p>With that parting shot he went down the short flight of steps, and +passed into the street. Jack closed the door savagely, and began to +walk up and down the studio, as restless as a caged beast.</p> + +<p>"Here's a nice mess!" he reflected. "Angry parent, obdurate daughter, +and all that sort of thing. But I rather fancy I scored—he gained +nothing by his visit, and after he thinks the matter over he will +probably take a more sensible view of it. His appeal to me shows clearly +that he failed to make Madge yield."</p> + +<p>On the whole, after further consideration, Jack concluded that there was +no ground for despondency. His spirits rose as he recalled the girl's +earnest and loving promises, her assurances of eternal fidelity.</p> + +<p>"My darling will be true to me, come what may," he thought. "No amount +of persuasion or threats can induce her to give me up, and in the end, +when Stephen Foster is convinced of that, he will make the best of it +and withdraw his objections. If Madge has been sent out of town, she +went against her will. But, of course, she will manage to let me hear +from her."</p> + +<p>Jack sat down to his desk, intending to write a letter to a friend in +Paris, a well-to-do artist who lived in the neighborhood of the Pare +Monceaux. He held his pen undecidedly for a moment, and then leaned back +in his chair with a puzzled countenance.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, it's queer," he muttered; "but Stephen Foster's voice was +awfully familiar. We never met before, and I never laid eyes on the man, +so far as I can remember. I am mistaken. It is only a fancy. No—I have +it! He suggests M. Felix Marchand—there is something in common in their +speech, though it is very slight. What an odd coincidence!"</p> + +<p>That it could possibly be more than a coincidence did not occur to Jack, +and he would have laughed the idea to scorn. He dismissed the matter +from his mind, wrote and posted the letter, and then went off to dine by +appointment with Victor Nevill.</p> + +<p>There was no word from Madge the next day, and it is to be feared that +Jack's work suffered in consequence, and that Alphonse found him +slightly irritable. But on the following morning a letter came in the +well-known handwriting. It was very brief. The girl was <i>not</i> out of +town, but was stopping near Regent's Park with an elderly maternal aunt +who lived in Portland Terrace, and was addicted to the companionship of +cockatoos and cats, not to speak of a brace of overfed, half-blind pugs.</p> + +<p>"I am in exile," the letter concluded, "and the dragon is a watchful +jailer. But she sleeps in the afternoon, and at three o'clock to-morrow +I will be inside the Charles street gate."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow" meant to-day, and until lunch time Jack's brush flew +energetically over the canvas. He was at the trysting-place at the +appointed hour, and Madge was there waiting for him, so ravishingly +dressed that he could scarcely resist the temptation to gather her in +his arms. As they strolled through the park he rather gloomily described +his visit from Stephen Foster, but the girl's half-smiling, half-tearful +look of affection reassured him.</p> + +<p>"You foolish boy!" she said, chidingly. "As if there were any danger of +your losing me. Why, I wouldn't give you up if you wanted me to! I think +you got the best of father, dear. He understands now, and by and by he +will relent. He is a good sort, really, and you will like him when you +know him better."</p> + +<p>"We made a bad beginning," Jack said, ruefully.</p> + +<p>They had reached the lake by this time, and they went on to a bench in +a shady and sequestered spot. Madge's high spirits seemed suddenly to +desert her, and she looked pensively across the glimmering water to the +tall mansions of Hanover Terrace.</p> + +<p>"Madge, something troubles you," her lover said, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jack. I—I received an anonymous letter at noon. Mrs. Sedgewick +forwarded it to me. Oh, it is shameful to speak of it—"</p> + +<p>"An anonymous letter? There is nothing more vile or cowardly! Did it +concern me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And spoke badly of me?"</p> + +<p>"It didn't say anything good."</p> + +<p>"I wish I had the scoundrel by the throat! You have no idea who sent +it?"</p> + +<p>"None, dear. It was in a strange, scrawly hand, and was postmarked +Paddington."</p> + +<p>"It is a mystery I am powerless to explain," Jack said dismally. "To +the best of my knowledge I have not an enemy in the world. I can recall +no one who would wish to do me an ill turn. And the writer lied foully +if he gave me a bad character, Madge. Where is the letter?"</p> + +<p>"I destroyed it at once. I hated to see it, to touch it."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you did that. It might have contained some clew. Tell me +all, Madge. Surely, darling, you don't believe—"</p> + +<p>"Jack, how can you think so?" She glanced up at him with a tender, +trustful, and yet half-distressed look in her eyes. "Forgive me, dear. +It is not that I doubt you, but—but I must ask you one question. You +are a free man? There is no tie that could forbid you to marry me?"</p> + +<p>"I am a free man," Jack answered her solemnly. "Put such evil thoughts +out of your mind, my darling. By the passionate love I feel for you, by +my own honor, I swear that I have an honest man's right to make you +mine. But, as I told you before, I had a reckless past—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to hear about it," Madge interrupted.</p> + +<p>No one was within sight or sound, so she put her arms about his neck and +lifted her lips to his.</p> + +<p>"Jack, you have made me so happy," she whispered. "I will forget that +false, wicked letter. I love you, love you, dear. And I will be your +wife whenever you wish—"</p> + +<p>Her voice broke, and he kissed a tear from her burning cheek.</p> + +<p>"My Madge!" he said, softly. "Do you care so much for me?"</p> + +<p>Half an hour later they parted at the Hanover Gate. As he turned his +steps homeward, the cowardly anonymous letter lay heavily on his mind. +Who could have written it, and what did it contain? He more than +suspected that it referred to his youthful marriage with Diane Merode.</p> + +<p>When he reached the studio he found on his desk a letter bearing a +French stamp. He opened it curiously.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII" ></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE TEMPTER.</h3> + + +<p>"Just as I suspected!" Jack exclaimed. "I knew I couldn't be mistaken. +I have spotted the thief. The queer chap who bought my water-color +sketches is the same who carried off the Rembrandt. How cleverly he +worked his little game! But there my information stops, and I doubt +if the police could make much out of it."</p> + +<p>The letter, which he had crumpled excitedly in his hand after reading +it, was written in French; freely translated it ran as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"No. 15, BOULEVARD DE COURCELLES, PARIS.</p> + +<p>"My Dear Jack—I was rejoiced to hear from you, after so long a silence, +and it gave me sincere pleasure to look into the matter of which you +spoke. But I fear that my answers must be in the negative. It is certain +that no such individual as M. Felix Marchand lives in or near the Pare +Monceaux, where I have numerous acquaintances; nor do I find the name in +the directory of Paris. Moreover, he is unknown to the dealer, Cambon, on +the Quai Voltaire, of whom I made inquiries. So the matter rests. I am +pleased to learn of your prosperity. When shall I see you once more in +Lutetia?</p> + +<p>"With amiable sentiments I inscribe myself,</p> + +<p>"Your old friend,</p> + +<p>"CHARLES JACQUIN."</p></div> + +<p>"I'll take the earliest opportunity of seeing Lamb and Drummond," Jack +resolved. "The affair will interest them, and it may lead to something. +But I shan't bother about it—I didn't value the picture very highly, +and the thief almost deserves to keep it for his cleverness."</p> + +<p>During the next three days, however, Jack was too busy to carry out his +plan—at least in the mornings. Not for any consideration would he have +sacrificed his afternoons, for then he met Madge in Regent's Park, and +spent an hour or more with her, reckless of extortionate cab fares from +Ravenscourt Park to the neighborhood of Portland Terrace. On the second +night, dining in town, he met Victor Nevill, and had a long chat with +him, the two going to a music-hall afterward. Jack was discreetly silent +about his love affair, nor did he or Nevill refer to the little incident +near Richmond Hill.</p> + +<p>At the end of the week Jack's opportunity came. He had finished some +work on which he had been employed for several days, and soon after +breakfast, putting on a frock coat and a top hat he went off to town. He +presented a card at Lamb and Drummond's, and the senior partner of the +firm, who knew him well by reputation, invited him into his private +office. On learning his visitor's errand, Mr. Lamb evinced a keen +interest in the subject. He listened attentively to the story, and asked +various questions.</p> + +<p>"Here is the letter from my friend in Paris," Jack concluded. "You will +understand its import. It shows conclusively that M. Marchand came to my +studio under a false name, and leaves no room for doubt that it was he +who stole my duplicate Rembrandt."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you, Mr. Vernon. It is a puzzling affair, and I confess I +don't know what to make of it. But it is exceedingly interesting, and I +am very glad that you have confided in me. I think it will be best if +we keep our knowledge strictly to ourselves for the present."</p> + +<p>"By all means."</p> + +<p>"I except the detectives who are working on the case."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. They are the proper persons to utilize the +information," assented Jack. "It should not be made public."</p> + +<p>"I never knew that a copy of Von Whele's picture was in existence," said +Mr. Lamb. "I need hardly ask if it is a faithful one."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it is," Jack replied, smiling. "I worked slowly and +carefully, and though I was a bit of an amateur in those days, I was +more than satisfied with the result. The pictures were of the same size; +and I really don't think many persons could have distinguished the one +from the other."</p> + +<p>"Could <i>you</i> do that now, supposing that both were before you, framed +alike, and that the duplicate was cunningly toned to look as old as the +original?"</p> + +<p>"I should not hesitate an instant," Jack replied, "because it happens +that I took the precaution of making a slight mark in one corner of my +canvas."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that was a clever idea—very shrewd of you! It may be of the +greatest importance in the future."</p> + +<p>"You have not yet given me your opinion of the mysterious Frenchman," +Jack went on. "Do you believe that he was concerned in both robberies?"</p> + +<p>"Circumstances seem to point that way, Mr. Vernon, do they not? Your +picture was certainly taken before mine?"</p> + +<p>"It was, without doubt."</p> + +<p>"Then, what object could the Frenchman have had in stealing the +comparatively worthless duplicate, unless he counted on subsequently +getting possession of the original?"</p> + +<p>"It sounds plausible," said Jack. "That's just my way of looking at it. +The advantage would be—"</p> + +<p>"That the thieves would have two pictures, equally valuable to them, to +dispose of secretly," put in Mr. Lamb. "We may safely assume, then, that +our enterprising burglars are in possession of a brace of Rembrandts. +What they will do with them it is difficult to say. They will likely +make no move at present, but it is possible that they will try to +dispose of them in the Continental market or in America, in which case +I have hopes that they will blunder into the hands of the police. Proper +precautions have been taken both at home and abroad."</p> + +<p>"Is there any clew yet?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Lamb shook his head sadly.</p> + +<p>"Not a ray of light has been thrown on the mystery," he replied, "though +the best Scotland Yard men are at work. You may depend upon it that the +insurance people, who stand to lose ten thousand pounds, will leave no +stone unturned. As for Raper, our watchman, he has been discharged. Mr. +Drummond and I are convinced that his story was true, but it was +impossible to overlook his gross carelessness. We never knew that he +was in the habit of going nightly to the public house in Crown Court."</p> + +<p>"It's a wonder you were not robbed before," said Jack. "You have my +address—will you let me know if anything occurs?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Mr. Vernon. Must you be off? Good morning!"</p> + +<p>Jack sauntered along Pall Mall, and turned up Regent street. At +Piccadilly Circus he saw two men standing before the cigar shop on the +corner. One was young and boyish looking. The other, a few years older, +was of medium height and stout beyond proportion; he wore a tweed suit +of a rather big check pattern, and the coat was buttoned over a scarlet +waistcoat; the straw hat, gaudily beribboned, shaded a fat, jolly, +half-comical face, of the type that readily inspires confidence. He was +talking to his companion animatedly when he saw Jack approaching. With a +boisterous exclamation of delight he rushed up to him and clapped him on +the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Clare, old boy!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Jimmie Drexell!" Jack gasped in amazement. "Dear old chap, how awfully +glad I am to see you!"</p> + +<p>With genuine and heartfelt emotion they shook hands and looked into +each other's eyes—these two who had not met for long years, since the +rollicksome days of student life in Paris when they had been as intimate +as brothers.</p> + +<p>"You're fit as a king, my boy—not much changed," spluttered Drexell, +with a strong American accent to his kindly, mellow voice. "I was going +to look you up to-day—only landed at Southampton yesterday—got beastly +tired of New York—yearned for London and Paris—shan't go back for six +months or a year, hanged if I do."</p> + +<p>"I'm jolly glad to hear it, Jimmie."</p> + +<p>"We'll see a lot of each other—eh, old man? So, you've stuck to the +name of Vernon? I called you Clare, didn't I? Yes, I forgot. You told me +you had taken the other name when you wrote a couple of years ago. I +haven't heard from you since, except through the papers. You've made +a hit, I understand. Doing well?"</p> + +<p>"Rather! I've no cause to complain. And you, Jimmie? What's become of +the art?"</p> + +<p>"Chucked it, Jack—it was no go. I painted like a blooming Turk—hired a +studio—filled it with jimcrackery—got the best-looking models—wore a +velvet coat and grew long hair. But it was all useless. I earned +twenty-five dollars in three years. I had a picture in a dealer's +shop—his place burnt down—I made him fork over. Then a deceased +relative left me $150,000—said I deserved it for working so hard in +Paris. A good one, eh? I leased the studio to the Salvation Army, and +here I am, a poor devil of an artist out of work."</p> + +<p>Jack laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"Art never <i>was</i> much in your line," he said, "though I remember how you +kept pegging away at it. And no one can be more pleased than myself to +learn that you've dropped into a fortune. Stick to it, Jimmie."</p> + +<p>"There will be another one some day, Jack—when this is gone. By the +way, I met old Nevill last night—dined with him. And that reminds me—"</p> + +<p>He turned to his companion, the fresh-faced boy, and introduced him to +Jack as the Honorable Bertie Raven. The two shook hands cordially, and +exchanged a few commonplace words.</p> + +<p>"Come on; we've held up this corner long enough," exclaimed Drexell. +"Let's go and lunch together somewhere. I'll leave it to you, Raven. +Name your place."</p> + +<p>"Prince's, then," was the prompt rejoinder.</p> + +<p>As they walked along Piccadilly the Honorable Bertie was forced ahead by +the narrowness of the pavement and the jostling crowds, and Drexell +whispered at Jack's ear:</p> + +<p>"A good sort, that young chap. I met him in New York a year ago. His +next eldest brother, the Honorable George, is over there now. I believe +he is going to marry a cousin of mine—a girl who will come into a pot +of money when her governor dies."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Nine o'clock at night, and a room in Beak street, Regent street; a back +apartment looking into a dingy court, furnished with a sort of tawdry, +depressing luxury, and lighted by a pair of candles. A richly dressed +woman who had once been extremely handsome, and still retained more than +a trace of her charms, half reclined on a couch; a fluffy mass of +coppery-red hair had escaped from under her hat, and shaded her large +eyes; shame and confusion, mingled with angry defiance, deepened the +artificial blush on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Victor Nevill stood in the middle of the floor, confronting her with a +faint, mocking smile at his lips. He had not taken the trouble to remove +his hat. He wore evening dress, with a light cloak over it, and he +twirled a stick carelessly between his gloved fingers.</p> + +<p>"So it is really you!" he said.</p> + +<p>"If you came to sneer at me, go!" the woman answered spitefully. "You +have your revenge. How did you find me?"</p> + +<p>"It was not easy, but I persevered—"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"For a purpose. I will tell you presently. And do not think that I came +to sneer. I am sorry for you—grieved to find you struggling in the +vortex of London." He looked about the room, which, indeed, told a plain +story. "You were intended for better things," he added. "Where is Count +Nordhoff?"</p> + +<p>"He left me—three years ago."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind betting that you cleaned him out, and then heartlessly +turned him adrift."</p> + +<p>"You are insolent!"</p> + +<p>"And I dare say you have had plenty of others since. What has become of +the Jew?"</p> + +<p>The woman's eyes flashed like a tiger's.</p> + +<p>"I wish I had him here now!" she cried. "He deserted me—broke a hundred +promises. I have not seen him for a week."</p> + +<p>"You are suffering heavily for the past."</p> + +<p>"For the past!" the woman echoed dully. "Victor," she said with a sudden +change of voice, "<i>you</i> loved me once—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, once. But you crushed that love—killed it forever. No stage +sentiment, please. Understand that, plainly."</p> + +<p>The brief hope died out of the woman's eyes, and was replaced by a gleam +of hatred. She looked at the man furiously.</p> + +<p>"There is no need to fly into a passion," said Nevill. "We can at least +be friends. I cherish no ill-feeling—I pity you sincerely. And yet you +are still beautiful enough to turn some men's heads. How are you off for +money?"</p> + +<p>The woman opened a purse and dashed a handful of silver to the floor.</p> + +<p>"That is my all!" she cried, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Then you must find a way out of your difficulties. I am going to have +a serious talk with you."</p> + +<p>Nevill drew a chair up to the couch, and his first words roused the +woman's interest. He spoke for ten minutes or more, now in whispers, now +with a rising inflection; now persuasively, now with well-feigned +indignation and scorn. The effect which his argument had on his +companion was shown by the swift changes that passed over her face; she +interrupted him frequently, asking questions and making comments. At the +end the woman rustled her silken skirts disdainfully, and rose to her +feet.</p> + +<p>"Why do you suggest this, Victor?" she demanded. "Where do <i>you</i> come +in?"</p> + +<p>Nevill seemed slightly disconcerted.</p> + +<p>"I am foolish enough to feel an interest in a person I once cared for," +he replied. "I want to save you from ruin that is inevitable if you +continue in your present course."</p> + +<p>"It is kind of you, Victor Nevill," the woman answered sneeringly. "He +has a personal motive," she thought. "What can it be?"</p> + +<p>"The thing is so simple, so natural," said Nevill, "that I wonder you +hesitate. Of course you will fall in with it."</p> + +<p>"Suppose I refuse?"</p> + +<p>"I can't credit you with such madness."</p> + +<p>"But what if—" She leaned toward him and whispered a short sentence in +his ear. His face turned the color of ashes, and he clutched her wrist +so tightly that she winced with pain.</p> + +<p>"It is a lie!" he cried, brutally. "By heavens, if I believed—"</p> + +<p>The woman laughed—a laugh that was not pleasant to hear.</p> + +<p>"Fool! do you think I would tell you if it was true?" she said. "I was +only jesting."</p> + +<p>"It is not a subject to jest about," Nevill answered stiffly. "I came +here to do you a good turn, and—"</p> + +<p>"You had better have kept away. You are a fiend—you are a Satan +himself! Why do you tempt me? Do you think that I have no conscience, +no shame left? I am bad enough, Victor Nevill, but by the memory of the +past—of what I threw away—I can't stoop so low as to—"</p> + +<p>"Your heroics are out of place," he interrupted. "Go to the devil your +own way, if you like."</p> + +<p>"You shall have an answer to-morrow—to-morrow! Give me time to think +about it."</p> + +<p>The woman sank down on the couch again; her over-wrought nerves gave +way, and burying her face in the cushions she sobbed hysterically. +Nevill looked at her for a moment. Then he put a couple of sovereigns on +the table and quietly left the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV" ></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>THE DINNER AT RICHMOND.</h3> + + +<p>Three days later, at the unusually early hour of nine in the morning, +Victor Nevill was enjoying his sponge bath. There appeared to be +something of a pleasing nature on his mind, for as he dressed he smiled +complacently at his own reflection in the glass. Having finished his +toilet, he did not ring immediately for his breakfast. He sat down to +his desk, and drew pen, ink and paper before him.</p> + +<p>"My Dear Jack" he wrote, "will you dine with me at the Roebuck to-morrow +night? Jimmie Drexell is coming, and I am going to drive him down. We +will stop and pick you up on the way. An answer will oblige, if not too +much trouble."</p> + +<p>He put the invitation in an envelope and addressed it. Then he pulled +the bell-cord, and a boy shortly entered the room with a tray containing +breakfast and a little heap of letters. Nevill glanced over his +correspondence carelessly—they were mostly cards for receptions and +tradesmen's accounts—until he reached a letter bearing a foreign stamp. +It was a long communication, and the reading of it caused him anything +but satisfaction, to judge from the frown that gathered on his features.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have credited Sir Lucius with such weakness," he muttered +angrily. "What has possessed him?—and after all these years! He says +his conscience troubles him! He fears he was too cruel and hard-hearted! +Humph! it's pleasant for me, I must say. Fancy him putting <i>me</i> on the +scent—asking <i>me</i> to turn private detective! I suppose I'll have to +humor him, or pretend to. It will be the safest course. Can there be any +truth in his theory, I wonder? No, I don't think so. And after such a +lapse of time the task would be next to impossible. I will be a fool if +I let the thing worry me."</p> + +<p>Victor Nevill locked the offending letter in his desk, vowing that he +would forget it. But that was easier said than done, and his gloomy +countenance and preoccupied air showed how greatly he was disturbed. His +breakfast was quite spoiled, and he barely tasted his coffee and rolls. +With a savage oath he put on his hat, and went down into Jermyn street. +He walked slowly in the direction of the Albany, where Jimmie Drexell +had been fortunate enough to secure a couple of chambers.</p> + +<p>The afternoon post brought Jack the invitation to dinner for the +following night, and he answered it at once. He accepted with pleasure, +but told Nevill not to stop for him on the way to Richmond. He would not +be at home after lunch, he wrote, but would turn up at the Roebuck on +time. Having thus disposed of the matter, he went to town, and he and +Drexell dined together and spent the evening at the Palace, where the +newest attraction was an American dancer with whom the susceptible +Jimmie had more than a nodding acquaintance, a fact that possibly had +something to do with his hasty visit to London.</p> + +<p>Jack worked hard the next day—he had a lot of lucrative commissions on +hand, and could not afford to waste much time. It was three o'clock when +he left the studio, and half an hour later he was crossing Kew Bridge. +He turned up the river, along the towing-path, and near the old palace +he joined Madge. She had written to him a couple of days before, +announcing her immediate return from Portland Terrace, and arranged +for a meeting.</p> + +<p>It was a perfect afternoon of early summer, with a cloudless sky and a +refreshing breeze. It cast a spell over the lovers, and for a time they +were silent as they trod the grassy path, with the rippling Thames, +dotted with pleasure-craft, flowing on their right. Jack stole many a +glance at the lovely, pensive face by his side. He was supremely happy, +in a dreamy mood, and not a shadow of the gathering storm marred his +content.</p> + +<p>"It was always a beautiful world, Madge," he said, "but since you came +into my life it has been a sort of a paradise. Work is a keener pleasure +now—work for your sake. Existence is a dreary thing, if men only knew +it, without a good, pure woman's love."</p> + +<p>The girl's face was rapturous as she looked up at him; she clung +caressingly to his arm.</p> + +<p>"You regret nothing, dearest?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Jack. How could I?"</p> + +<p>"You have been very silent."</p> + +<p>"You can't read a woman's heart, dear. If I was silent, it was because I +was so happy—because the future, our future, seemed so bright. There is +only the one little cloud—"</p> + +<p>"Your father?" he interrupted. "Is he still relentless, Madge?"</p> + +<p>"I think he is softening. He has been much kinder to me since I came +home. He does not mention your name, and he has not forbidden me to see +you or write to you. I should not have hesitated to tell him that I was +going to meet you to-day. He knows that I won't give you up."</p> + +<p>"And, knowing that, he will make the best of it," Jack said, gladly. +"He will come round all right, I feel sure. And now I want to ask you +something, Madge, dear. You won't make me wait long, will you?"</p> + +<p>She averted her eyes and blushed. Jack drew her to a lonely bench near +the moat, and they sat down.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you why I ask," he went on. "I got a letter this morning +from a man who wants to buy my Academy pictures. He offers a splendid +price—more than I hoped for—and I will put it aside for our honeymoon. +Life is short enough, and we ought to make the most of it. Madge, what +do you say? Will you marry me early in September? That is a glorious +month to be abroad, roaming on the Continent—"</p> + +<p>"It is so soon, Jack."</p> + +<p>"To me it seems an age. You will consent if your father does?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will."</p> + +<p>"And if he refuses?"</p> + +<p>The girl nestled closer to him, and looked into his face with laughing +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Then, I am afraid I shall have to disobey him, dear. If you wish it I +will be your wife in September."</p> + +<p>"My own sweet Madge!" he cried.</p> + +<p>All his passionate love was poured out in those four little words. He +forgot the past, and saw only the rich promise of the future. There was +a lump in his throat as he added softly:</p> + +<p>"You shall never repent your choice, darling!"</p> + +<p>For an hour they sat on the bench, talking as they had never talked +before, and many a whispered confidence of the girl's, many a phrase and +sentence, burnt into Jack's memory to haunt him afterward. Then they +parted, there by the riverside, and Madge tripped homeward.</p> + +<p>Happy were Jack's reflections as he picked up a cab that rattled him +swiftly into Richmond and up the famous Hill to the Roebuck. Nevill and +Jimmie Drexell, who had arrived a short time before, greeted him +hilariously.</p> + +<p>The table was laid for Nevill and his guests in the coffee-room of the +Roebuck, as cheerful and snug a place as can be found anywhere, with its +snowy linen and shining silver and cut-glass, its buffet temptingly +spread, and on the walls a collection of paintings that any collector +might envy.</p> + +<p>The Roebuck's <i>chef</i> was one of the best, and the viands served were +excellent; the rare old wines gurgled and sparkled from cobwebbed +bottles that had lain long in bin. The dinner went merrily, the evening +wore on, and the sun dipped beneath the far-off Surrey Hills.</p> + +<p>"This is a little bit of all right, my boys," said Jimmie, quoting +London slang, as he stirred his <i>creme de menthe frappe</i> with a straw. +"I'm jolly glad I crossed the pond. Many's the time I longed for a +glimpse of Richmond and the river while I sweltered in the heat on the +Casino roof-garden. Here's to 'Dear Old London Town,' in the words +of—who <i>did</i> write that song?"</p> + +<p>Nevill drained his chartreuse.</p> + +<p>"Come, let's go and have a turn on the Terrace," he said. "It's too +early to drive back to town."</p> + +<p>They lighted their cigars and filed down stairs, laughing gaily, and +crossed the road. Jack was the merriest of the three. Little did he +dream that he was going to meet his fate.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV" ></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>FROM THE DEAD.</h3> + + +<p>There were not many people about town. The strollers had gone back to +town, or down the hill to their dinners. The Terrace, and the gardens +that dropped below it to the Thames, were bathed in the purplish +opalescent shades of evening. From the windows of the Roebuck streamed a +shaft of light, playing on the trunks of the great trees, and gleaming +the breadth of the graveled walk. It shone full on Nevill and his +companions, and it revealed a woman coming along the Terrace from the +direction of the Star and Garter; she was smartly dressed, and stepped +with a graceful, easy carriage.</p> + +<p>"Look!" whispered Jimmie. "The Lass of Richmond Hill! There's something +nice for you."</p> + +<p>"Not for me," Jack laughed.</p> + +<p>The woman, coming opposite to the three young men, shot a bold glance at +them. She stopped with a little scream, and pressed one hand agitatedly +to her heart.</p> + +<p>"Jack!" she cried in an eager whisper. "My Jack!"</p> + +<p>That once familiar voice woke the chords of his memory, bridged the gulf +of years. His blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. He stared at the +handsome face, with its expression of mingled insolence and terror—met +the scrutiny of the large, flashing eyes. Then doubt fled. His brain +throbbed, and the world grew black.</p> + +<p>"Diane! My God!" fell from his lips.</p> + +<p>"Fancy <i>her</i> turning up!" Nevill whispered to Drexell.</p> + +<p>"It's a bad business," Jimmie replied; he, as well as Nevill, had known +Diane Merode while she was Jack's wife.</p> + +<p>The woman came closer; she shrugged her shoulders mockingly.</p> + +<p>"Jack—my husband," she said. "Have you no welcome for me?"</p> + +<p>With a bitter oath he caught her arm. His face indicated intense +emotion, which he vainly tried to control.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is you!" he said, hoarsely. "You have come back from the grave +to wreck my life. I heard you were dead, and I believed it—"</p> + +<p>"You read it in a Paris paper," interrupted Diane, speaking English with +a French accent. "It was a lie—a mistake. It was not I who was dragged +from the river and taken to the Morgue. It would have been better so, +perhaps. Jack, why do you glare at me? Listen, I am not as wicked as you +think. There were circumstances—I was not to blame. I can explain +all—"</p> + +<p>"Hush, or I will kill you!" he said, fiercely. He snatched at a chain +that encircled her white throat, and as it broke in his grasp a +sparkling jewel fell to the ground. The most stinging name that a man +can call a woman hissed from his clenched teeth. She shrank back, +terrified, into the shadow, and he followed her. "Are you dead to all +shame, that you dare to make yourself known to me?" he cried. "The life +you lead is blazoned on your painted cheeks! You are no wife of mine! +Begone! Out of my sight! Merciful God, what have I done to deserve this?"</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, don't make a scene!" urged Jimmie. "Control yourself, +old man." He looked anxiously about, but as yet the altercation had not +been observed by the few persons in the vicinity. "Nevill, we must stop +this," he added.</p> + +<p>"I <i>won't</i> go away," Diane vowed, obstinately. "You are my husband, +Jack, and you know it. Let your friends, who knew us in the old days, +deny it if they can! I have a wife's claim on you."</p> + +<p>"Take her away!" Jack begged.</p> + +<p>Nevill drew the woman to one side, and though she made a show of +resistance at first, she quickly grew calm and listened quietly to his +whispered words. He whistled for a passing hansom, and it stopped at the +edge of the street. He helped Diane into it, and rejoined his companions.</p> + +<p>"It's all right—she is reasonable now," he said in a low voice. "Brace +up, Jack; I'll see you through this. Jimmie, go over and pay the account, +will you? Here is the money. And say that I will send for the trap +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Nevill entered the cab, and it rattled swiftly down the hill. As the +echo of the wheels died away, Jack dropped on a bench and hid his face +in his hands.</p> + +<p>"I'll be back in a moment, old chap," said Jimmie. "Wait here."</p> + +<p>He had scarcely crossed the street when Jack rose. His agony seemed too +intense to bear, and even yet he did not realize all that the blow +meant. For the moment he was hardly responsible for his actions, and +a glimpse of the river, shining far below, lured him on blindly and +aimlessly. A little farther along the Terrace, just beyond the upper +side of the gardens, was a footway leading down to the lower road and +the Thames. He followed this, swaying like a drunken man, and he had +reached the iron stile at the bottom when Jimmie, who had sighted him +in the distance, overtook him and caught his arm. Jack shook him roughly +off.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" he said, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Don't take it so hard," pleaded Jimmie. "I'm awfully sorry for you, +old man. I know it's a knock-down blow, but—"</p> + +<p>"You don't know half. It's worse than you think. I am the most miserable +wretch on earth! And an hour ago I was the happiest—"</p> + +<p>"Come with me," said Jimmie. "That's a good fellow."</p> + +<p>Jack did not resist. Linked arm in arm with his friend, he stumbled +along the narrow pavement of the lower road. At The Pigeons they found a +cab that had just set down a fare. They got into it, and Jimmie gave the +driver his orders.</p> + +<p>It seemed a short ride to Jack, and while it lasted not a word passed +his lips. He sat in a stupor, with dull, burning eyes and a throbbing +head. In all his thoughts he recalled the lovely, smiling face of Madge. +And now she was lost to him forever—there was a barrier between them +that severed their lives. In his heart he bitterly cursed the day when +he had yielded to the wiles of Diane Merode, the popular dancer of the +Folies Bergere.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped, and he reeled up a dark flight of steps. He was sitting +in a big chair in his studio, with the gas burning overhead, and Jimmie +staring at him with an expression of heartfelt sympathy on his honest +face.</p> + +<p>"This was the best place to bring you," he said.</p> + +<p>Jack rose, and paced to and fro. He looked haggard and dazed; his hair +and clothing were disheveled.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Jimmie," he cried, "is it all a dream, or is it true?"</p> + +<p>"I wish it wasn't true, old man. But you're taking it too hard—you're +as white as a ghost. It can be kept out of the papers, you know. And you +won't have to live with her—you can pension her off and send her +abroad. I dare say she's after money. Women are the very devil, Jack, +ain't they? I could tell you about a little scrape of my own, with +Totsy Footlights, of the Casino—"</p> + +<p>"You don't understand," said Jack, in a dull, hard voice. "I believed +that Diane was dead."</p> + +<p>"Of course you did—you showed me the paragraph in the <i>Petit Journal</i>."</p> + +<p>"I considered myself a free man—free to marry again."</p> + +<p>"Whew! Go on!"</p> + +<p>Jack was strangely calm as he took out his keys and unlocked a cabinet +over his desk. He silently handed his friend a photograph.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, what a lovely face!" muttered Jimmie.</p> + +<p>"That is the best and dearest girl in the world," said Jack. "I thought +I was done with women until I met her, a short time ago. We love each +other, and we were to be married in September. And now—My God, this +will break her heart! It has broken mine already, Jimmie! Curse the day +I first put foot in Paris!"</p> + +<p>"My poor old chap, this <i>is</i>—"</p> + +<p>That was all Jimmie could say. He vaguely realized that he was in the +presence of a grief beyond the power of words to comfort. There was a +suspicious moisture in his eyes as he turned abruptly to the table and +mixed himself a mild stimulant. He drank it slowly to give himself time +to think.</p> + +<p>Jack thrust the photograph into the breast pocket of his coat. He rubbed +one hand through his hair, and kicked an easel over. He burst into a +harsh, unnatural laugh.</p> + +<p>"This is a rotten world!" he cried. "A rotten world! It's a stage +full of actors, and they play d—— little but tragedy! I've found +my long-lost wife again, Jimmie! Rejoice with me!"</p> + +<p>He poured three fingers of neat brandy into a glass and drank it at a +gulp. Then the mocking laughter died on his lips, and he threw himself +into a chair. He buried his face in his hands, and his body shook with +the violence of the sobs he was powerless to stifle.</p> + +<p>"It will do him good," thought Jimmie.</p> + +<p>The clock ticked on, and at intervals there was the rumble of trains +passing to and from Ravenscourt Park station, and the clang of distant +tram-bells. The voice of mighty London mocked at Jack's misery, and he +conquered his emotions. He lifted a defiant face, much flushed.</p> + +<p>"I've made a beastly fool of myself, Jimmie."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it, old chap. Brace up; some one is coming." He had heard +a cab stop in the street.</p> + +<p>There were rapid steps on the stairs, and Nevill entered the studio. His +face was eloquent with sympathy, and he silently held out a hand. Jack +gripped it tightly.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Vic," he said, gratefully. "Where did—did you take her?"</p> + +<p>"To her lodgings, off Regent street. And then I came straight on here. +I thought she was dead, Jack. I don't wonder you're upset."</p> + +<p>"Upset? It's worse than that. If I were the only one to suffer—"</p> + +<p>"Then there's another woman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!"</p> + +<p>"That's bad! I didn't dream of such a thing. I can't tell you how sorry +I feel."</p> + +<p>Nevill sat down and lighted a cigar; he thoughtfully watched the smoke +curl up.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I could get a divorce?" Jack asked, savagely.</p> + +<p>"No doubt of it, but—"</p> + +<p>"But you wouldn't advise me to do it. No, you're right. I couldn't +stand the publicity and disgrace."</p> + +<p>"I would like to choke her," muttered Jimmie.</p> + +<p>"I had a talk with her on the way to town," said Nevill. "She has been +in London for a month, and knew your address all the time, but did not +wish to see you. Now she is hard up, and that is why she made herself +known to you to-night."</p> + +<p>"What became of the scoundrel she ran away with? Did he desert her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Nevill answered, after a brief hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Do you know who he was?"</p> + +<p>"She intimated that he was a French Count. I believe she has had several +others since, and the last one left her stranded."</p> + +<p>"She wants money, then?"</p> + +<p>"Rather. That's her game. She knows she has no legal claim on you, and +for a fixed sum I think she will agree to return to Paris and not molest +you in future."</p> + +<p>"I don't care what becomes of her," Jack replied, bitterly, "but I am +determined not to see her again. Let her understand that, and tell her +that I will give her three hundred pounds on condition that she goes +abroad and never shows her face in England again. And another thing, +there must be no further appeals to me."</p> + +<p>"Bind her tight, in writing," suggested Jimmie.</p> + +<p>"It's asking a lot of you, Nevill," said Jack, "but if you don't mind—"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, it is a mere trifle. I will gladly help you in the +matter to my utmost power, and I only wish I could do more."</p> + +<p>"That's the way to talk," put in Jimmie. "Can I be of any assistance, +Nevill? I've a persuasive sort of way with women—"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, but I can manage much better alone, I think." Nevill took a +memorandum book from his pocket, and turned over the pages. "Trust all +to me, Jack," he added. "I am free to-morrow after four o'clock. I will +see Diane—your wife—fix the terms with her, and come down in the +evening to report to you."</p> + +<p>"What time?"</p> + +<p>"That is uncertain. But you will be here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I shall expect you," said Jack. "I can't thank you enough. It's a +blessing for a chap to have a couple of friends like you and Jimmie."</p> + +<p>"You would do as much for me," replied Nevill. "I'm going to see you +through your trouble."</p> + +<p>Jack walked abruptly to the open window, and looked out into the starry +night.</p> + +<p>"What does it matter," he thought, "whether I am rid of Diane or not? I +have lost my darling. Madge is dead to me. I can't grasp it yet. How can +I tell her?—how can I live without her?"</p> + +<p>"Are you going up to town, Jimmie?" Nevill asked. "My cab is waiting, +and you can share it."</p> + +<p>"No; I shall stop with poor old Jack," Jimmie replied. "I don't like to +leave him alone."</p> + +<p>"That's good of you. It's a terrible blow, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Nevill went away, and Jimmie remained to comfort his friend. But there +was no consolation for Jack, whose bitter mood had turned to dull +despair and grief that would be more poignant in the morning, when he +would be better able to comprehend the fell blow that had shattered his +happiness and crushed his ambitions and dreams. He refused pipe and +cigars. Until three o'clock he sat staring vacantly at the floor, +seemingly oblivious of Jimmie's presence, and occasionally helping +himself to brandy. At last he fell asleep in the chair, and Jimmie, who +had with difficulty kept his eyes open, dozed away on the couch.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Victor Nevill had driven straight to his rooms in Jermyn +street and had gone to bed. He rose about ten o'clock, and after a light +breakfast he sat down and wrote a short letter, cleverly disguising his +own hand, and imitating the scrawly penmanship and bad spelling of an +illiterate woman.</p> + +<p>"The last card in the game," he reflected, as he addressed and stamped +the envelope. "It may be superfluous, in case he sees or writes to her +to-day. But he won't do that—he will put off the ordeal as long as +possible. My beautiful Madge, for your sake I am steeping myself in +infamy! It is not the first time a man has sold himself to the devil for +a woman. Yet why should I feel any scruples? It would have been far +worse to let them go on living in their fool's paradise."</p> + +<p>An hour later, as he walked down Regent street, he posted the letter he +had written in the morning.</p> + +<p>"It will be delivered at just about the right time," he thought.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI" ></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>THE LAST CARD.</h3> + + +<p>It was nine o'clock in the evening, and darkness had fallen rather +earlier than usual, owing to a black, cloudy sky that threatened rain. +Jimmie Drexell had gone during the afternoon, and Jack was alone in the +big studio—alone with his misery and his anguish. He had scarcely +tasted food since morning, much to the distress of Alphonse. He looked +a mere wreck of his former self—haggard and unshaven, with hard lines +around his weary eyes. He had not changed his clothes, and they were +wrinkled and untidy. Across the polished floor was a perceptible track, +worn by hours of restless striding to and fro. Now, after waiting +impatiently for Victor Nevill, and wondering why he did not come, Jack +had tried to nerve himself to the task that he dreaded, that preyed +incessantly on his mind. He knew that the sooner it was over the better. +He must write to Madge and tell her the truth—deal her the terrible +blow that might break her innocent, loving heart.</p> + +<p>"It's no use—I can't do it," he said hoarsely, when he had been sitting +at his desk for five minutes. "The words won't come. My brain is dry. +Would it be better to try to see her, and tell her all face to face? +No—anything but that!"</p> + +<p>Thrusting pen and paper from him, he rose and went to the liquor-stand. +The cut-glass bottle containing brandy dropped from his shaking hand and +was shattered to fragments. The crash drowned the opening of the studio +door, and as he surveyed the wreck he heard footsteps, and turned +sharply around, expecting to see Nevill. Diane stood before him, in a +costume that would have better suited a court presentation; the shaded +gas-lamps softened the rouge and pearl-powder on her cheeks, and lent +her a beauty that could never have survived the test of daylight. Her +expression was one of half defiance, half mute entreaty.</p> + +<p>The audacity of the woman staggered Jack, and for an instant he was +speechless with indignation. His dull, bloodshot eyes woke to a fiery +wrath.</p> + +<p>"You!" he cried. "How dare you come here? Go at once!"</p> + +<p>"Not until I am ready," she replied, looking at him unflinchingly. "One +would think that my presence was pollution."</p> + +<p>"It is—you know that. Did Nevill permit you to come? Have you seen +him?"</p> + +<p>"No; I kept out of his way. He is searching for me in town now, I +suppose. It was you I wanted to see."</p> + +<p>"You are dead to all shame, or you would never have come to London. I +don't know what you want, and I don't care. I won't listen to you, and +unless you leave, by heavens, I will call the police and have you +dragged out!"</p> + +<p>"I hardly think you will do that," said Diane. "I am going presently, if +you will be a little patient. I am your wife, Jack—"</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly.</p> + +<p>"You were once—you are not now. If I thought it would be any punishment +to you, that disgrace could soil <i>you</i>, I would take advantage of the +law and procure a divorce."</p> + +<p>"I am your wife," she repeated, "but I do not intend to claim my +rights. We were both to blame in the past—"</p> + +<p>"That is false!" he cried. "You only were to blame—I have nothing to +reproach myself with, except that I was a mad fool when I married you +for your pretty face. You tried to pull me down to your own level—the +level of the Parisian kennels. You squandered my money, tempted me to +reckless extravagances, and when the shower of gold drew near its end, +you ran off with some scoundrel who no doubt proved as simple a victim +as myself. I trusted you, and my honor was betrayed. But you did me a +greater wrong when you allowed me to believe that you were dead. By +heavens, when I think of it all—"</p> + +<p>"You forget that we drifted apart toward the last," Diane interrupted. +"Was that entirely my fault? I believed that you no longer cared for me, +and it made me reckless." There was a sudden ring of sincerity in her +voice, and the insolent look in her eyes was replaced by a softer +expression. "I did wrong," she added. "I am all that you say I am. I +have sinned and suffered. But is there no pity or mercy in your heart? +Remember the past—that first year when we loved each other and were +happy. Wait; I have nearly finished. I am going out of your life +forever—it is the only atonement I can make. But will you let me go +without a sign of forgiveness?—without a soft word?"</p> + +<p>For a moment there was silence. Diane waited with rigid face. She had +forgotten the purpose that brought her to the studio—a womanly impulse, +started to life by the memories of the past, had softened her heart. But +Jack, blinded by passion and his great wrongs, little dreamed of the +chance that he was throwing away.</p> + +<p>"You talk of forgiveness!" he cried. "Why, I only wonder that I can +keep my hands off your throat. I hate the sight of you—I curse the day +I first saw your face! Do you know what you have done, by letting me +believe that you were dead? You have probably broken the heart of one +who is as good and pure as you are vile and treacherous—the woman whom +I love and would have married."</p> + +<p>Diane's features hardened, and a sudden rage flashed in her half-veiled +eyes; her repentant impulse died as quickly.</p> + +<p>"So that is your answer!" she exclaimed, harshly. "And there is another +woman! You shall never marry her—never!"</p> + +<p>"You fiend!"</p> + +<p>The threat goaded Jack to fury, and he might have lost his self-control. +But just then quick footsteps fell timely on his ear.</p> + +<p>"Get behind that screen, or go into the next room," he muttered. "No; it +won't matter—it must be Nevill."</p> + +<p>Diane held her ground.</p> + +<p>"I don't care who it is," she said, shrilly. "I will tell the world that +I am your wife."</p> + +<p>The next instant the door was thrown open, and a woman entered the +studio and came hesitatingly forward under the glare of the gas-jets. +With a rapid movement she partly tore off her long, hooded cloak, which +was dripping with rain. Jack quivered as though he had been struck a +blow.</p> + +<p>"Madge!" he gasped, recognizing the lovely, agitated face.</p> + +<p>The girl caught her breath, and looked from one to the other—from the +painted and powdered woman to the man who had won her love. Her bosom +heaved, and her flushed cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble.</p> + +<p>"Jack, tell me—is it true?" she pleaded, struggling with each word. "I +should not have come, but—but I received this an hour ago." She flung a +crumpled letter at his feet, and he picked it up mechanically. "It said +that I would find you here with your—your—" She could not utter the +word. "I had to come," she added. "I could not rest. And now—who is +that woman? Speak!"</p> + +<p>No answer. Jack's lips and throat were dry, and a red mist was before +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is she your wife?"</p> + +<p>"God help me, yes!" Jack cried, hoarsely. "I can explain. Believe me, +Madge, I was not false—I told you only the truth. If you will listen +to me for a moment—"</p> + +<p>She shrank from him with horror, and the color surged back to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Let me go—this is no place for me! I pray +heaven to forgive you, Jack!"</p> + +<p>The look that she gave him, so full of unspeakable agony and reproach, +cut him like a knife. She pressed one hand to her heart, and with the +other tried to draw her cloak around her. She swayed weakly, but +recovered herself in time. Jack, watching her as a man might watch the +gates of paradise close upon him, had failed to hear a cab stop in the +street. He suddenly saw Stephen Foster in the room.</p> + +<p>"Is my daughter here?" he excitedly demanded.</p> + +<p>Madge turned at the sound of her father's voice, and sank, half-fainting, +into his arms. Tears came to her relief, and she shook with the violence +of her sobs.</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster looked from Diane to Jack. Madge had shown him the +anonymous letter, and he needed not to ask if the charge was true.</p> + +<p>"You blackguard!" he cried, furiously. "You dastardly scoundrel!"</p> + +<p>"I do not deserve those words!" Jack said, hoarsely, "but I cannot +resent them. From any other man, under other circumstances—"</p> + +<p>"Coward and liar!"</p> + +<p>With that Stephen Foster turned to the door, with Madge leaning heavily +on him. They passed down the stairs, and the rattle of wheels told that +they had gone. Jack was left alone with Diane.</p> + +<p>"Are you satisfied with your devil's work?" he demanded, glaring at her +with burning, bloodshot eyes.</p> + +<p>"It was not my fault."</p> + +<p>"Not your fault? By heavens—"</p> + +<p>He looked at the crumpled letter he held, and saw that it was apparently +written by a woman. A suspicion that as quickly became a certainty +flashed into his mind.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> sent this, and the other one as well," he exclaimed. "Don't deny +it! You planned the meeting here—"</p> + +<p>"It is false, Jack! I swear to you that I know nothing of it—"</p> + +<p>"Perjurer!" he snarled.</p> + +<p>His face was like a madman's as he caught her arm in a cruel grip. She +cowered before him, dropping to her knees. She was pale with fear.</p> + +<p>"Go, or I will kill you!" he cried, disregarding her protestations of +innocence. "I can't trust myself! Out of my sight—let me never see you +or hear of you again. I will give you money to leave London—to return +to Paris. Nevill will arrange it. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>He lifted her to her feet and pushed her from him. She staggered against +an easel on which was a completed picture in oils, and it fell with a +crash. Jack trampled over it ruthlessly, driving his feet through the +canvas.</p> + +<p>"Go!" he cried.</p> + +<p>And Diane, trembling with terror, went swiftly out into the black and +rainy night.</p> + +<p>An hour later, when Victor Nevill came to say that his search had been +fruitless, he found Jack stretched full length on the couch, with his +face buried in a soft cushion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII" ></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>TWO PASSENGERS FROM CALAIS.</h3> + + +<p>It was the 9th of November, Lord Mayor's Day, and in London the usual +clammy compound of fog and mist—was there ever a Lord Mayor's Day +without it?—hung like a shroud in the city streets, though it was +powerless to chill the ardor of the vast crowds who waited for the +procession to come by in all its pomp and pageantry.</p> + +<p>At Dover the weather was as bad, but in a different way. Leaden clouds +went scudding from horizon to horizon, accentuating the chalky whiteness +of the cliffs, and reflecting their sombre hue on the gray waters. A +cold, raw wind swept through the old town, lashing the sea to +milk-crested waves. It was an ugly day for cross-Channel passages, but +the expectant onlookers sighted the black smoke of the <i>Calais-Douvres</i> +fully twenty minutes before she was due. The steamer's outline grew more +distinct. On she came, pitching and rolling, until knots of people could +be seen on the fore-deck.</p> + +<p>The majority of the passengers, excepting a few Frenchmen and other +foreigners, were heartily glad to be at home again, after sojourns of +various lengths on the Continent. Two, in particular, could scarcely +restrain their impatience as they looked eagerly landward, though the +social gulf that separated them was as wide as the Channel itself. On +the upper deck, exposed to the buffeting of the wind, stood a short, +portly gentleman in a dark-blue suit and cape-coat; he had a soldierly +carriage, a ruddy complexion, and an iron-gray mustache. Sir Lucius +Chesney was in robust health again, and his liver had ceased to trouble +him. Norway had pulled him together, and a few months of aimless roaming +on the Continent had done the rest. He was anxious to get back to Priory +Court, among his pictures and hot-houses, his horses and cattle, and he +intended to go there after a brief stop in London.</p> + +<p>Down below, among the second-class passengers, Mr. Noah Hawker paced to +and fro, gazing meditatively toward the Shakespeare Cliff. Mr. Hawker, +to give him the name by which he was known in Scotland Yard circles, was +a man of fifty, five feet nine in height, and rather stockily built. He +was lantern-jawed and dark-haired, with a coarse, black mustache curled +up at the ends like a pair of buffalo horns, and so strong a beard that +his cheeks were the color of blue ink, though he had shaved only three +hours before. His long frieze overcoat, swinging open, disclosed beneath +a German-made suit of a bad cut and very loud pattern. His soft hat, +crushed in, was perched to one side; a big horseshoe pin and a scarlet +cravat reposed on a limited space of pink shirt-front.</p> + +<p>There was about one chance in ten of guessing his calling. He looked +equally like a successful sporting man, an ex-prize fighter, a barman, +a racing tout, a book-maker, or a public house thrower-out. But the most +unprejudiced observer would never have taken him for a gentleman.</p> + +<p>It was a thrilling moment when the <i>Calais-Douvres</i>, slipping between +the waves, ran close in to the granite pier. She accomplished the feat +safely, and was quickly made fast. The gangway was thrown across, and +there was a mad rush of passengers hurrying to get ashore. A babel of +shouting voices broke loose: "London train ready!" "Here you are, sir!" +"Luggage, sir?" "Extry! extry!"</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius Chesney, who was rarely disturbed by anything, showed on +this occasion a fussy solicitude about his trunks and boxes; nor was +he appeased until he had seen them all on a truck, waiting for the +inspection of the customs officers. Mr. Hawker, slouching along the pier +with his ulster collar turned up and his hat well down over his eyes, +observed the military-looking gentleman and then the prominent +white-lettered name on the luggage. He passed on after an instant's +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Sir Lucius Chesney!" he muttered. "It's queer, but I'll swear I've +heard that name before. Now, where could it have been? The bloke's face +ain't familiar—I never ran across him. But the name? Ah, hang me if I +don't think I've got it!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawker did not get into the London train, though his goal was +the metropolis. He left the pier, and as he walked with apparent +carelessness through the town—he had no luggage—he took an occasional +crafty survey over his shoulder, as a man might do who feared that he +was being shadowed. When the train rattled out of Dover he was in the +public bar of a tavern not far from the Lord Warden Hotel, fortifying +himself with a brandy-and-soda after the rough passage across the +Channel. Meanwhile, Sir Lucius Chesney, seated in a first-class +carriage, was regarding with an ecstatic expression the one piece of +luggage that he had refused to trust to the van. This was a flat leather +case, and it contained something of much greater importance than the +dress-suit for which it was intended.</p> + +<p>Dover was honored by Mr. Hawker's presence until three o'clock in the +afternoon, and he took advantage of the intervening couple of hours to +eat a hearty meal and to count his scanty store of money, after which he +dozed on a bench in the restaurant until roused by a waiter. There are +two railway stations in the town, and he chose the inner one. He found +an empty third-class compartment, and his relief was manifest when the +train pulled out. He produced a short briar-root pipe, and stuffed it +with the last shreds of French Caporal tobacco that remained in his +pouch.</p> + +<p>"Give me the shag of old England," he said to himself, as he puffed away +with a poor relish and watched the flying sides of the deep railway +cutting. "This is no class—it's cabbage leaf soaked in juice. I wonder +if I ain't a fool to come back! But it can't be helped—there was +nothing to be picked up abroad, after that double stroke of hard luck. +And there's no place like London! I'll be all right if I dodge the +ferrets at Victoria. For the last ten years they've only known me +clean-shaven or with a heavy beard, and this mustache and the rig will +puzzle them a bit. Yes, I ought to pass for a foreign gent come across +to back horses."</p> + +<p>The truth about Mr. Noah Hawkins, though it may shock the reader, must +be told in plain words. He was a professional burglar; none of your +petty, clumsy craftsmen that get lagged for smashing a shopkeeper's +till, but a follower to some extent in the footsteps of the masterful +Charles Peace. During the previous February he had come out of +Dartmoor—it was his third term of penal servitude—with a period of +police supervision to undergo. For the space of four months he regularly +reported himself, and then, in company with a pal of even higher +professional standing than himself, he suddenly disappeared from London.</p> + +<p>A well-planned piece of work, cleverly performed, made it advantageous +to the couple to go abroad. It was a question of money, not dread of +discovery and arrest; they had covered their tracks well, and they +believed that no suspicion could fall upon them. They were not prepared +for the ill-luck that awaited them on the Continent. Their fruit of hope +turned to ashes of despair, or very nearly so. They realized but a +fraction of the sum they had expected, and Hawker lost his share of even +that through the treachery of his pal, who departed by night from the +German town where they were stopping. So Hawker started for home, and +he had landed at Dover with, two sovereigns and a few silver coins. He +still believed that the police were ignorant of the business that had +taken him abroad; the worst that he feared was getting into trouble for +failing to report himself.</p> + +<p>"There isn't much danger if I'm sharp," he thought, as the Kentish +landscape, the Garden of England, sped by him in the gathering dusk; +"and I won't touch a crib of any sort till I've tried those other two +lays. It's more than doubtful about the papers—I forget what was in +them. And they may be gone by this time. But, leaving that out, I've got +a pretty sure thing up my sleeve. What happened in Germany put me on the +track—but for that I wouldn't have suspected. I'll make somebody fork +over to a stiff tune, and serve him d—— right. It's the first time I +was caught napping."</p> + +<p>The endless chimney-pots and glowing lights of the great city gladdened +Hawker's heart, and a whiff from the murky Thames bade him welcome home. +He gave up his ticket at Grosvenor road, and when the train pulled into +Victoria he walked boldly through the immense station. He loved London +with a thoroughbred cockney's passion, and he exulted in the sights and +sounds around him.</p> + +<p>Hawker spent his last coppers for a packet of tobacco, and broke one of +his sovereigns to get a drink. He speedily lost himself in the crowds of +Victoria street, satisfied that he had not been recognized or followed. +He went on foot to Charing Cross, and climbed to the top of a brown and +yellow bus. Three-quarters of an hour later he got off in Kentish Town +and made his way to a squalid and narrow thoroughfare in the vicinity of +Peckwater street. He stopped before a house in the middle of a dirty and +monotonous row, and looked at it reminiscently. He had lodged there five +years back, previous to his third conviction, and here he had been +arrested. He had not returned since, for on his release from Dartmoor he +went to live near his pal, who was then planning the lay that had ended +so disastrously.</p> + +<p>He pulled the bell and waited anxiously. A stout, slatternly woman +appeared, and uttered a sharp exclamation at sight of her visitor. She +would have closed the door in his face, but Hawker quickly thrust a leg +inside.</p> + +<p>"None o' that," he growled. "Don't you know me, missus?"</p> + +<p>"It ain't likely I'd furgit <i>you</i>, Noah Hawker! What d'ye want?"</p> + +<p>"A lodging, Mrs. Miggs," he replied. "Is my old room to let?" he added +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"It's been empty a week, but what's that to you? I won't 'ave no +jail-bird in my 'ouse. I'm a respectable woman, an' I won't be disgraced +again by the likes of you."</p> + +<p>"Come, stow that! Can't you see I'm a foreign gent from abroad? The +police ain't after me—take my word for it. I've come back here because +you always made me snug and comfortable. I'll have the room, and if you +want to see the color of my money—"</p> + +<p>He produced a half-sovereign, and a relenting effect was immediately +visible. A brief parley ensued, which ended in Mrs. Miggs pocketing the +money and inviting Mr. Hawker to enter. A moment after the door had +closed a rather shabby man strolled by the house and made a mental note +of the number.</p> + +<p>Presently a light gleamed from the window of the first floor back, which +overlooked, at a distance of six feet, a high, blank wall. Noah Hawker +put the candle on a shelf, locked the door noiselessly, and glanced +about the well-remembered room, with its dirty paper, frayed carpet and +scanty furniture. A little later, after listening to make sure that he +was not being spied upon, he blew out the candle and opened the window. +He fumbled for a minute, then closed the window and drew down the blind. +When he relighted the candle he held in one hand a packet wrapped in a +piece of mildewed leather.</p> + +<p>Seating himself in a rickety chair he lighted his pipe and opened the +packet, which contained several papers in a good state of preservation. +He read them carefully and thoughtfully, and the task occupied him for +half an hour or more.</p> + +<p>"Whew! It's a heap better than I counted on—I didn't have the time to +examine them right before," he muttered. "There may be a tidy little +fortune in it. I'll make something out of this, or my name ain't Noah +Hawker. The old chap is out of the running, to start with, so I must +hunt up the others. And that won't be easy, perhaps."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII" ></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOME AGAIN.</h3> + + +<p>By an odd coincidence, on the same day that Sir Lucius Chesney and Noah +Hawker crossed over from Calais, a P. and O. steamship, Calcutta for +London, landed Jack Vernon at the Royal Albert Docks. He had expected to +be met there by Mr. Hunston, the editor of the <i>Illustrated Universe</i>, +or by one of the staff; yet he seemed rather relieved than otherwise +when he failed to pick out a single familiar face in the crowd. He was +fortunate in having his luggage attended to quickly, and, that formality +done with, he walked to the dock station.</p> + +<p>The four or five intervening months, commencing with that tragic night +in the Ravenscourt Park studio, had wrought a great change in Jack; +though it was more internal, perhaps, than external. His old friends +would promptly have recognized the returned war-artist, laden with +honors that he did not care a jot for. He looked fit, and his step was +firm and elastic. His cheeks were deeply bronzed and well filled out. A +severe bullet wound and a sharp attack of fever had led to his being +peremptorily ordered home as soon as he was convalescent, and the sea +voyage had worked wonders and built up his weakened constitution. But he +was altered, none the less. There were hard lines about his mouth and +forehead, and in his eyes was a listless, weary, cynical look—the look +of a man who finds life a care and a burden almost beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>The train was waiting, and Jack settled himself in a second-class +compartment. He tossed his traveling-bag on the opposite seat, lighted +a cigar, and let his thoughts wander at will. At the beginning of his +great grief, when nothing could console him for the loss of Madge, the +<i>Illustrated Universe</i>, a weekly journal, had asked him to go out to +India and represent them pictorially in the Afridi campaign on the +Northwest frontier. He accepted readily, with a desperate hope in his +heart that he did not confide to his friends. He wasted no time in +leaving London, which had become intensely hateful to him. He joined the +British forces, and performed his duty faithfully, sending home sketches +that immensely increased the circulation of the <i>Universe</i>. And he did +more. At every opportunity he was in the thick of the fighting. Time and +again, when he found himself with some little detachment that was cut +off from the main column and harassed by the enemy, he distinguished +himself for valor. He risked his life recklessly, with an unconcern that +surprised his soldier comrades. But the Afridis could not kill him. He +recovered from a bullet wound in the shoulder and from fever, and now he +was back in England again.</p> + +<p>It was a dreary home-coming, without pleasure or anticipation. The sense +of his loss—the hopeless yearning for Madge—was but little dulled. He +felt that he could never take up the threads of his old life again; he +wished to avoid all who knew him. He had no plans for the future. His +studio was let, and the new tenant had engaged Alphonse—Nevill had +arranged this for him. He had received several letters from Jimmie, and +had answered them; but neither referred to Madge in the correspondence. +She was dead to him forever, he reflected with savage resentment of his +cruel fate. As for Diane, she had taken his three hundred pounds—it was +arranged through Nevill—and returned to the Continent. She had vowed +solemnly that he should never see or hear of her again.</p> + +<p>The train rolled into Fenchurch street. Jack took his bag and got out, a +little dazed by the unaccustomed hubbub and din, by the jostling throng +on the platform. Here, again, there was no one to meet him. He passed +out of the station—it was just four o'clock—into the clammy November +mist. He shivered, and pulled up his coat collar. He was standing on the +pavement, undecided where to go, when a cab drew alongside the curb. A +corpulent young gentleman jumped out, and immediately uttered an eager +shout.</p> + +<p>"Jack!" he cried. "So glad to see you! Welcome home!"</p> + +<p>"Dear old Jimmie! This is like you!" Jack exclaimed. As he spoke he +gripped his friend's hand, and for a brief instant his face lighted up +with something of its old winning expression, then lost all animation. +"How did you know I was coming?" he added.</p> + +<p>"Heard it at the office of the <i>Universe</i>. Did you miss Hunston?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't see him."</p> + +<p>"Then he got there too late—he said he was going to drive to the docks. +I'm not surprised. It's Lord Mayor's Day, you know, and the streets are +still badly blocked. I had a jolly close shave of it myself. How does it +feel to be back in dear old London?"</p> + +<p>"I think I prefer Calcutta," Jack replied, stolidly. "I'm not used to +fogs."</p> + +<p>Jimmie regarded him with a critical glance, with a stifled sigh of +disappointment. He saw clearly that strange scenes and stirring +adventures had failed to work a cure. He expected better things—quite +a different result.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's beastly weather," he said; "but you'll stand it all right. +You are in uncommonly good condition for a chap who has just pulled +through fever and a bullet hole. By Jove! I wish I could have seen you +tackling the Afridis—you were mentioned in the papers after that last +scrimmage, and they gave you a rousing send-off. You deserve the +Victoria Cross, and you would get it if you were a soldier."</p> + +<p>"I didn't fight for glory," Jack muttered, bitterly. "I'm the most +unlucky beggar alive."</p> + +<p>Jimmie looked at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say," he asked, "that you were hankering for an +Afridi bullet or spear in your heart?"</p> + +<p>"It's the best thing that could have happened. They tell me I bear a +charmed life, and I believe it's true. I never expected to come back, +if you want to know."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to hear you say that, old man. You need cheering up. Have you +any luggage besides that bag?"</p> + +<p>"I sent the rest on to the <i>Universe</i> office."</p> + +<p>"Then come to my rooms—you know you left a lot of clothes and other +stuff there. You can fix up a bit, and then we'll go out and have a good +feed."</p> + +<p>"As you like," Jack assented, indifferently. "But I must see Hunston +first—he will go from the docks to the office, and expect to find me +there."</p> + +<p>They entered a cab and drove westward, through the decorated streets and +surging crowds of the city, down Ludgate Hill and up the slope of Fleet +street. Jack left his friend in the Strand, before the <i>Illustrated +Universe</i> building, with its windows placarded with the paper's original +sketches and sheets from the current issue, and it was more than an +hour later when he turned up at Jimmie's luxurious chambers in the +Albany. He was in slightly better spirits, and he exhaled an odor of +brandy. He had a check for five hundred pounds in his pocket, and there +was more money due him.</p> + +<p>"Where's my war-paint?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>That meant, in plain English, Jack's dress clothes, and they were soon +produced from a trunk he had left in Jimmie's care. He made a careful +toilet, and then the two sallied forth into the blazing streets and +pleasure-seeking throngs.</p> + +<p>They went to the Continental, above Waterloo Place, and Jack ordered +the dinner lavishly—he insisted on playing the host. He chatted in +his old light-hearted manner during the courses, occasionally laughing +boisterously, but with an artificial ring that was perceptible to his +companion. His eyes sparkled, and his brown cheeks flushed under the +glow of the red-shaded lamps.</p> + +<p>"This is a rotten world, Jimmie," he said. "You know that, don't you? +But I've come home to have a good time, and I'm going to have it—I +don't care how."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't drink any more," Jimmie urged.</p> + +<p>"Another bottle, old chap," Jack cried, thickly, as he lighted a fresh +cigar; "and then we'll wind up at the Empire."</p> + +<p>"None for me, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll drink it myself," vowed Jack. "Do you hear, <i>garcon</i>—'nother +bottle!'"</p> + +<p>Jimmie looked at him gravely. He had serious misgivings about the +future.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Many of London's spacious suburbs have the advantage of lying beyond the +scope of the fog-breeding smoke which hangs over the great city, and at +Strand-on-the-Green, on that 9th of November, the weather was less +disagreeable.</p> + +<p>A man and a woman came slowly from the direction of Kew Bridge, +sauntering along the wet flagstones of the winding old quay, which +was almost as lonely as a rustic lane. Victor Nevill looked very +aristocratic and handsome in his long Chesterfield coat and top hat; in +one gray-gloved hand he swung a silver-headed stick. Madge Foster walked +quietly by his side, a dainty picture in furs. She was as lovely as +ever, if not more so, but it was a pale, fragile sort of beauty. She had +spent the summer in Scotland and the month of September in Devonshire, +and had returned to town at the beginning of October. Change of air and +scenery had worked a partial cure, but had not brought back her merry, +light-hearted disposition. She secretly nursed her grief—the sorrow +that had fallen on her happy young life—and tried hard not to show it. +There was a wistful, far-away expression in her eyes, and she seemed +unconscious of the presence of her companion.</p> + +<p>"It's a beastly day," remarked Nevill. "I shouldn't like to live by the +river in winter. You need cheering up. What do you say to a box at the +Savoy to-night? There is plenty of time to arrange—"</p> + +<p>"I don't care to go, thank you," was the indifferent reply.</p> + +<p>The girl drew her furs closer about her throat, and watched a grimy +barge that was creeping up stream. She had become resigned to seeing a +good deal of Victor Nevill lately, but her treatment of him was little +altered. She knew his real name now, and that he was the heir of Sir +Lucius Chesney. She had accepted his excuses—listened to him with +resentment and indignation when he explained that he had assumed the +name of Royle because he wanted to win her for himself alone, and not +for the sake of his prospects. She realized whither she was trending, +but she felt powerless to resist her fate.</p> + +<p>They paused a short distance beyond the Black Bull, where the quay +jutted out a little like a pier. It was guarded by a railing, and Madge +leaned on this and looked down at the black, incoming tide lapping below +her. No other person was in sight, and the white mist seemed suddenly to +close around the couple. The paddles of a receding steamer churned and +splashed monotonously. From Kew Bridge floated a faint murmur of +rumbling traffic. It was four o'clock, and the sun was hidden.</p> + +<p>"You are shivering," said Nevill.</p> + +<p>"It is very cold. Will you take me home, please?"</p> + +<p>As she spoke, the girl turned toward him, and he moved impulsively +nearer.</p> + +<p>"I will take you home," he said; "but first I want to ask you a +question—you <i>must</i> hear me. Madge, are you utterly heartless? Twice, +when I told you of my love, you rejected it. But I persevered—I did not +lose hope. And now I ask you again, for the third time, will you be my +wife? Do I not deserve my reward?"</p> + +<p>The girl did not answer. Her eyes were downcast, and one little foot +tapped the flagstone nervously.</p> + +<p>"I love you with all my heart, Madge," he went on, with deep and sincere +passion in his voice. "You cannot doubt that, whatever you may think of +me. You are the best and sweetest of women—the only one in the world +for me. I will make your life happy. You shall want for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Nevill, you know that I do not love you."</p> + +<p>"But you will learn to in time."</p> + +<p>"I fear not. No, I am sure of it."</p> + +<p>"I will take the risk. I will hope that love will come."</p> + +<p>"And you would marry me, knowing that I do not care for you in that way?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, gladly. I cannot live without you. Say yes, Madge, and make me the +happiest of men."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I must," she replied. She did not look him in the face. "My +father wishes it, and has urged me to consent. It will please him."</p> + +<p>"Then you will be my wife, Madge?"</p> + +<p>"Some day, if you still desire it."</p> + +<p>"I will never change," he said, fervently.</p> + +<p>It was a strange, ill-omened promise of marriage, and a bitter +realization of how little it meant was suddenly borne home to Nevill. +He touched the girl's hand—more he dared not do, though he longed to +take her in his arms and kiss her red lips. The coldness of her manner +repelled him. They turned and walked slowly along the river, while the +shadows deepened around them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX" ></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>A SHOCK FOR SIR LUCIUS.</h3> + + +<p>They lingered but a moment at the house, standing irresolutely by the +steps. Madge did not invite Nevill to stop, which suited him in his +present mood. He pressed the girl's cold hand and strode away into the +darkness. His thoughts were not pleasant, and there was a sneering smile +on his face.</p> + +<p>"I have won her," he reflected. "Won her at last! She will be my wife. +But it is not a victory to be proud of—not worth the infamy I've waded +through. She consented because she has been hard driven—because I +compelled her father to put the screws on. How calmly she told me that +she did not love me! I can read her like a book. I hoped she had +forgotten Jack, but I see now that she cares for him as much as ever. +Oh, how I hate him! Is his influence to ruin my life? I ought to be +satisfied with the blow I have dealt him, but if I get a chance to +strike another—"</p> + +<p>A harsh laugh finished the sentence, and he hit out viciously with his +stick at a cat perched on a garden wall.</p> + +<p>A Waterloo train conveyed him cityward, and, avoiding the haunts of his +associates, he dined at a restaurant in the Strand. It was eight o'clock +when he went to his rooms in Jermyn street, intending to change his +clothes and go to a theatre. A card lay inside the door. It bore Sir +Lucius Chesney's name, and Morley's Hotel was scribbled on the corner of +it. Nevill scowled, and a look that was closely akin to fear came into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"So my uncle is back!" he muttered. "I knew he would be turning up some +time, but it's rather a surprise all the same. He wants to see me, of +course, and I don't fancy the interview will be a very pleasant one. +Well, the sooner it is over the better. It will spoil my sleep to-night +if I put it off till to-morrow."</p> + +<p>He dressed hurriedly and went down to Trafalgar Square. Sir Lucius had +just finished dinner, and uncle and nephew met near the hotel office. +They greeted each other heartily, and Sir Lucius invited the young man +upstairs to his room. He was in a good humor, and expressed his +gratification that Nevill had come so promptly.</p> + +<p>"I want a long chat with you, my boy," he said. "Have you dined?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius lighted a cigar, and handed his case to Nevill.</p> + +<p>"Been out of town this summer?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The usual thing, that's all—an occasional run down to Brighton, a +month at country houses, and a week's shooting on the Earl of Runnymede's +Scotch moor."</p> + +<p>"London agrees with you. I believe you are a little stouter."</p> + +<p>"And you are looking half a dozen years younger, my dear uncle. How is +the liver?"</p> + +<p>"It ought to be pretty well shaken to pieces, from the way I've trotted +it about. It hasn't troubled me for months, I am glad to say. I've had +a most enjoyable holiday, and a longer one than I intended to take. I +stopped in Norway seven weeks, and then went to the Continent. I did the +German baths, Vienna and a lot of other big cities, and came to Paris. +There I met an old Anglo-Indian friend, and he dragged me down to the +Riviera for a month. But there is no place like home. I've been in town +only a couple of hours—crossed this morning. And to-morrow I'm off to +Priory Court."</p> + +<p>"So soon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I can't endure your fogs."</p> + +<p>There was an awkward pause. Nevill struck a match and put it to his +cigar, though it did not need relighting. Sir Lucius coughed, and +stirred nervously in his chair.</p> + +<p>"You remember that little matter I wrote you about," he began. "Have you +done anything?"</p> + +<p>"My dear uncle, I have left nothing undone that I could think of," +Nevill replied; "but I am sorry to say that I have met with no success +whatever. It was a most difficult undertaking, after so many years."</p> + +<p>"I feared it would be. You didn't advertise?"</p> + +<p>"No; you told me not to do that."</p> + +<p>"Quite right. I wished to avoid all publicity. But what steps did you +take?"</p> + +<p>"I made careful inquiries, interviewed some of the older school of +artists, and searched London and provincial directories for some years +back. Then I consulted a private detective. I put the matter in his +hands. He worked on it for a couple of months, and finally said that +it was too much for him. He could not discover a trace of either your +sister or her husband, and he suggested that they probably emigrated +to America or Australia years ago."</p> + +<p>"That is more than possible," assented Sir Lucius; "and it is likely +that they are both dead. But they may have left children, and for their +sakes—". He broke off abruptly, and sighed. "I should like to have a +talk with your private detective, if he is a clever fellow," he added.</p> + +<p>"He is clever enough," Nevill replied slowly, "but I am afraid you +would have to go a long distance to find him. He went to America a week +ago to collect evidence for a divorce case in one of the Western States."</p> + +<p>"Then he will hardly be back for months," said Sir Lucius. "No matter. +I think sometimes that it is foolish of me to take the thing up. But when +a man gets to my age, my boy, he is apt to regret many episodes in his +past life that seemed proper and well-advised at the time. I am convinced +that I was too harsh with your aunt. Poor Mary, she was my favorite +sister until—"</p> + +<p>He stopped, and his face hardened a little at the recollection.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could find her," said Nevill.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you do, my boy. I am undecided what steps to take next. It +would be a good idea to stop in town for a couple of days and consult +a private inquiry bureau. But no, not in this weather. I will let the +matter rest for the present, and run up later on, when we get a spell +of sunshine and cold."</p> + +<p>"I think that is wise. Meanwhile I am at your service."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Victor, you must have incurred some +considerable expense in my behalf. Let me write you a check."</p> + +<p>"There is no hurry—I don't need the money," Nevill answered, +carelessly. "I will look up the account and send it to you."</p> + +<p>"Or bring it with you when you come down to Priory Court for Christmas, +if I can induce you to leave town."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted to come, I assure you."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll consider it settled."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius lighted a fresh cigar and rose. His whole manner had changed; +he chuckled softly, and his smile was pleasant to see.</p> + +<p>"I have something to show you, my boy," he said. "It is the richest +find that ever came my way. Ha, ha! not many collectors have ever been +so fortunate. I know where to pry about on the Continent, and I have +made good use of my holidays. I sent home a couple of boxes filled with +rare bargains; but this one—"</p> + +<p>"You will be rousing the envy of the South Kensington Museum if you +keep on," Nevill interrupted, gaily; he was in high spirits because the +recent disagreeable topic had been shelved indefinitely. "What is it?" +he added.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you in a moment, my boy. It will open your eyes when you see +it. You will agree that I am a lucky dog. By gad, what a stir it will +cause in art circles!"</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius crossed the room, and from behind a trunk he took a flat +leather case. He unlocked and opened it, his back screening the +operation, and when he turned around he held in one hand a canvas, +unframed, about twenty inches square; the rich coloring and the outlines +of a massive head were brought out by the gaslight.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of that?" he cried.</p> + +<p>Nevill approached and stared at it. His eyes were dilated, his lips +parted, and the color was half-driven from his cheeks, as if by a sudden +shock. He had expected to see a bit of Saracenic armor, made in +Birmingham, or a cleverly forged Corot. But this—</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder you are surprised," exclaimed Sir Lucius. "Congratulate +me, my dear boy."</p> + +<p>"Where did you get it?" Nevill asked, sharply.</p> + +<p>"In Munich—in a wretched, squalid by-street of the town, with as many +smells as Cologne. I found the place when I was poking about one +afternoon—a dingy little shop kept by a Jew who marvelously resembled +Cruikshank's Fagin. He resurrected this picture from a rusty old safe, +and I saw its value at once. It had been in his possession for several +years, he told me; he had taken it in payment of a debt. The Jew was +pretty keen on it—he knew whose work it was—but in the end I got it +for eleven hundred pounds. You know what it is?"</p> + +<p>"An undoubted Rembrandt!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the finest Rembrandt in existence. No others can compare with it. +Look at the brilliancy of the pigments. Observe the masterful drawing. +See how well it is preserved. It is a prize, indeed, my boy, and worth +double what I paid for it. It will make a sensation, and the National +Gallery will want to buy it. But I wouldn't accept five thousand pounds +for it. I shall give it the place of honor in my collection."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius paused to get his breath.</p> + +<p>"You don't seem to appreciate it," he added. "Remember, it is absolutely +unknown. Victor, what is the matter with you? Your actions are very +strange, and the expression of your face is almost insulting. Do you +dare to insinuate—"</p> + +<p>"My dear uncle, will you listen to me for a moment?" said Nevill. +"Prepare yourself for a shock. I fear that the picture is far better +known than you think. Indeed, it is notorious."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that this Rembrandt, which you purchased in Munich, is the +identical one that was stolen some months ago from Lamb and Drummond, +the Pall Mall dealers. The affair made a big stir."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"It is only too true. Did you read the papers while you were away?"</p> + +<p>"No; I scarcely glanced at them. But I can't believe—"</p> + +<p>"Wait," said Nevill. From a pocket-book he produced a newspaper +clipping, which he handed silently to his uncle. It contained an account +of the robbery.</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius read to the end. Then his cheeks swelled out, and turned from +red to purple; his eyes blazed with a hot anger.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed, "was ever a man so cruelly imposed upon? It is +a d—nable shame! You are right, Victor. This is the stolen Rembrandt!"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly. I can't tell you how sorry I feel for you." Nevill's +expression was most peculiar as he spoke, and the semblance of a smile +hovered about his lips.</p> + +<p>"What is to be done?" gasped his uncle, who had flung the canvas on +a chair, and was stamping savagely about the room. "It is clear as +daylight. The thieves disposed of the painting in Munich, to my lying +rascal of a Jew. Damn him, I wish I had him here!"</p> + +<p>"Under the peculiar circumstances, my dear uncle, I should venture to +suggest—"</p> + +<p>"There is only one course open. This very night—no, the first thing +to-morrow morning—I will take the picture to Lamb and Drummond's and +tell them the whole story. I can't honorably do less."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," assented Nevill; it was not exactly what he had been +on the point of proposing, but he was glad that he had not spoken.</p> + +<p>"I won't feel easy until it is out of my hands," cried Sir Lucius. "Good +heavens, suppose I should be suspected of the theft! Ah, that infamous +scoundrel of a Jew! The law shall punish him as he deserves!"</p> + +<p>Rage overpowered him, and he seemed in danger of apoplexy. There was +brandy on the table, and he poured out a glass with a shaking hand. +Nevill watched him anxiously.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX" ></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>AT A NIGHT CLUB.</h3> + + +<p>Victor Nevill called for his uncle at nine o'clock the next morning—it +was not often he rose so early—and after breakfasting together the two +went on to Lamb and Drummond's. Sir Lucius carried the unlucky picture +under his arm, and he thumped the Pall Mall flagstones viciously with +his stick; he walked like a reluctant martyr going to the stake.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lamb had just arrived, and he led his visitors to his private +office. He listened with amazement and rapt interest to the story they +had come to tell him, which he did not once interrupt. When the canvas +was unrolled and spread on the table he bent over it eagerly, then drew +back and shook his head slightly.</p> + +<p>"I was not aware of the robbery until my nephew informed me last night," +explained Sir Lucius. "I have lost no time in restoring what I believe +to be your property. It is an unfortunate affair, and a most +disagreeable one to me, apart from any money considerations. But +it affords me much gratification, sir, to be the means of—"</p> + +<p>"I am by no means certain, Sir Lucius," Mr. Lamb interrupted, "that this +<i>is</i> my picture."</p> + +<p>"There could not be two of them!" gasped Sir Lucius.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, there <i>are</i> two," was the reply. "It is a curious +affair, Sir Lucius, but I can speedily make it clear to you."</p> + +<p>Very concisely and briefly Mr. Lamb told all that he knew about the +duplicate Rembrandt, giving the gist of his interview months before with +Jack Vernon.</p> + +<p>"Then you mean to say that this is the duplicate?" asked Nevill.</p> + +<p>"No; I can't say that."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius brightened suddenly. The loss of his prize was a heavy blow, +but it would be far worse, he told himself, if he had been tricked into +buying a false copy. He hated to think of such a thing—it was a wound +to his pride, an insult to his judgment.</p> + +<p>"I have reason to believe that the duplicate was a splendid replica of +the original, otherwise it would not have been worth the trouble of +stealing," Mr. Lamb went on. "Mr. Vernon assured me of that. So, under +the circumstances, I cannot be positive which picture lies here before +us. My eyesight is a little bad, and I prefer not to trust to it. Mr. +Drummond might recognize the canvas, but he is out of town. I am +disposed to doubt, however, that this is the original Rembrandt."</p> + +<p>"You think it is more likely to be the duplicate?" inquired Sir Lucius.</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius swelled out with indignation, and his cheerfulness vanished.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to hear that" he said. "I can scarcely believe that I have +been imposed upon. I am somewhat of an authority on old masters, Mr. +Lamb."</p> + +<p>The dealer smiled faintly; he had known Sir Lucius in a business way for +a number of years.</p> + +<p>"The price you paid—eleven hundred pounds—favors my theory," he +replied. "Your Munich Jew, whom I happen to know by repute, is a very +clever scoundrel. It is most unlikely that he would have parted with a +real Rembrandt for such a sum. But I will gladly refund you the amount +if this proves to be the original."</p> + +<p>"I don't want the money," growled Sir Lucius. "I dare say you are right, +sir; and if so, it is not to my discredit that I have been taken in by +such a perfect copy. Gad, it would have deceived Rembrandt himself! But +the question still remains to be settled. How can that be done, and as +quickly as possible?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vernon, the artist, is the only person who can do that. He put a +private mark on the duplicate—"</p> + +<p>"Vernon—John Vernon?" interrupted Sir Lucius. "Surely, Victor, I have +heard you mention that name?"</p> + +<p>"Quite right, uncle," said Nevill. He made the admission promptly, +foreseeing that a denial might have awkward consequences in the future. +"I know Jack Vernon well," he added. "He is an old friend. But I am +sorry to inform you that he is not in England at present."</p> + +<p>This was false, for Nevill had noted in the morning paper that Jack was +one of the passengers by the P. and O. steamship <i>Ismaila</i>, which had +docked on the previous day. Mr. Lamb, it appeared, was not aware of the +fact.</p> + +<p>"Your nephew is correct, Sir Lucius," he said. "Mr. Vernon has been in +India for some months, acting as special war artist for the <i>Universe</i>. +But he is expected home very shortly—in the course of a week, I +believe."</p> + +<p>"I shall not be here then," said Sir Lucius. "I am to leave London +to-day. What would you suggest?"</p> + +<p>"Allow the canvas to remain in my hands—I will take the best of care +of it," replied Mr. Lamb. "I will write to you as soon as Mr. Vernon +returns, and will arrange that you shall meet him here."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," assented Sir Lucius. "Let the matter rest at that. +When I hear from you I will run up to town."</p> + +<p>He still hoped to learn that he had bought the original picture, and he +would have preferred an immediate solution of the question. He was in a +dejected mood when he left the shop with his nephew, but he cheered up +under the influence of a good lunch and a pint of port, and he was in +fairly good spirits when he took an afternoon train from Victoria to his +stately Sussex home.</p> + +<p>"Hang the Rembrandt!" he said at parting. "I don't care how it turns +out. Run down for a few days at the end of the month, Victor—I can give +you some good shooting."</p> + +<p>Glancing over a paper that evening, Mr. Lamb read of Jack Vernon's +return. But to find him proved to be a different matter, and at the end +of a week he was still unsuccessful. Then, meeting Victor Nevill on +Regent street, he induced him to join in the search for the missing +artist. The commission by no means pleased Nevill, but he did not see +his way to refuse.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For thirteen days Sir Lucius Chesney had been back at Priory Court, +happy among his horses and dogs, his short-horns and orchids; his +pictures rested temporarily under a cloud, and he was rarely to be found +in the spacious gallery. In London, Victor Nevill enjoyed life with as +much zest as his conscience would permit; Madge Foster dragged through +weary days and duller evenings at Strand-on-the-Green; and the editor of +the <i>Illustrated Universe</i> wondered what had become of his bright young +war-artist since the one brief visit to the office.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock on a drizzling, foggy morning a policeman, walking up +the Charing Cross Road, paused for a moment to listen to some remote +strains of music that came indistinctly from a distance; then he +shrugged his shoulders and went on—it was no business of his. The +sounds that attracted the policeman's attention had their source in a +cross street to the left—in one of those evil institutions known as a +"night club," which it seems impossible to eradicate from the fast life +of West End London.</p> + +<p>It was a typical scene; there were many like it that night. The house +had two street doors, and behind the inner one, which was fitted with a +small grating and kept locked, squatted a vigilant keeper, equally ready +to open to a member or deny admittance to any one who had no business +there. On the first floor, up the dingy stairs, were two apartments. The +outer and smaller room had a bar at one side, presided over by a bright, +golden-haired young lady in <i>very</i> conspicuous evening dress, whose +powers of <i>repartee</i> afforded much amusement to her customers. These +were, many of them, in more or less advanced stages of intoxication, and +they comprised sporting men, persons from various unfashionable walks of +life, clerks who wanted to soar like eagles, and a few swell young men +who had dropped in to be amused. A sprinkling of women must be added.</p> + +<p>Both apartments were hung with engravings and French prints and +decorated with tawdry curtains, and in the larger of the two dancing was +going on. Here the crowd was denser and of the same heterogeneous kind. +It was a festival of high jinks—a sway of riotous, unbridled merriment. +A performer at the piano, with a bottle of beer within easy reach, +rapped out the inspiriting chords of a popular melody. Couples glided +over the polished floor, some lightly, some galloping, and all reckless +of colliding with the onlookers. There was a touch of the <i>risque</i> in +the dancing, suggesting the Moulin Rouge of a Casino de Paris carnival. +Occasionally, during a lull, songs were sung by music-hall <i>artistes</i> of +past celebrity, who were now glad of the chance to earn a few shillings +before an uncritical audience. The atmosphere was charged with the scent +of rouge and powder, brandy and stale sherry. Coarse jest and laughter, +ringing on the night, mocked at go-to-bed London.</p> + +<p>Two young men leaned against the wall of the dancing-room, close to +the door, both smoking cigars. They wore evening dress, considerably +rumpled, and their attitudes were careless. The elder of the two was +Tony Mostyn, a clever but dissipated artist of the decadent school, who +steered his life by the rule of indulgence and worked as little as +possible.</p> + +<p>"It's rather dull," he said; "eh, old chap?"</p> + +<p>"It gives one a bad taste," his companion replied. "I don't see why you +brought me here."</p> + +<p>The second speaker was Jack Vernon. He looked bored and weary, but his +cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled; the women who glanced pertly +at him as they swung by inspired him merely with disgust. He had come to +the club with Mostyn, after a dozen turns at the Alhambra, followed by a +prolonged theater supper. He had drunk more than was good for him during +the course of the evening, but the effects had about worn off.</p> + +<p>The story of the past two weeks—since Jack's return from India—was a +sad one. He tried his best to drown the bitter memories of Madge, of +what he had lost. He cut loose from Jimmie and other old friends, took +lodgings in an out-of-the-way quarter, and turned night into day. He had +plenty of money, and he had not been near the office of the <i>Universe</i>. +He found boon companions among the wildest acquaintances of his Paris +days, including Tony Mostyn and his set. But a fortnight had dispelled +the glamour, and life looked blacker to him than it had ever looked +before. Courage and manhood were at a low ebb. He laughed recklessly +as he wondered what the end would be.</p> + +<p>"Let us go and get a drink," he said to his companion.</p> + +<p>As he spoke a tumult broke out at the far end of the room. Scuffling +feet and men's angry voices mingled with cries of protest and women's +shrill screams. Then followed a heavy fall, a groan, and a rush of +people. The music had stopped and the dancers were still.</p> + +<p>"There's been a row," exclaimed Mostyn. "It's bad for the club."</p> + +<p>Idle curiosity led Jack to the spot, and Mostyn accompanied him. +They elbowed their way through, and saw a flashily-dressed man with +blue-black cheeks and a curling black mustache lying on the floor. He +was bleeding from an ugly wound on the forehead, where he had been +struck by a bottle. His assailant had slipped away, scared, and was +being smuggled out of the room and down stairs by his friends.</p> + +<p>"What a shame!" ejaculated a terrified woman.</p> + +<p>"It's no fair fighting," added another.</p> + +<p>"Shut up, all of you!" angrily cried a harsh-voiced man—clearly one in +authority—as he elbowed his way to the front. "Do you want to bring the +police down on us?"</p> + +<p>The warning had a prompt effect, and comparative silence ensued. The +injured man tried to rise, but his potations had weakened him more than +the loss of blood.</p> + +<p>"Where's the bloke what hit me?" he feebly demanded.</p> + +<p>His maudlin speech and woe-begone manner roused Jack's sympathy. He +knelt down beside him, and made a brief examination.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing serious—the bottle glanced off," he said. "Fetch water +and a sponge, and I'll soon stop the bleeding. Who has a bit of +plaster?"</p> + +<p>No sponge was to be had, but a basin of water was quickly produced. Jack +tore his handkerchief in two and wet part of it. He was about to begin +operations when a hand tapped him on the shoulder and a familiar voice +pronounced his name.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI" ></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>A QUICK DECISION.</h3> + +<p>Jack turned around, and when he saw Victor Nevill bending over him he +looked first confused and then pleasurably surprised.</p> + +<p>"Hello, old chap," he said. "Wait a bit, will you?"</p> + +<p>"You've led me a chase," Nevill whispered in a low voice. "I want to +talk to you. Important!"</p> + +<p>"All right," Jack replied. "I'll be through in a couple of minutes."</p> + +<p>He wondered if it could have anything to do with Diane, as he set to +work on the injured man. With deft fingers he bathed the cut, staunched +the blood, and applied a piece of plaster handed to him by a bystander; +over it he placed the dry half of his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"You'll do now," he said. "It's not a deep cut."</p> + +<p>With assistance the man got to his feet. The shock had sobered him, and +he was pretty steady. He pulled his cap on his head, and winced with +pain as it stirred the bandage.</p> + +<p>"Where's the cowardly rat what hit me?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Never you mind about 'im," put in the proprietor of the club—a very +fat man with a ponderous watch-chain. "While the excitement was on 'e +'ooked it. You be off, too—I don't want any more rowing." Sinking his +voice to a faint whisper, he added: "You'd be worse off than the rest +of us, 'Awker, should the police 'appen to come."</p> + +<p>"Yes, go home, my good fellow," urged Jack. "You look ill; and what you +need is rest. You'll be all right in the morning."</p> + +<p>He pressed half a sovereign into the man's hand—so cleverly that none +observed the action—and then slipped back and joined Nevill and Mostyn, +who had a slight acquaintance with each other. The three had left the +room, and were going downstairs, before Mr. Noah Hawker recovered from +his surprise on learning that his gift was gold instead of a silver +sixpence. It chanced that he was reduced to his last coppers, and so the +half sovereign was a boon indeed. He nudged the elbow of a supercilious +looking young gentleman in evening dress who was passing.</p> + +<p>"That swell cove who fixed me up—he's just gone," he said. "He's a real +gent, he is! Could you tell me his name, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, yes, I think I can," was the drawling reply. "He's an artist chap, +don't you know! Name of Vernon."</p> + +<p>"Might it be John Vernon?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, my man."</p> + +<p>The name rang in Noah Hawker's ears, and he repeated it to himself as he +stumbled downstairs. He was in such a brown study that he forgot to tip +the door-keeper who let him into the street. He pulled his cap lower to +hide his bandaged head, and struck off in the direction of Tottenham +Court road.</p> + +<p>"Funny how I run across that chap!" he reflected. "Vernon—John +Vernon—yes, it's the same, no doubt about it. But he's only an artist, +and I know what artists are. There's many on 'em, with claw-hammer coats +and diamonds in their shirt-fronts, as hasn't got two quid to knock +together. You won't suit my book, Mr. Vernon—you're not in the running +against the others. It's a pity, though, for he was a real swell, what I +<i>call</i> a gent. But I'll keep him in mind, and it sort of strikes me I'll +be able to do him a good turn some day."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, as Noah Hawker walked northward in the direction of Kentish +Town, Jack and his companions had reached Piccadilly Circus. Here Mostyn +left them, while Jack and Nevill went down Regent street.</p> + +<p>"A bit of a rounder, that chap," said Nevill. "He's not your sort. What +have you been doing with yourself for the last two weeks? I've not seen +you since you sailed for India, early in the summer."</p> + +<p>"How did you find me to-night?" asked Jack, in a tone which suggested +that he did not want to be found.</p> + +<p>"I met a Johnny who told me where you were. I vowed he was mistaken at +first, but he stuck to it so positively—"</p> + +<p>"You said you wanted to talk to me," Jack interrupted. "I suppose it is +about—"</p> + +<p>"No; you're wrong. <i>She</i> is in Paris, and she won't trouble you again. +The fact is, I have a message for you from Lamb and Drummond. They've +been trying to find you for a fortnight."</p> + +<p>"Lamb and Drummond looking for me? Ah, yes, I think I know what they +want."</p> + +<p>"It's a queer business, isn't it? My uncle is mixed up in it—Sir Lucius +Chesney, you know."</p> + +<p>"Then he has told you—"</p> + +<p>"Only a little. It's not my affair, and I would rather not speak about +it. Can I tell Mr. Lamb that you will call upon him at five o'clock +to-morrow afternoon—or this afternoon, to be correct? They will want +to get my uncle from the country."</p> + +<p>"I will be there at that hour," Jack assented, and with a hasty +"Good-night" he was gone, striding rapidly away. Nevill looked after +him for a moment, and then sauntered home. The street lights showed +a sneering smile of satisfaction on his face.</p> + +<p>Jack could easily have picked up a cab, but he preferred to walk. He +went along the Strand, now waking up to the life and traffic of early +morning. Turning into Wellington street, he crossed Waterloo Bridge, and +the gray dawn was breaking when he let himself into a big, dingy house +not far from the river. Here, remote from his friends, he had chosen to +live, in two rooms which he had fitted up more than comfortably with +recent purchases. Even Jimmie did not know where he was—never dreamed +of looking for him on the Surrey side. His brain was too active for +sleep, and he sat up smoking another hour.</p> + +<p>It was two o'clock in the afternoon when Jack awoke from an unrefreshing +slumber; his head was heavy, and he would have liked to remain in bed +for the rest of the day. He remembered that he had two engagements; he +had promised to attend a "do" at a studio in Joubert Mansions, Chelsea, +where he would meet a lot of Tony Mostyn's set, and make night noisy +until the wee hours of the morning. At four o'clock he started to dress +for the evening. At five a cab put him down in Pall Mall, opposite the +premises of Lamb and Drummond. A clerk conducted him to the private +office, which was well lighted. Mr. Lamb was present, and with him a +soldierly, aristocratic-looking gentleman who had been summoned by wire +from Sussex. Victor Nevill would have been there also, but he had +pleaded a previous engagement.</p> + +<p>The military gentleman was formally introduced as Sir Lucius Chesney. +Jack shook hands with him nonchalantly, and wondered what was coming +next; he did not much care. Sir Lucius regarded Jack carelessly at +first, then with a stare that was almost impertinent. He adjusted a pair +of gold-rimmed eye-glasses, and looked again. He leaned forward in his +chair, under the influence of some strong agitation.</p> + +<p>"Bless my soul!" he muttered, half audibly. "Very remarkable!"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"Nothing! nothing!" replied Sir Lucius, in some confusion. "So you are +Mr. Vernon?"</p> + +<p>"That is my name, sir."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius pulled himself together, and thoughtfully stroked his +mustache. An awkward pause was broken by Mr. Lamb, who proceeded to +state at some length the business that had rendered Jack's presence +imperative. Sir Lucius listened with rising indignation, as the story +poignantly recalled to him his bitter experience with the Munich Jew. +Jack, seeing the ludicrous side, with difficulty repressed an +inclination to smile.</p> + +<p>"Let me have the picture," he said. "I can settle the question at once."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius rose eagerly from his seat. Mr. Lamb took the canvas from +an open safe and spread it on the table. Jack bent over it, standing +between the two. He laughed as he pointed to a peculiar +brush-stroke—insignificant in the general effect—down in the lower +right-hand corner.</p> + +<p>"There is my mark," he said, "and this is the duplicate I painted for +Martin Von Whele, nearly six years ago."</p> + +<p>"I thought as much," exclaimed Mr. Lamb.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure of what you are saying, young man?" asked Sir Lucius.</p> + +<p>"Quite positive, sir," declared Jack. "I assure you that—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there can be no doubt about it," interrupted Mr. Lamb. "I was +pretty well satisfied from the first, but I would not trust my own +judgment, considering the poorness of my eyesight. This is the copy, and +the person who stole it from Mr. Vernon's studio disposed of it later to +the Jew in Munich, who succeeded—very naturally, I admit—in selling it +to you as the real thing, Sir Lucius."</p> + +<p>There was a <i>double entendre</i> about the "very naturally" which Sir +Lucius chose, rightly or wrongly, to interpret to his own disadvantage.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to insinuate—" he began, bridling up.</p> + +<p>"As for the genuine Rembrandt—<i>my</i> picture," resumed Mr. Lamb, "its +disappearance is still shrouded in mystery. It can be only a matter of +time, however, until the affair is cleared up. But that is poor +consolation for the insurance people, who owe me £10,000."</p> + +<p>"It is well you safeguard yourself in that way," observed Jack. "I +shouldn't be surprised if your picture turned up as unexpectedly as mine +has done, and perhaps before long. But I can hardly call this my +property. Sir Lucius Chesney is out of pocket to the tune of eleven +hundred pounds—"</p> + +<p>"D—n the money, sir!" blurted out Sir Lucius. "I can afford to lose it. +And pray accept the Rembrandt from me as a gift, if you think you are +not entitled to it legally."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, but I prefer that you should keep it."</p> + +<p>"I don't want it—won't have it! Take it out of my sight!—it is only a +worthless copy!" Sir Lucius, purple in the face, plumped himself down in +his chair. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Vernon," he added. "As a copy it is +truly magnificent—it does the greatest credit to your artistic skill. +It deceived <i>me</i>, sir! Whom would it not have deceived? There is an end +of the matter! I shall forget it. But I will go to Munich some day, and +beat that rascally Jew within an inch of his life!"</p> + +<p>"If you can catch him," thought Jack. "I had better leave the painting +with you for the present, Mr. Lamb," he said. "It may be of some use in +your search for the original."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," assented the dealer. "I will gladly retain it for the +present."</p> + +<p>"If that is all," Jack continued, "I will wish you good afternoon."</p> + +<p>"One moment, Mr. Vernon," said Sir Lucius, whose choleric indications +had completely vanished. "I—I should like to have an interview with +you, if you will consent to humor an old man. Your face interests me—I +admire your work. I propose to remain in town for a brief time, though +I am off to Oxford to-night, to visit an old friend, and will not be back +until to-morrow afternoon. Would you find it convenient to give me a +call to-morrow night at eight o'clock, at Morley's Hotel?"</p> + +<p>Jack was silent; his face expressed the surprise he felt.</p> + +<p>"I should like you to come down to Sussex and do some landscapes of +Priory Court," Sir Lucius further explained.</p> + +<p>"I am not working at present," Jack said, curtly.</p> + +<p>"But there is something else—a—a private matter," Sir Lucius replied, +confusedly. "I beg that you will oblige me, Mr. Vernon."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir, since you wish it so much," Jack consented. "I will +come to Morley's Hotel at eight to-morrow evening."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Vernon."</p> + +<p>Jack shook hands with both gentlemen, picked up his hat and stick, and +went off to an early dinner. Sir Lucius looked after him wistfully.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII" ></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>ANOTHER CHANCE.</h3> + + +<p>Sir Lucius Chesney remained for an hour to further discuss the affair +of the two Rembrandts with Mr. Lamb, and the conversation became so +interesting that he almost forgot that he had arranged to leave +Paddington for Oxford at eight o'clock; when he suddenly remembered the +fact he hurried off, fearful of losing his dinner, and St. Martin's in +the Fields indicated a quarter to seven as he entered Morley's Hotel.</p> + +<p>At that time a little party of three persons were sitting down to a +table in one of the luxurious dining-rooms of the Trocadero. Victor +Nevill was the host, and his guests were Stephen Foster and his +daughter; later they were all going to see the production of a new +musical comedy.</p> + +<p>Madge, as lovely as a dream in her lustrous, shimmering evening gown, +fell under the sway of the lights and the music, and was more like her +old self than she had been for months; the papers had been kept out of +her way, and she did not know that Jack had returned from India. Stephen +Foster was absorbed in the <i>menu</i> and the wine-card, and Nevill, in the +highest of spirits, laughed and chatted incessantly. He was ignorant of +something that had occurred that very day, else his evening's pleasure +would surely have been spoiled.</p> + +<p>To understand the incident, the reader must go back to the previous +night, or rather an early hour of the morning. For the last of the West +End restaurants were putting out their lights and closing their doors +when Jimmie Drexell, coming home from a "smoker" at the Langham Sketch +Club, ran across Bertie Raven in Piccadilly. It was a fortunate meeting. +The Honorable Bertie was with a couple of questionable companions, and +he was intoxicated and very noisy; so much so that he had attracted the +attention of a policeman, who was moving toward the group.</p> + +<p>Jimmie, like a good Samaritan, promptly rescued his friend and took +him to his own chambers in the Albany, as he was obviously unfit to go +elsewhere. Bertie demurred at first, but his mood soon changed, and he +became pliant and sullen. He roused a little when he found himself +indoors, and demanded a drink. That being firmly refused, he muttered +some incoherent words, flung himself down on a big couch in Jimmie's +sitting-room, and lapsed into a drunken sleep.</p> + +<p>Jimmie threw a rug over him, locked up the whisky, and went off to bed. +His first thought, when he woke about nine the next morning, was of +his guest. Hearing footsteps in the outer room, he hurriedly got into +dressing-gown and slippers and opened the communicating door. He was not +prepared for what he saw. Bertie stood by the window, with the dull gray +light on his haggard face and disordered hair, his crushed shirt-front +and collar. A revolver, taken from a nearby cabinet, was in his hand. He +was about to raise it to his forehead.</p> + +<p>Jimmie was across the room at a bound, and, striking his friend's arm +down, he sent the weapon clattering to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he cried. "What were you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"End it all," gasped Bertie. He dropped into a chair and gave way to a +burst of tears, which he tried hard to repress.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" exclaimed Jimmie, breathing quick and deep. "Are +you mad?"</p> + +<p>Bertie lifted a ghastly, distorted face.</p> + +<p>"It means ruin, old chap," he replied. "That's the plain truth. I wish +you had let me alone."</p> + +<p>"Come, this won't do, you know," said Jimmie. "You are not yourself +this morning, and I don't wonder, after the condition I found you in +last night. Things always look black after a spree. You exaggerate, of +course, when you talk about ruin. You are all unstrung, Bertie. Tell me +your troubles, and I'll do what I can to help you out of them."</p> + +<p>Bertie shuddered as his eyes fell on the pistol at his feet.</p> + +<p>"It's awfully good of you, old fellow," he answered huskily, "but you +can't help me."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that? Come, out with your story. Make a clean breast of +it!"</p> + +<p>Moved by his friend's kind appeal, the wretched young man confessed his +troubles, speaking in dull, hopeless tones. It was the old story—a +brief career on the road to ruin, from start to finish. A woman was at +the bottom of it—when is it otherwise? Bertie had not reformed when he +had the chance; Flora, the chorus-girl of the Frivolity, had exercised +too strong an influence over him. His income would scarcely have kept +her in flowers, and to supply her with jewels and dinners and a hundred +other luxuries, as well as to repay money lost at cards, he had plunged +deeper into the books of Benjamin and Company, hoping each time that some +windfall would stave off disaster. Disregarding the advice of a few +sincere friends, he had continued his mad course of dissipation. And +now the blow had fallen—sooner than he had reason to expect. A bill for +a large amount was due that very day, and Benjamin and Company refused +to renew it; they demanded both interest and principal, and would give +no easier terms.</p> + +<p>"You'd better let me have that," Bertie concluded, desperately, pointing +to the pistol.</p> + +<p>Jimmie kicked the weapon under the table, put his hands deep into the +pockets of his dressing gown, and whistled thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's bad," he said. "So you've gone to the Jews! You ought to have +known better—but that's the way with you chaps who are fed with silver +spoons. I'm not a saint myself—"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to preach?" put in Bertie, sullenly.</p> + +<p>"No; my little lecture is over. Cheer up and face the music, my boy. +It's not as bad as you think. Surely your father will get you out of +the scrape."</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose I would tell him?" Bertie cried, savagely. "That would +be worse than—well, you know what I was going to do. It's just because +of the governor that I can't bear to face the thing. He has paid my +debts three times before, and he vowed that if I ran up any more bills +he would ship me off to one of his ranches in Western America. He will +keep his word, too."</p> + +<p>"Ranch life isn't bad," said Jimmie.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk about it! I would rather kill myself than go out there, away +from England and all that one cares for. You know how it is, old man, +don't you? London is the breath of life to me, with its clubs and +theaters, and suppers, and jolly good fellows, and—"</p> + +<p>"And Flora!" Jimmie supplemented drily.</p> + +<p>"D—n Flora! She threw up the Friv yesterday and slipped off to the +Continent with Dozy Molyneaux. I'm done with <i>her</i>, anyway! But what +does it all matter? I'm ruined, and I must go under. Give me a drink, +old chap—a stiff one."</p> + +<p>"You can't have it, Bertie. Now, don't get riled—listen to me. Where +was your father while you were going the pace so heavily?"</p> + +<p>"In Scotland—at Runnymede Castle. He's there still, and knows nothing +of what I've been doing. I dare say he thinks I've been living +comfortably on my income—a beggarly five hundred a year!"</p> + +<p>"What amount is the bill that falls due to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Seven hundred and fifty pounds, with interest."</p> + +<p>"And there are others?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; three more—all renewals."</p> + +<p>"And the total sum? Can you give it to me?"</p> + +<p>"What's the use?" Bertie muttered. "But if you want to know—" He took a +bit of paper from his pocket. "I counted it up yesterday," he added. "I +can't get clear of the Jews for less than twenty-five hundred pounds."</p> + +<p>"It's a heavy sum!"</p> + +<p>"I can't raise a fraction of it. And the worst of it is that Victor +Nevill is on—By Jove, I shouldn't have let that out!"</p> + +<p>"You mean that Nevill indorsed the paper—all of it?"</p> + +<p>"Only the first bill, and the next one Benjamin and Company took without +an indorsement, as they did with the later ones. Nevill warned me what +would happen if I kept on. I wish I had listened to him!"</p> + +<p>Jimmie looked very grave.</p> + +<p>"So Nevill steered you to the Jews!" he said, in a troubled tone. "It +was hardly the act of a friend. Have you spoken to him in regard to this +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but he was short of money, and couldn't help me," Bertie replied. +"He was awfully cut up about it, and went to see the Jews. It was no +good—they refused to renew the bill on his indorsement."</p> + +<p>"And heretofore they have accepted paper bearing your own signature +only! Of course they knew that you had future expectations, or that your +father would protect them from loss. It's the old game!"</p> + +<p>"My expectations are not what they were," Bertie said sullenly, "and +that's about what has brought things to a crisis. I can see through a +millstone when there is a hole in it. I have a bachelor uncle on my +mother's side—a woman-hater—who always said that he would remain +single and make me his heir. But he changed his mind a couple of months +ago, and married."</p> + +<p>"Be assured that Benjamin and Company know that," Jimmie answered; "it's +their reason for refusing to renew the bill."</p> + +<p>"Yes; Nevill told me the same. He advised me to own up to the governor."</p> + +<p>"How about your eldest brother—Lord Charters?"</p> + +<p>"No good," the Honorable Bertie replied, gloomily; "we are on bad terms. +And George is in New York."</p> + +<p>"Then I must put you on your feet again."</p> + +<p>"You!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I will lift your paper—the whole of it."</p> + +<p>"Impossible! I can't accept money from a friend!"</p> + +<p>"I'm more than that, my boy—or will be. Isn't your brother going to +marry my cousin? And, anyway, we'll call it a loan. I'll take your I O U +for the amount, and you can have twenty years to repay it—a hundred if +you like. I can easily spare the money."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I won't—"</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me anything. It's settled. I mean to do it."</p> + +<p>Bertie broke down; his scruples yielded before his friend's persistence.</p> + +<p>"I'll pay it back," he cried, half sobbingly. "I'll be able to some day. +God bless you, Jimmie—you don't know what you've saved me from. Another +chance! I will make the most of it! I'll cut the old life and run +straight—I mean it this time. I'm done with cards and evil companions, +and all the rest of it!"</p> + +<p>"Glad to hear it," said Jimmie. "I want your word of honor that you +won't exceed your income hereafter, and that you will leave London for +six months and go home."</p> + +<p>"I will; I swear it!"</p> + +<p>"And you will have nothing more to do with Flora and her kind?"</p> + +<p>"Never again!"</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said Jimmie, patting the young man on the shoulder. +"Cheer up now and we'll breakfast together presently, and meanwhile I'll +send a man round to your rooms for some morning togs. Then I'll leave +you here while I go down to the city to see my bankers. I'll be back +before noon, and bring a solicitor with me; I want the thing done +ship-shape."</p> + +<p>With that, Jimmie retired to the bedroom, where he was soon heard +splashing in his tub. An hour later, when breakfast was over, he hurried +away. He returned at half-past twelve, accompanied by an elderly +gentleman of legal aspect, Mr. Grimsby by name. Bertie was ready, +dressed in a suit of brown tweeds, and the three went on foot to Duke +street, St. James'. They passed through the narrow court, and, without +knocking, entered the office of Benjamin and Company. No one was there, +but two persons were talking in a rear apartment, the door of which +stood open an inch or so. And one of the voices sounded strangely +familiar to Jimmie.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" he whispered to Bertie. "Do you hear that?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII" ></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>ON THE TRACK.</h3> + + +<p>In answer to Jimmie's question, Bertie gave him a puzzled look; he +clearly did not understand. At the same instant the conversation in the +next room was brought to a close. Some person said "Good-morning, +Benjamin," and there was a sound of a door closing and of retreating +footsteps; one of the speakers had gone, probably by another exit. The +house, as Jimmie suspected, fronted on Duke street, and it was the rear +portion that was connected with the court.</p> + +<p>The elderly Jew, who was Mr. Benjamin himself, promptly entered the +office, adjusting a black skull-cap to his head. He gave a barely +perceptible start of surprise at sight of his visitors; he could not +have known that they were there. He apologized extravagantly, and +inquired what he could have the pleasure of doing for them. Mr. Grimsby +stated their business, and the Jew listened with an inscrutable face; +his deep-sunken eyes blinked uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Do I understand," he said, addressing himself to the Honorable Bertie, +"that you wish to take up not only the bill which is due to-day—"</p> + +<p>"No; all of them, Benjamin," Bertie interrupted. "My friend wants to pay +you to the last penny."</p> + +<p>"I shall be happy to oblige," said the Jew, rubbing his hands. "I always +knew that you were an honest young gentleman, Mr. Raven. I am sorry that +I had to insist on payment, but my partner—"</p> + +<p>"Will you let me have the paper, sir," Jimmie put in, curtly.</p> + +<p>The Jew at once bestirred himself. He opened a safe in which little +bundles of documents were neatly arranged, and in a couple of minutes he +produced the sheaf of bills that had so nearly been the ruin of his +aristocratic young client. The first one was among the number; it had +been renewed several times, on Nevill's indorsement.</p> + +<p>The affair was quickly settled. The solicitor went carefully over Mr. +Benjamin's figures, representing principal and interest up to date, and +expressed himself as satisfied; it was extortionate but legal, he +declared. The sum total was a little over twenty-five hundred +pounds—Bertie had received less than two-thirds of it in cash—and +Jimmie promptly hauled out a fat roll of Bank of England notes and paid +down the amount. He took the canceled paper, nodded coldly to the Jew, +and left the money-lender's office with his companions.</p> + +<p>Mr. Grimsby, declining an invitation to lunch, hailed a cab and went off +to the city to keep an appointment with a client. The other two walked +on to Piccadilly, and Bertie remembered that morning, months before, +when Victor Nevill had helped him out of his difficulties, only to get +him into a tighter hole.</p> + +<p>"No person but myself was to blame," he thought. "Nevill meant it as a +kindness, and he advised me to pull up when he found what I was drifting +into—I never mentioned the last bill to him. Dear old Jimmie, he's +given me another chance! How jolly to feel that one is rid of such a +burden! I haven't drawn an easy breath for weeks."</p> + +<p>"We'll go to my place first," said Jimmie. "I want a wash after the +atmosphere of that Jew's den. And then we'll lunch together."</p> + +<p>It was a dull and cheerless day, but the sitting-room in the Albany +looked quite different to Bertie as he entered it. Was it only a few +hours before, he wondered, that he had stood there by the window in the +act of taking that life which had become too great a burden to bear? And +in the blackness of his despair, when he saw no glimmer of hope, the +clouds had rolled away. He glanced at the pistol, harmlessly resting on +a shelf, and a rush of gratitude filled his heart and brought tears to +his eyes. He clasped his friend's hand and tried incoherently to thank +him.</p> + +<p>"Come, none of that," Jimmie said, brusquely. "Let us talk of something +more interesting. I have a pot of money; and this stuff," pulling out +the packet of bills, "don't even make a hole in it. It was a jolly +little thing to do—"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't a little thing for me, old chap. I shall never forget, and +be assured that you will get your money back some day, with interest."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hang the money!" exclaimed Jimmie. "If I'm ever hard up I'll ask +for it. If you want to show your gratitude, my boy, see that you stick +to your promise and run straight as a die hereafter."</p> + +<p>"I swear I will, Jimmie. I would be worse than a blackguard if I didn't. +Don't worry—I've had my lesson!"</p> + +<p>"Then let it be a lasting one. There are plenty of fellows who <i>never</i> +get clear of the Jews."</p> + +<p>Jimmie vanished into the next room, and in a few moments reappeared, +rubbing his face vigorously with a towel.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember in the Jew's den," he said abruptly, "my calling your +attention to the men talking in the back office?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I didn't know what you meant."</p> + +<p>"Didn't one of the voices sound familiar to you?"</p> + +<p>"By Jove, you're right, come to think of it. It reminded me of—"</p> + +<p>"Of Victor Nevill," said Jimmie. "Benjamin's companion talked exactly +like him, it struck me."</p> + +<p>"That's it. Queer, wasn't it? But, of course, it was only a coincidence. +Nevill couldn't have been there."</p> + +<p>"No; I hardly think so," Jimmie answered, slowly and seriously.</p> + +<p>"I'm positive about it," exclaimed Bertie. "Surely you wouldn't +insinuate that Nevill is a—"</p> + +<p>"No, I can't believe him to be that—a tout for money-lenders. But it +was wonderfully like his voice."</p> + +<p>"Don't get such an idea into your head," protested Bertie. "Nevill was +only in the place twice, and then he went to oblige me. He hates the +Jews, and won't have anything to do with them himself. And he don't +need to. He has a settled income of two or three thousand a year."</p> + +<p>"Yet he refused to help you, and pleaded that he was hard up?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented Bertie, "but he didn't put it exactly in that way. He +explained how he was fixed, and I quite understand it. He must save all +his spare cash just now. He is going to be married soon."</p> + +<p>"That's news," said Jimmie. "I hadn't an inkling of it."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," declared Bertie, "until a week ago. I was dining with Nevill, +and he had taken half a bottle too much, you know. That's when he let +it out."</p> + +<p>"Who is the girl?"</p> + +<p>"A Miss Foster, I believe. She lives somewhere near Kew Bridge, in a +big, old-fashioned house on the river. I suppose her father has money. +From what Nevill said—"</p> + +<p>A sharp exclamation fell from Jimmie's lips, and his face expressed +blank astonishment.</p> + +<p>"By Jove! Nevill engaged to Madge Foster?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"That's the girl, and he's going to marry her!"</p> + +<p>Jimmie turned away to hide his feelings. This was a most astounding +piece of news, but under the circumstances he was satisfied that it +must be true. So Nevill knew Miss Foster! That in itself was a strange +revelation! And suddenly a vague suspicion came into his mind—a +chilling doubt—as he recalled Nevill's demeanor, and certain little +actions of his, on the night when Jack Vernon's French wife confronted +him under the trees of Richmond Terrace. Had a jealous rival planned +that Diane should be there?—that she should come to life again to blast +the happiness of the man who believed her dead? He tried to put away the +suspicion, but it would not be stifled; it grew stronger.</p> + +<p>"I say, old man, what's gone wrong?" asked Bertie. "You're acting +queerly. I hope <i>you've</i> not been hit in that quarter."</p> + +<p>Jimmie faced around and laughed.</p> + +<p>"No fear, Bertie," he said. "I'm not a marrying man. I wouldn't know +Miss Foster from your precious Flora, for I've never seen either of +them." He suddenly remembered the photograph Jack had shown him, and his +cheeks flushed. "It gave me a bit of a start to hear that Nevill was +going to be married," he added, hastily. "I thought he was too fond of +a bachelor's existence to tie himself to a wife."</p> + +<p>"It's funny what a woman can do with a chap," Bertie sagely observed.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> ought to know," Jimmie replied, pointedly, as he pulled on his +coat. "Come along! It's past my lunch hour, and I'm hungry."</p> + +<p>On their way to a noted restaurant in the vicinity Jimmy engaged in deep +reflection.</p> + +<p>"I'll do it," he vowed, mentally. "I'll keep an eye on Mr. Victor +Nevill, and get to the bottom of this thing. I remember that I took a +dislike to him in Paris from the first. I hate a traitor, and if Nevill +has been playing the part of a false friend, I'll block his little game. +He seemed rather too anxious to take Diane away that night. And he'll +bear watching for another reason—I'm almost certain that it was his +voice I heard in the Jew's back room. Benjamin and Company, like charity, +may cover a multitude of sins. Nevill was going a rapid pace when he was +abroad, and he couldn't well have kept it up all these years on his +legacy."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was eleven o'clock at night, and the theatres were pouring their +audiences from pit and stalls, galleries and boxes, into the crowded, +tumultuous, clamoring Strand, blazing and flashing like a vast, long +furnace, echoing to the roar of raucous throats, and throbbing to +the rumble of an endless invasion of cabs and private carriages. A +fascinating scene, and one of the most interesting that London can show.</p> + +<p>The uniformed commissionaire of the Ambiguity, reading the wishes of a +lady and gentleman who pressed across the pavement to the curb, promptly +claimed a hansom and opened the door. Stephen Foster helped his daughter +into it and followed her. Madge looked fragile and tired, but her sweet +beauty attracted the attention of the bystanders; she drew her fluffy +opera-cloak about her white throat and shoulders as she nestled in a +corner of the seat. Nevill, who had been separated from them by the +crush, came forward just then.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you won't have some supper," he said. "It is not late."</p> + +<p>"It will be midnight before we get home," Stephen Foster replied. "We +are indebted to you for a delightful evening."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we enjoyed it <i>so</i> much," Madge added, politely.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will let me repeat it soon," Nevill said.</p> + +<p>The girl did not answer. She held out her hand, and it was cold to +Nevill's touch. He bade them both good-night, and stepped aside to give +the cabby his directions. He watched the vehicle roll away, and then +scowled at the commissionaire, who waited expectantly for a tip.</p> + +<p>"As beautiful as a dream," he thought, savagely, "but with a heart of +ice—at least to me. Will I never be able to melt her?"</p> + +<p>It is no easy matter to cross the Strand when the theaters are dismissing +their audiences, and five minutes were required for Nevill to accomplish +that operation; even then he had to avail himself of a stoppage of the +traffic by a policeman. He bent his steps to the grill-room of the Grand, +and enjoyed a chop and a small bottle of wine. Lighting a cigar, he +sauntered slowly to Jermyn street, and as he reached his lodgings a man +started up suddenly before him.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir," he said humbly, "but ain't you Mr. Victor Nevill?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV" ></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>A FATEFUL DECISION.</h3> + + +<p>Nevill paused, latch-key in hand; a cautious impulse checked the +admission of his identity. The individual who had accosted him, seen by +the glow of a distant street-lamp, was thickset and rakish-looking, with +a heavy mustache. He repeated his question uneasily.</p> + +<p>"If I've made a mistake—" he went on.</p> + +<p>"No, you are not mistaken," said Nevill. "But how did you learn my name, +and what do you want with me?"</p> + +<p>On a natural impulse, fancying he recognized a racing tipster who had +been of service to him in the past, he reached for his pocket; the +jingling of coin was heard.</p> + +<p>"Stow that—I'm not a beggar!" the man said, sharply.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon! I thought I recalled—"</p> + +<p>"We never met before, Mr. Nevill."</p> + +<p>"Then it's a queer time of night for a stranger to hunt me up. If you +have business with me, come in the morning; or, better still, write to +me."</p> + +<p>"I've got to talk to you to-night, sir, and I ain't to be put off. For +two blessed hours I've been hanging around this house, watching an' +waiting—"</p> + +<p>"A sad waste of time! You are an impudent fellow, whoever you are. I +refuse to have anything to do with you."</p> + +<p>"I think you'll change your mind, sir. If you don't you'll be sorry till +your dying day."</p> + +<p>"You scoundrel, do you dare to threaten me?" cried Nevill. "There is +only one remedy for ruffians of your kind—" He looked up and down the +street in search of a policeman.</p> + +<p>"You can call an officer if you like," the man said, scornfully; "or, if +you choose to order me away, I'll go. But in that case," he bent nearer +and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I'll take my secret straight to Sir +Lucius Chesney. And I'll warrant <i>he</i> won't refuse to hear it."</p> + +<p>Nevill's countenance changed, and he seemed to wilt instantly.</p> + +<p>"Your secret?" he muttered. "Are you telling the truth? What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose I'm going to give that away here in the street? It's a +private matter, and can only be told under shelter, where there ain't no +danger of eavesdroppers."</p> + +<p>"I'll trust you," replied Nevill, after a brief hesitation. "Come, you +shall go to my rooms. But I warn you in advance that if you are playing +a game of blackmail I'll have no mercy on you."</p> + +<p>"I won't ask none. Don't you fear."</p> + +<p>Nevill opened the house door, and the two went softly up the dimly lit +staircase. The gas-lamps were turned on, revealing the luxuries of the +front apartment, and the visitor looked about him with bewildered +admiration; he seemed to feel his unfitness for the place, and +instinctively buttoned his coat over his shabby linen. But that was only +for a moment. With an insolent smile he took possession of a +basket-chair, helped himself to a cigar, and poured some brandy from a +<i>carafe</i> into a glass. Meanwhile Nevill had drawn the window curtains, +and when he turned around he had hard work to restrain his anger.</p> + +<p>"What the devil—," he began, and broke off. "You are the cheekiest +fellow I ever came across," he added.</p> + +<p>"It ain't often," replied the man, puffing away contentedly, "that I get +a chance to try a swell's tobacco and liquor. That's prime stuff, sir. I +feel more like talking now."</p> + +<p>"Then be quick about it. What is your business? And as you have the +advantage of me at present, it would be better if you began by stating +your name."</p> + +<p>"My name," the man paused half a second, "is Timmins—Joe Timmins. It +ain't likely that you—"</p> + +<p>"No; I never heard it," Nevill interrupted. He sat down at the other +side of the table, and endeavored to hide his anxiety and impatience. +"I can't spare you much time," he added.</p> + +<p>"Sure there ain't nobody within earshot?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure. Make your mind easy."</p> + +<p>Mr. Joe Timmins—<i>alias</i> Noah Hawker—expressed his satisfaction by +a nod. He produced a paper from his pocket, and slowly unfolded it.</p> + +<p>"If you will kindly read that," he said.</p> + +<p>Nevill took the document curiously. It consisted of half a dozen pages +of writing, well-worded and grammatical, but done by a wretched, +scrawling hand, and embellished with numerous blots and smudges. From +the first he grasped its import, and as he read on to the end his face +grew pale and his hands shook. With a curse he started to his feet and +made a step toward the grate, where the embers of a coal fire lingered. +Then, dropping down again, he laughed bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Of course this is only a copy?" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"That's all, sir," replied Mr. Timmins, with a grim smile. "It ain't +likely I'd been fool enough to bring the original here. I did the copy +myself, an' though I ain't much of a scholar, I do say as it reads for +what it's meant to be, word for word."</p> + +<p>"I want better proof than this, my man."</p> + +<p>"Ain't you satisfied? Look at the date of the letter, an' where it was +written, an' what it says. Could I invent such a thing?"</p> + +<p>"No; you couldn't," Nevill admitted. "You have the original letter, you +say?"</p> + +<p>"I've had that and other papers for years, hid away in a safe place, +which is where they lie now. It's only lately I looked into them deep, +so to speak, and saw what they might be worth to me. I studied them, +sir, and by putting things together I found there were three persons +concerned—three chances for me to try."</p> + +<p>"You are a cunning fellow," said Nevill. "Why did you bring the letter +to me?"</p> + +<p>"Because it pointed that way. I knew you were the biggest bird, and the +one most likely to pay me for my secret. It was quite a different matter +with the others—"</p> + +<p>"You haven't seen them?"</p> + +<p>"No fear!" Mr. Timmins answered, emphatically. "I spotted you as my man +from the first, and I'm glad you've got the sense to look at it right. +I hope we understand each other."</p> + +<p>"I don't think there can be much doubt about that," replied Nevill, +whose quick mind had grasped the situation in all its bearings; he +realized that there was no alternative—save ruin—but to submit to the +scoundrel's terms. But the bargain must be made as easy as possible.</p> + +<p>"I must know more than you have told me," he went on. "How did the +letter come into your possession? And why have you waited more than five +years to make use of it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Timmins was not averse to answering the questions. He pulled his +chair closer, and in low tones spoke for some minutes, revealing all +that Nevill wished to know, and much besides that was of interest.</p> + +<p>"You'll find me a square-dealing customer," he concluded, "and I expect +the same of a gent like you."</p> + +<p>Nevill shrank from him with ill-concealed disgust and repulsion; contact +with the lower depths of crime affected his aristocratic sensibilities.</p> + +<p>"You swear that you have all the papers?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And they are in a safe place?"</p> + +<p>"If I was to drop over dead, sir, they wouldn't be found in a hundred +years."</p> + +<p>"We'll proceed to the next question," Nevill said, abruptly. "To speak +with brutal frankness, Mr. Timmins, what is your price?"</p> + +<p>"One thousand pounds in cash, when the papers are handed over," was the +prompt reply, "and a signed agreement to pay me as much more when you +come into—"</p> + +<p>"Do you take me for a millionaire?" cried Nevill. "It's all right about +the agreement, but a thousand pounds is utterly beyond my means. Say two +hundred."</p> + +<p>Mr. Timmins shook his head, and glanced significantly about the room.</p> + +<p>"I can't take a shilling less," he firmly replied. "I know a good thing +when I have it, sir."</p> + +<p>Nevill temporized. He argued and entreated, but without avail. He had an +inflexible customer to deal with, who would not be put off with anything +but his pound of flesh. A decision that night was impossible, and +arrangements were made for another meeting within a few days. Then Mr. +Timmins filled his pocket with cigars and took his leave.</p> + +<p>Nevill let him out into Jermyn street, locked the door, and returned +to his sitting-room. His face was distorted with evil passions, and he +spilled the brandy on the table as he poured some into a glass.</p> + +<p>"Curse him!" he said, hoarsely. "<i>He</i> again! Is he destined to blast my +life and ruin my prospects?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The "do" at Joubert Mansions, Chelsea, by no means fell short of Jack's +forecast; on the contrary, it exceeded it. His memory failed him as to +what transpired after three in the morning; he woke at noon in a strange +bed, with a sense of overmastering languor, and a head that felt too big +for his body. Vance Dickens, with a palette on his thumb, was standing +over him. He laughed till the roof threatened to come off.</p> + +<p>"I wish you could see yourself," he howled. "It's not exactly the +awakening of Venus. You <i>wouldn't</i> be undressed, so we had to tuck you +away as you were—some chaps helped to bring you here."</p> + +<p>"You beggar!" growled Jack. "You look as fresh as a new penny."</p> + +<p>"Two whiskies is my limit, old boy—I don't go beyond it. And I had +a page black-and-white to do to-day. Stir yourself, and we'll have +breakfast. The kettle is boiling. Wait—I'll bring you a pick-me-up."</p> + +<p>The pick-me-up, compounded on the principle that like cures like, did +not belie its name. It got Jack to his feet and soothed his head. The +two men were about of a size, and Dickens loaned his friend a shirt and +collar and a tweed suit, promising to send his dress clothes home by a +trusty messenger.</p> + +<p>"No; I'll attend to that," demurred Jack, who did not care to tell where +he lived.</p> + +<p>He nibbled at his breakfast, drank four cups of strong tea, and then +sauntered to the window. It was drizzling rain, and the streets between +the river and the King's road were wrapped in a white mist.</p> + +<p>"This sort of thing won't do," he reflected. "I must pull up short, or +I'll be a complete wreck." He remembered the brief, sad note—with more +love than bitterness in it—which he had received from Madge in reply to +his letter of explanation. "I owe something to her," he thought. "She +forgave me, and begged me to face the future bravely. And, by heavens, +I'll do it! I hope she doesn't know the life I've been leading since I +came back. Work is the thing, and I'll buckle down to it again."</p> + +<p>Fired by his new resolve, Jack settled himself in a cozy corner and +lighted a pipe. With a stimulating interest he watched Dickens, who had +finished his black-and-white, and was doing a water color from a sketch +made that summer at Walberswick, a quaint fishing village on the Suffolk +coast. He blobbed on the paint, working spasmodically, and occasionally +he refreshed himself at the piano with a verse of the latest popular +song.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, this is Friday!" he said suddenly; "and I'm due at the London +Sketch Club to-night. Will you come there and have supper with me at +nine?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry, but I can't," Jack replied, remembering his promise to Sir +Lucius Chesney. "I'm off now. I'll drop in to-morrow and get my +dress-suit—don't trouble to send it."</p> + +<p>Dickens vainly urged a change of mind. Jack was not to be coerced, and, +putting on a borrowed cap and overcoat, he left the studio. He walked to +Sloane square, and took a train to the Temple; but he was so absorbed +in a paper that he was carried past his station. He got out at +Blackfriars, and lingered doubtfully on the greasy pavement, staring at +the sea of traffic surging in the thick, yellow fog. He had reached +another turning-point in his life, but he did not know it.</p> + +<p>"I'll go to the 'Cheese,'" he decided, "and have some supper."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV" ></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>A FRUITLESS ERRAND.</h3> + + +<p>The merest trifles often have far-reaching results, and Jack's careless +decision, prompted by a hungry stomach, made him the puppet of fate. The +crossing at Blackfriars station is the most dangerous in London, and he +did not reach the other side without much delay and several narrow +escapes. It was a shoulder-and-elbow fight to the mouth of the dingy +little court in which is the noted hostelry he sought, and then +compensation and a haven of rest—the dining-room of the "Cheshire +Cheese!" Here there was no trace of the fog, and the rumble of wheels +was hushed to a soothing murmur. An old-world air pervaded the place, +with its low ceiling and sawdust-sprinkled floor, its well-worn benches +and tables and paneling. The engravings on the walls added to the charm, +and the head waiter might have stepped from a page of Dickens. Savory +smells abounded, and the kettle rested on the hob over the big +fireplace, to the right of which Doctor Johnson's favorite seat spoke +eloquently of the great lexicographer, who in time past was wont to +foregather here with his friends.</p> + +<p>Jack was too hungry to be sentimental. He sat down in one of the +high-backed compartments, and, glancing indifferently at a man sitting +opposite to him, he recognized the editor of the <i>Illustrated Universe</i>.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" Hunston cried, in surprise, "you're the very chap I want to +see. Where have you been hiding yourself, Vernon? I searched for you +high and low."</p> + +<p>"I've not been out of town," said Jack. "I intended to look you up, or +to send my address, but one thing and another interfered—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand," Hunston interrupted. "London is fresh to a man who +has just come back from India. I hope you've had your fling, and are +ready to do some work."</p> + +<p>"As soon as you like," Jack replied.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear it—I was afraid you had given me the slip altogether. +I want some of your sketches enlarged to double-page drawings, and I am +thinking of issuing a photographic album of the snap-shots you took on +the frontier."</p> + +<p>"That's not a bad idea. I'll come in to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I'll expect you, then. You haven't a studio at present?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I can give you a room on the premises to work in. By the bye, +there is a letter for you at the office. It came this morning."</p> + +<p>"I'll get it to-morrow. I don't suppose it's important."</p> + +<p>"It is in a woman's handwriting," said Hunston, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"A woman?" exclaimed Jack. "Where does it come from—England or abroad?"</p> + +<p>"London postmark," was the reply.</p> + +<p>Jack changed color, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat.</p> + +<p>"It must be from Madge," he thought. "But why would she write to me?"</p> + +<p>"If you would like the letter to-night—" Hunston went on.</p> + +<p>"If it's no trouble," Jack replied, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"None whatever. I must go back to the office, anyway."</p> + +<p>Jack was impatient to start, and he no longer felt hungry. He ordered +a light supper, however, and ate it hurriedly. He finished at the same +time as Hunston, and they left the "Cheese" and plunged into the outer +fog and crowds. A short walk brought them to the <i>Universe</i> building, +which was just closing its doors to the public. Hunston turned up the +gas in his office.</p> + +<p>"Here you are," he said, taking a letter from a pigeon-hole over the +desk.</p> + +<p>Jack looked at it sharply, and disappointment banished hope. He scowled +savagely, and an half-audible oath slipped from his lips. He had +recognized Diane's peculiar penmanship. She was in London, contrary +to promise, and had dared to write to him.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," said Hunston. "Have a cigar?"</p> + +<p>"No; I'm off," Jack answered dully, as he thrust the letter into his +pocket unopened.</p> + +<p>Hunston regarded him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Ill see you to-morrow?" he asked. "You know it's rather important, and +I'll want one of the double pages by next Wednesday."</p> + +<p>"I'll turn up," Jack promised, in an absent tone.</p> + +<p>With that he hastened away, and as he trod the Strand his brain was in a +confused whirl, and he was oblivious of the frothing life about him. He +groped across Waterloo Bridge in the fog, and looked wistfully toward +the black river. He did not care to read the letter yet. It was enough +for the present to know that his wife had broken her word and returned +to London, doubtless with the intention of demanding more money. He +vowed that she should not have a penny. Fierce anger and resentment rose +in his heart as he remembered, with anguish as keen as it had ever been, +the blow Diane had dealt him.</p> + +<p>"I will show her no mercy," he resolved.</p> + +<p>In the privacy of his room, when he had locked the door and lighted the +gas, he took out the letter. His face was dark and scowling as he tore +it open, and read the few lines that it contained:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"DEAR JACK:—You will fly into a passion when you find that I am in +London, but you won't blame me when you learn the reasons that have +brought me back. I knew that you had returned from India, and I want +to see you. Not having your address, I am sending the letter to the +<i>Universe</i> office, and I hope it will be delivered to you promptly. Will +you come to 324 Beak street, at half-past eight to-morrow night? The +street door will be open. Go to the top of the stairs, and knock at the +first door on the left. Do not fear that I shall ask for money, or make +other demands. I have much to tell you, of the greatest importance to +your future happiness. If you do not come you will regret it all your +life. I will expect you. DIANE."</p></div> + +<p>With a bitter laugh Jack flung the letter on a table. It was not written +in French, for Diane was herself of English birth, though of her history +before she came to Paris her husband was ignorant; she had never spoken +to him of her earlier years, nor had he questioned her about them.</p> + +<p>"Does she think I am a fool, to be taken in so easily?" he said to +himself. "It is a lie—a trick! Money is her game, of course. She wants +to decoy me to her lodgings, and hopes to make me yield by threats of +exposure. And yet she writes with a ring of sincerity—something like +her old self in the first days of our marriage. Bah! it is only her +cunning."</p> + +<p>He read the letter again, and pondered it.</p> + +<p>"It was written yesterday," he muttered. "The appointment is for +to-night. What could she possibly have to tell me that concerns my +future happiness? Nothing! And yet, if she should really be +remorseful—By Jove! I <i>will</i> go! It can do no harm. But if I find that +she has deceived me, and is playing the old game, by heavens! I'll—"</p> + +<p>Passion choked his utterance, and he concluded the sentence with a +mental threat. He suddenly remembered that he had promised to meet Sir +Lucius Chesney at eight o'clock that night.</p> + +<p>"I can't do it," he thought. "I'm not fit to talk to any man in this +mood. And he would probably detain me more than half an hour. No, I'll +write a short note to Sir Lucius, putting off the engagement, and leave +it at Morley's."</p> + +<p>Whether his decision was a wise one or not, was a question that Jack did +not attempt to analyze. He proceeded to carry his plans into effect. It +was then seven o'clock, and it took him twenty minutes to write the note +to Sir Lucius and exchange his borrowed clothes for a dark suit of his +own. He put Diane's letter into a side pocket, so that he might be sure +of the address, and then left the house. He did not take a cab, +preferring to walk.</p> + +<p>He handed the note in at Morley's Hotel, and steered across Trafalgar +square. At the top of the Haymarket, to his chagrin, he encountered +Jimmie Drexell, who urged him to have a drink at Scott's; he could not +well refuse, as it was nearly a fortnight since they had met.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour slipped by. Jimmie asked a great many questions, +but Jack was preoccupied and uneasy, and scarcely answered them. He +finally tore himself away on the plea of an urgent engagement, and +promised to call at the Albany the next day; he was reluctant to confide +in his friend. A distant clock was striking eight-thirty as he turned up +the Quadrant.</p> + +<p>Regent street was noisy and crowded, but Beak street was gloomy and +misty, depressing and lonely, in contrast. Jack found the right number, +and as he hesitated before the house—the door of which was partly +open—a man came abruptly out. He was tall and slim, dressed in dark +clothes, and with a soft hat that concealed all of his features except +an aquiline nose and a black beard and mustache. He stared hard at Jack +for an instant, then strode rapidly off to the eastward and was lost in +the fog.</p> + +<p>"A foreigner, from his actions," thought Jack.</p> + +<p>He pushed the door open, and mounted a steep and narrow staircase. +Reaching the first landing, he saw a door on his left. At the bottom +a faint streak of light was visible, but his low rapping brought no +response. He rapped again—three times, and each louder—but with the +same result.</p> + +<p>"No use to keep this up," he concluded, vexatiously. "I am a few minutes +late, and she has gone out, thinking that I would not come. There is no +mistake about the room. I won't wait—I'll write to her to-morrow, and +give her twenty-four hours to get out of London."</p> + +<p>He went slowly down the dark stairs, and as he stepped into the street +he brushed against a stout, elderly woman. With a muttered apology, he +moved aside. The woman turned and looked after him sharply for an +instant, then entered the house and closed the door.</p> + +<p>Jack thought nothing of the incident. How to put in the evening was +the question that concerned him. He was walking undecidedly down the +Quadrant when he saw approaching an artist friend whom he did not care +to meet. On the impulse of the moment he darted across the street, +narrowly missing the wheels of a hansom, and in front of the Café Royal +he ran into the arms of Victor Nevill.</p> + +<p>"Hello, old chap; you <i>are</i> in a hurry!" cried Nevill. "What's up now? +Seen my uncle?"</p> + +<p>Jack was flushed and breathless.</p> + +<p>"No; I couldn't manage it," he panted. "I left a note at Morley's for +him. I had to make a call—party wasn't at home."</p> + +<p>"Where are you bound for? Morley's?"</p> + +<p>"No; it's too late. Shall we have some refreshment?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry, but I can't," replied Nevill. "I'm going to a reception. Will +you come to my rooms at eleven?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if I'm not too far away. But don't count on me. Good-night, in +case I don't see you again."</p> + +<p>"Good-night," echoed Nevill.</p> + +<p>As he looked after Jack, the latter pulled out his handkerchief, +and a white object fluttered from it to the pavement. He walked on, +unconscious of its loss. Nevill hurried to the spot, and picked up +a letter.</p> + +<p>"A woman's!" he muttered, as he thrust it quickly into his pocket. "And +the writing seems familiar. I'll examine this when I get a chance. +Everything is fair in the game I am playing."</p> + +<p>Jack wandered irresolutely to Piccadilly Circus, seeking distraction. +In the American bar at the St. James' he met a man named Ingram, who +suggested that they should go to see a mutual friend—an artist—who +lived in Bedford Park. Jack agreed, and they drove in a cab. They found +a lot of other men they knew at the studio, and whisky and tobacco made +the hours fly. They left at two o'clock in the morning—a convivial +party of five—and they had to walk to Hammersmith before they picked up +a hansom. They dropped off one by one, and Jack was the only occupant +when he reached Sloane street. It was long past four when the cab put +him down at his lodgings on the Surrey side.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI" ></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>A THUNDERBOLT FROM THE BLUE.</h3> + + +<p>Another day dawned, as wet and gloomy as the preceding ones. It was the +middle of the morning when Jack got out of bed, and as he dressed he +heard the penetrating voices of newsboys ringing through the Waterloo +Bridge road. He could not distinguish what they were saying, though +he judged that the papers must contain some intelligence of unusual +importance. He rang for his breakfast, and his landlady, Mrs. Jones, +appeared in person, bringing coffee, rolls and bacon on a tray. Her face +was flushed with excitement.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Vernon, 'ave you 'eard?" she exclaimed. "There was a 'orrible +murder last night! I do pity the poor, dear creature—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be shocked," Jack curtly interrupted. "Murders are +common enough. But you might send me up a paper."</p> + +<p>"And you won't 'ear—"</p> + +<p>"Not now, my good woman."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jones put down the tray, tossed her head, and departed in a huff. +The paper arrived five minutes later, and Jack glanced over it while he +sipped his coffee. One of the inside pages suddenly confronted him with +huge headlines: "The Beak Street Murder!" He read further down the +column, and his face turned as pale as ashes; he swayed in his chair.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he cried. "It is Diane!"</p> + +<p>The report of the affair was enlarged from a briefer account that had +appeared in a late edition on the previous night. It seemed that Mrs. +Rickett, the landlady and proprietress of 324 Beak street, had +discovered the crime at a quarter to ten in the evening. A red stain, +coming through the ceiling of her sitting-room, attracted her attention. +She went to the room overhead, which was occupied by a female lodger +calling herself Diane Merode. The door was locked, and her demands for +admittance brought no response. She promptly summoned the police, who +broke in the door and found the unfortunate woman, Merode, lying dead in +a pool of blood. She had been stabbed to the heart by a powerful blow +dealt from behind.</p> + +<p>"The murderer left no traces," the <i>Globe</i> continued. "He carried off +the weapon, and, after locking the door, he took the key. According to +medical opinion, the deed was committed about half-past eight o'clock. +At that time there were several other lodgers in the top part of the +house, but they heard no noise whatever. Fortunately, however, there +is a clew. Mrs. Ricketts, who was out making purchases for breakfast, +returned about a quarter to nine. As she entered the doorway a man +slipped by her and hastened in the direction of Regent street. She had +a good look at him, and declares that she would be able to recognize him +again. The police are searching for the suspected person."</p> + +<p>Jack's breakfast was untasted and forgotten. His trembling hand had +upset the coffee, spilling it over the paper. He felt cold in every +vein, and his thoughts were in a state of wild chaos. It was hard to +grasp the truth—difficult to realize the import of those staring +headlines of black type!</p> + +<p>"Diane murdered! Diane dead!" he repeated, vacantly. "I can't believe +it!"</p> + +<p>After the first shock, when his brain began to throw off the numbing +stupor, he comprehended the terrible fact. The crime gave him no +satisfaction; it never occurred to him that he was a free man now. On +the contrary, a dull remorse stirred within him. He remembered his wife +as she had been five years before, when she had loved him with as much +sincerity as her shallow nature would permit, and her charms and beauty +had bound him captive by golden chains. There were tears in his eyes as +he paced the floor unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"Poor Diane!" he muttered. "She has paid a frightful penalty for the +sins of her wayward life—more than she deserved. She must have been +lying dead when I rapped on her door last night. Yes, and the fatal blow +had been struck but a short time before! The assassin was the +foreign-looking man who came down the stairs as I went up! There can be +no doubt of it! But who was he? And what was his motive? A discarded +lover, perhaps! What else could have prompted the deed?"</p> + +<p>He suddenly paused, and reeled against the wall; he clenched his hands, +and a look of sharp horror distorted his face.</p> + +<p>"By heavens, this is awful!" he gasped. "I never thought of it before! +The police are looking for me—I remember now that I met the landlady +when I left the house. I brushed against her and apologized, and she +stared straight at me! And the real murderer—the foreigner—appears to +have been seen by nobody except myself. What shall I do? It is on me +that suspicion has fallen!"</p> + +<p>The realization of his danger unnerved and stupefied Jack for an +instant. Dread phantoms of arrest and imprisonment, of trial and +sentence, rose before his eyes. One moment he determined to flee the +country; the next he resolved to surrender to the police and tell all +that he knew, so that the real murderer might be sought for without +loss of time. But the latter course was risky, fraught with terrible +possibilities. The evidence would be strong against him. He remembered +Diane's letter. He must destroy it! He hurriedly searched the pockets of +the clothing he had worn on the previous night, but in vain.</p> + +<p>"The letter is gone—I have lost it!" he concluded, with a sinking +heart. "But where and how? And if it is found—"</p> + +<p>There was a sharp rap at the door, and as quickly it opened, without +invitation. Two stern-looking men, dressed in plain clothes, stepped +into the room. Jack knew at once what the visit meant, and with a +supreme effort he braced himself to meet the ordeal. It was hard work +to stand erect and to keep his face from twitching.</p> + +<p>"You are John Vernon?" demanded one of the men.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I will be very brief, sir. I am a Scotland Yard officer, and I am here +to arrest you on suspicion of having murdered your wife, known as Diane +Merode, at Number 324 Beak street, last night."</p> + +<p>"I expected this," Jack replied. "I have just seen the paper—I knew +nothing of the crime before. I am entirely innocent, though I admit that +the circumstances—"</p> + +<p>"I warn you not to say anything that may incriminate yourself. You must +come with me, sir!"</p> + +<p>"I understand that, and I will go quietly. I am quite ready. And at the +proper time I will speak."</p> + +<p>There was no delay. One of the officers remained to search the +apartments, and Jack accompanied the other downstairs. They got into +a cab and drove off, while Mrs. Jones shook her fist at them from the +doorway, loudly protesting that she was a disgraced and ruined woman +forever.</p> + +<p>The magistrate was sitting in the court at Great Marlborough street, and +Jack was taken there to undergo a brief preliminary formality. Contrary +to advice, he persisted in making a statement, after which he was +removed to the Holloway prison of detention to await the result of the +coroner's inquest.</p> + +<p>About the time that the cell-door closed on the unfortunate artist, +shutting him in to bitter reflections, Victor Nevill was in his rooms on +Jermyn street. Several of the latest papers were spread out before him, +and he brushed them savagely aside as he reached for a cigar-box. He +looked paler than usual—even haggard.</p> + +<p>"They have taken him by this time," he thought. "I was lucky to pick up +the letter, and it was a stroke of inspiration to send it to the police. +He is guilty, without doubt. I vowed to have a further revenge, my fine +fellow, if I ever got the chance, and I have kept my word. But there are +other troubles to meet. The clouds are gathering—I wonder if I shall +weather the storm!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Enterprising reporters, aided by official leaking somewhere, obtained +possession of considerable facts, including the prisoner's arrest and +statement, before two o'clock, and the afternoon journals promptly +published them, not scrupling to add various imaginary embellishments. +The simple truth was enough to cause a wide-spread and profound +sensation, and it did so; for John Vernon's reputation as an artist, and +his Academy successes, were known alike to society and to the masses. It +was a rare morsel of scandal!</p> + +<p>Madge Foster's first knowledge of the murder was gleaned from a morning +paper, which, delayed for some reason, was not delivered until her +father had gone up to town. Toward evening she bought a late edition +from a newsboy who had penetrated to the isolated regions of Grove Park +and Strand-on-the-Green, and she saw Jack's name in big letters. When +she had read the whole account, the room seemed to swim around her, and +she dropped, half fainting, into a chair.</p> + +<p>"He is innocent—his story is true!" she cried, feebly. "I will never +believe him guilty! Oh, if I could only go to him and comfort him in his +great trouble!"</p> + +<p>Stephen Foster came home at seven o'clock, but he dined alone. Madge was +in her room, and would not come out or touch food. Her eyes were red and +swollen, and she had wept until the fountain of her tears was dried up.</p> + +<p>At four o'clock that same afternoon Mr. Tenby, the famous criminal +solicitor, was sitting in his private office in Bedford street, Strand, +when two prospective clients were announced simultaneously, and, by a +mistake on the part of the office-boy, shown in together. The visitors +were Jimmie Drexell and Sir Lucius Chesney, and, greatly to their mutual +amazement and the surprise of the solicitor, it appeared that they had +come on the same errand—to engage Mr. Tenby to look after the interests +of Jack Vernon. They were soon on the best of terms.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vernon is an old friend of mine," Jimmie explained, "and I am going +to see him through this thing. I will stake my life on his innocence!"</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear you say that," replied Sir Lucius. "I am convinced +myself that he is guiltless—that his story is true in every +particular. His face is a warranty of that. I am deeply interested in +the young man, Mr. Drexell. I have taken a fancy to him—and I insist on +aiding in his defense. Don't refuse, sir. Expense is no object to me!"</p> + +<p>"Nor to me," said Jimmie. "But it shall be as you wish."</p> + +<p>This understanding being reached, the matter was further gone into. +The solicitor, by adroit questioning, drew from Jimmie various bits of +information relating to the accused man's past life. His own opinion—he +had read all the papers—Mr. Tenby held in reserve behind a sphinx-like +countenance, nor did he vouchsafe it when it was finally settled that he +should defend the case.</p> + +<p>"The circumstantial evidence appears strong—very strong," he said +drily. "The situation looks black for Mr. Vernon. But I trust that the +police will find the foreign-looking individual whom the accused met +coming out of the house, if it is certain that—" He broke off sharply.</p> + +<p>"At all events, gentlemen," he added, "be assured that I shall do my +best."</p> + +<p>This promise from the great Mr. Tenby meant everything. He dismissed his +visitors, and they walked as far as Morley's Hotel together, discussing +the situation as hopefully as they could. It was evident to both, +however, that the solicitor was not disposed to credit Jack's innocence +or the truth of his statement.</p> + +<p>"I'll spend every dollar I have to get him free," Jimmie vowed, as he +went sadly on to the Albany. And much the same thing was in the mind of +Sir Lucius, though he wondered why it should be. He was the creature of +a whim that dominated him.</p> + +<p>The next day was Sunday, and on Monday the coroner held his inquest. +The accused was not present, but he was represented by Mr. Tenby, who +posed mainly as a listener, however, and asked very few questions. +Nothing fresh was solicited. Mrs. Rickett repeated her story, and the +letter from the murdered woman, which the prisoner admitted having lost, +was put in evidence. The proceedings being merely a prelude to a higher +court, the jurors rendered an undecisive verdict. They found that the +deceased had been murdered by a person or persons unknown, but that +suspicion strongly pointed to her husband, John Vernon. They advised, +moreover, that the police should try to find the stranger whom the +accused alleged to have seen coming from the house.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday the unfortunate woman was decently buried, at Jimmie +Drexell's expense, and on the following day a more formal inquiry was +held at Great Marlborough street. Jack was there, and he had a brief and +affecting interview with Sir Lucius and Jimmie; he had previously seen +his solicitor at Holloway. He repeated to the magistrate the story he +had told before, and he was compelled to admit, by the Crown lawyers, +that the murdered woman had been his wife, that they had lived apart for +nearly six years, and that she had recently prevented him from marrying +another woman. What prompted these damaging questions, or how the +prosecution got hold of the lost letter, did not appear. Mrs. Rickett +positively identified the prisoner, and medical evidence was taken. The +police stated that they had been unable as yet to find the missing man, +concerning whose existence they suggested some doubt, and that they had +discovered nothing bearing on the case in the apartments occupied by +either the accused or Diane Merode. Mr. Tenby, who was suffering from +a headache, did little but watch the proceedings. The inquiry was +adjourned, and John Vernon was remanded in custody for a week.</p> + +<p>But much was destined to occur in the interval. The solicitor had a +formidable rival in the person of Jimmie Drexell. The shrewd American, +keeping eyes and ears open, had formed suspicions in regard to the +principal witness for the Crown. And he lost no time in making the most +of his clew, wild and improbable as it seemed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII" ></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE.</h3> + + +<p>On the day of the inquiry at Great Marlborough street, about five +o'clock in the afternoon, Jimmie Drexell walked slowly and thoughtfully +up the Quadrant. The weather had turned cold, and his top hat and +fur-lined coat gave him the appearance of an actor in luck. He was bound +on a peculiar errand, and though he hoped to succeed, he was not blind +to the fact that the odds were very much against him.</p> + +<p>"I shall probably put my foot in it somehow," he reflected dolefully, +"and make a mess of the thing. But if I fail, it won't convince me that +I am wrong. I had my eye on that woman in court, and she was certainly +keeping something back. She seemed confused—in dread of some question +that was never asked. And once or twice I thought she was on the point +of making some startling revelation. I must play a cunning game, for +poor old Jack's sake. If Mrs. Rickett can't save him, and the police +don't find the mysterious stranger, I'm afraid he will be in a devilish +bad way."</p> + +<p>Jimmie turned into Beak street, and pulled the bell of Number 324. He +waited several minutes before the landlady came, and then she opened +the door but a couple of inches, and peered distrustfully out. Jimmie +craftily thrust a foot in, so that the door could not be closed.</p> + +<p>"You do not know me, madam," he said, "but I come as a friend. I wish to +have a short conversation with you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rickett's distrust turned to alarm. In her agitation she retreated +a little, and Jimmie carried the first outworks and entered the hall.</p> + +<p>"I must talk to you privately," he added. "We may be overheard here."</p> + +<p>In a tremulous voice the landlady invited him to follow her, and she led +the way to a cozy apartment on the ground floor that was half kitchen +and half sitting-room. A kettle was steaming merrily on the fire, and +overhead an ominous red stain was visible on the ceiling.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rickett sank limply into a chair, and Jimmie, after closing the +door and removing his hat, seated himself opposite. He assumed an air +of grave importance.</p> + +<p>"My good woman, perhaps you can guess why I am here," he began. "I was +present to-day at Great Marlborough street police-court. I watched the +proceedings closely, and my experience in such cases, and my infallible +sense of discrimination, enabled me to make a discovery." He paused for +breath, and to note the effect of his peroration; he wondered if the +words were right. "I am satisfied," he went on, "that the evidence you +gave—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lor', it's come! it's come!" interrupted Mrs. Rickett. "I knew it +would! I've been in fear and tremblin'! Why didn't I speak at the right +time? Indeed, I tried to, but I sorter got choked up! Oh, sir, have pity +on a lone widow!"</p> + +<p>Her face grew white, and she gasped for breath; she threatened to go +into a fit of hysterics.</p> + +<p>"Come, come; there is nothing to be alarmed about," said Jimmie, who +could scarcely hide his delight. "Take comfort, my good woman. You may +have been foolish and thoughtless, but I am sure you have done nothing +criminal. I am here as a friend, and you can trust me. I wish to learn +the truth—that is all. From motives which I can understand, you kept +back some important evidence in connection with this sad tragedy—"</p> + +<p>"I did, sir—I don't deny it. I didn't tell what I should, though I +nearly got the words out a 'eap of times. Please don't carry me off to +prison, sir. I knowed you was a police officer in disguise the minute +I clapped eyes on you—"</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to do with the police," Jimmie assured her.</p> + +<p>"Really? Then perhaps you're a detective—a private one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is something like that. I am making inquiries privately, in +behalf of my unfortunate friend."</p> + +<p>"Meaning Mr. Vernon."</p> + +<p>"That's right. I am convinced of his innocence, and I want to prove it. +You need have no fear. On the contrary, if you tell me freely all that +you know, you shall be well rewarded."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rickett took comfort, and fervently declared that her visitor +was a real gentleman. She offered him a cup of tea, which he tactfully +accepted, and then fortified her inner self with one, preliminary to +making her statement.</p> + +<p>"I'm that flustered I 'ardly know what I'm doing," she began, wiping her +lips with a corner of her apron. "As to why I didn't speak before, it's +just this, sir. I liked that young man's face, 'im I met comin' out of +my 'ouse that night, and I thought afterward the woman might 'ave done +'im a bitter wrong, which, of course, ain't excusin' 'im for the +dreadful crime of murder, and I wouldn't 'ave you think it—"</p> + +<p>"Then you know something that might be harmful to Mr. Vernon?" Jimmie +interrupted. He began to suspect the situation.</p> + +<p>"That's it, sir!"</p> + +<p>"But, my good woman, Mr. Vernon is absolutely innocent. Take my word +for it. The other man, who left the house just before my friend, is the +guilty person."</p> + +<p>"I didn't believe in that other man at first," Mrs. Rickett replied; +"but it looks like the story might be true, after all. And if it is—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Then I can tell something about <i>him</i>; leastwise I think so."</p> + +<p>"Go on!" Jimmie said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I 'eard it from that French woman, Dinah Mer—I never <i>can</i> pernounce +the name," continued Mrs. Rickett. "Pore creature, what a 'orrible end; +though it's a mercy it was so sudden like. But, as I was saying, sir, +she lodged in my 'ouse last spring, and she come back only three days +before the murder. She never 'ad much to say for 'erself, an' I judged +she was stiff and proud. You'll believe I was taken all aback, then, +when she walked into this 'ere very room one evening—it was last +Thursday, the day before the murder—an' takes off her cloak as cool as +you please. 'Mrs. Rickett,' she says, 'I'm feelin' badly. Can you give +me a cup of tea?' Of course I says yes. I was 'aving my own tea at the +time, and I asked 'er to join me, sociable like. By an' by she got to +tellin' me about 'erself. It appears she wasn't really French, but was +born at Dunwold, a village in Sussex, an' lived there till she was grown +up, after which she went abroad. Then she says to me, of a sudden: 'I +met a man to-day—'"</p> + +<p>"One moment!" Jimmie interrupted. He took a note-book and pencil from +his pocket, and jotted down a few lines. "Please resume now," he added. +"What did the deceased tell you?"</p> + +<p>"She told me that she'd met a man on Regent street from her native +English village, meaning Dunwold," Mrs. Rickett went on, "and that he +give her a bad fright. 'Is he an enemy of yours?' I asked. 'Yes, a +bitter one,' she says, 'an' I'm mortal afraid of him. An' the worst of +it is I'm sure he saw me, though I give 'im the slip by going into Swan +and Edgar's at one door and out at another. If he finds me, Mrs. Rickett, +'e'll kill me.' I told 'er not to worrit 'erself, an' I clean furgot the +matter till the next night, when the pore dear creature was stabbed to +the 'eart. I thought I should 'ave lost my 'ead, what with the crowds +that gathered, an' the police in the 'ouse, an' the doctors a viewin' +the departed corpse, an'—"</p> + +<p>Jimmie checked her by a gesture.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you have told me everything?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Every blessed word, sir. It's the first and only time the woman spoke +to me of 'erself."</p> + +<p>Jimmie jotted down a few more notes, and his hand shook like a leaf, so +greatly was he thrilled by the value of his discovery. Then he put Mrs. +Rickett through a cross-examination, in what he flattered himself was a +strictly legal style. Certainly Mr. Tenby could not have done it better, +for the landlady had nothing more to tell.</p> + +<p>"I 'ope you're satisfied," she said. "And you won't forget what you +promised—that I shouldn't get into trouble?"</p> + +<p>"I'll see to that," Jimmie replied. "It can be easily managed. I trust +that what you have told me will lead to the acquittal of my friend. Here +are ten pounds for you, and, if all goes well, I shall probably add to +it at another time."</p> + +<p>The landlady thrust the bank notes into her broad bosom. She was +overpowered by the munificence of the gift, and poured out her +gratitude copiously.</p> + +<p>"I've just recollected something," she went on. "There's a secret closet +in the room where the pore woman lodged, an' last spring I 'appened to +show it to 'er. It sort of took 'er fancy, and—"</p> + +<p>"Did the police find it or examine it?" cried Jimmie.</p> + +<p>"No, sir. I forgot to speak of it."</p> + +<p>"Let me see it, please! It may lead to something of importance."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rickett willingly conducted her visitor through the hall and up the +staircase. A sense of the recent tragedy seemed to haunt the room, with +its drawn curtains and tawdry furnishings, and the dark stain on the +floor. The landlady shuddered, and glanced fearfully around. She made +haste to open a narrow closet, and to slide open a disguised panel at +the back of it, which disclosed a small recess. Jimmie, who was at her +shoulder, uttered a cry of surprise. He saw a gleam of white, and +reached for it quickly. He drew out an envelope, unaddressed and sealed, +with contents of a bulky nature.</p> + +<p>"Bless me! She <i>did</i> 'ide something!" gasped Mrs. Rickett. "What can it +be?"</p> + +<p>"Writing, perhaps," replied Jimmie. "Will you permit me to have this, +Mrs. Rickett? I will examine it at my leisure, and tell you about it +later."</p> + +<p>"I've no objections, sir," the landlady replied, as another five-pound +note was slipped into her hand. "Take it and welcome!"</p> + +<p>Jimmie thanked her, and pocketed the envelope.</p> + +<p>"I will see you again," he said, "and tell you whether I succeed +or fail. And, meanwhile, I must ask you to keep my visit a strict +secret—to inform no one of what you have told me. And don't breathe a +whisper in regard to anything being found in the murdered woman's room. +Keep your own counsel."</p> + +<p>"I'll do that, sir, never fear. I'm a close-mouthed woman, and know how +to hold my tongue, which there ain't many females can say the same. And +I'm sure you'll do the right thing by me."</p> + +<p>"I will, indeed," Jimmie promised. "You shan't have cause to regret your +confidence. And if I can clear my friend through the assistance you have +given me, I will be more liberal than I have been on this occasion."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir, and I 'ope with all my 'eart you'll find the guilty +man," Mrs. Rickett declared, vehemently. "I never <i>did</i> think Mr. Vernon +murdered that pore creature. Ah, but it's a wicked world!"</p> + +<p>She accompanied her visitor to the door, showered further effusive +gratitude upon him, and gazed after him till he had turned the corner. +Overjoyed by his unexpected success, hopeful of achieving great results, +Jimmie strode down Regent street, amid the lights and the crowds. The +crisp, cold air had dried the pavements, and the stars shone from a +clear sky.</p> + +<p>"What luck!" he thought, exultantly. "It was a happy inspiration to go +there to-night! Gad, I ought to be in Scotland Yard! There is no doubt +that the man who killed Diane was the same fellow she met the day +before. He hailed from her native village, and of course he was a +discarded lover. It is even possible that he was her husband, in the +days before she went to Paris, became a dancer, and married Jack. I must +utilize the information to the best advantage. The first thing is to run +down to Dunwold, find out all I can, and then put the police on the +track. For the present I will dispense with their services, though it +seems a bit risky to take matters into my own hands. But I rather fancy +the idea of playing detective, and I'll have a go at the business. I +won't tell the solicitor what I have discovered, but I think it will be +wise to confide in Sir Lucius Chesney. By the bye, he lives somewhere in +Sussex. He may be able to help me at the start."</p> + +<p>Jimmie remembered the mysterious envelope in his pocket, and it occurred +to him that the contents might alter the whole situation, and make a +trip to Dunwold unnecessary. He walked faster, impatient to reach the +Albany and investigate his prize in safety.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII" ></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>A DISCOVERY.</h3> + + +<p>Jimmie's first move, on entering his chambers, was to lock the door +behind him and turn up the gas. Then he produced the envelope, and tore +it open, wondering as he did so what penalty the law would exact for +such an offense. The enclosure consisted of a dozen closely-written +pages of note-paper, dated two days before the murder. It was in the +nature of a statement, or confession, which some whim had prompted Diane +to put down in writing. Her motive became clearer to Jimmie as he read +on. She had meant no treachery to Jack in her letter. She had come to +London, a repentant woman, to do him a real service—to open his eyes to +various things—and for that purpose she had made the appointment at +Beak street on the fatal night. In all likelihood the document hidden in +the closet was due to a premonition of impending evil—a haunting dread +of the danger that was creeping upon the unfortunate woman.</p> + +<p>The statement was in the form of a letter, addressed to Jack Vernon on +the first page, and signed "Diane Merode" on the last. It ended quite +abruptly, and did not refer directly to the mysterious stranger or to +Diane's early life, though it hinted at certain things of importance +which she was resolved to tell. But what she disclosed was astounding +in itself, and when Jimmie threw down the pages, after reading them +attentively, his face showed how deeply he was agitated. It took much to +rouse his placid nature to anger, but now his eyes blazed with rage and +indignation.</p> + +<p>"By heavens, this is awful!" he said, hoarsely. "It is far worse than I +dreamed of! The consummate scoundrel! The treacherous blackguard! There +is no need to keep further watch on Victor Nevill. His record is +exposed. How true were my suspicions about that money-lending business! +He dropped some letters in Diane's room last spring, which she declares +proved him to be a partner in the firm of Benjamin and Company. I believe +her—I don't doubt it. The cursed tout! For how many years has he made +use of his social advantages to ruin young men—to decoy them into the +clutches of the Jews? It makes my blood boil! And the worst of it all is +the part he has played toward poor Jack—a false, black-hearted friend +from beginning to end; from the early days in Paris up to the present +time. If I had him here now—"</p> + +<p>He finished the sentence by banging his clenched fist on the table with +a force that made it quiver.</p> + +<p>Little wonder that Jimmie was indignant and wrathful! For Diane, weary +of being made a cat's-paw for an unscrupulous villain, remorseful for +the misery she had brought on one who once loved her, had confessed in +writing all of Victor Nevill's dark deeds. She had not known at first, +she said, that his sole aim had been to injure his trusting friend, else +she would have refused to help him. She had learned the truth since, and +she did not spare her knowledge of Nevill's dark deeds and cunning +tricks. She told how he had tempted her to desert her husband and flee +from Paris with him; how he had met her five years later in London, and +planned the infamous scheme which brought Jack and Diane together on +Richmond Terrace; and she declared that it was Victor Nevill also who +sent the anonymous letters to Madge Foster, the second of which had led +to the painful <i>denouement</i> in the Ravenscourt Park studio. It was all +there in black and white—a story bearing the unmistakable evidence of +truth and sincerity.</p> + +<p>"This is a private matter," thought Jimmie, when he had calmed down a +little, "and I'm bound to regard it as such. The statement can't affect +the case against Jack—it is useless to Mr. Tenby—and it would be +unwise to make it public for the purposes of denouncing Nevill—at least +at present. I will put it away carefully, and give it to Jack when his +innocence is proved, which I trust will be very soon. As for Nevill, +I'll reckon with the scoundrel at the proper time. I'll expose him in +every club in London, and drive him from the country. He shall not marry +Miss Foster—I'll nip that scheme in the bud and open her eyes—and I'll +let Sir Lucius Chesney know what sort of a man his nephew is. He'll cut +him off with a penny, I'll bet. But all these things must wait until I +find Diane's murderer, and meanwhile I will lock up the confession and +keep my own counsel."</p> + +<p>Taking the letter, he reread the closing lines, studying the +curiously-worded phrases.</p> + +<p>"I am not writing this to send to you," Diane concluded, "but to hide in +a secret place where it will be found if anything happens to me; life is +always uncertain. I have much more to tell, but I am too weary to put it +on paper. You will know all when me meet, and when you learn my secret, +happiness will come into your life again."</p> + +<p>"It's a pretty clear case," reflected Jimmie. "The secret refers, +without doubt, to the man who murdered her. And the motive for it must +be traced back to her early life at Dunwold. She left a discarded lover +behind when she went to Paris. Ah, but why not a husband? Suppose she +was never really Jack's wife! In that case it is easy to see what she +meant by saying that she would make him happy again. By Jove, I'm +anxious to ferret the thing out!"</p> + +<p>Jimmie looked at his watch; it was just seven o'clock. He put the letter +in his desk, safe under lock and key, and went straight to Morley's +Hotel. He dined with Sir Lucius Chesney, and told him what he had +learned from his visit to Mrs. Rickett. He made no mention of what he +had found in the secret closet, nor did he refer to Victor Nevill.</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius was amazed and delighted, hopeful of success. He thoroughly +approved Jimmie's plan, and gave him a brief note of introduction to the +Vicar of Dunwold.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could go with you," he said; "but, unfortunately, I have two +important engagements in town to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The interview was a long one, and it was eleven o'clock when Jimmie left +the hotel. He went straight home to bed, and an early hour the next +morning found him gliding out of Victoria station in a South Coast +train.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On the previous night, while Jimmie and Sir Lucius were dining at +Morley's, Victor Nevill emerged from his rooms in Jermyn street, and +walked briskly to Piccadilly Circus. He looked quite unlike the spruce +young man of fashion who was wont to disport himself in the West End at +this hour, for he wore tweeds, a soft hat, and a rather shabby overcoat. +He took a cab in Coventry street, and gave the driver a northern +address. As he rode through the Soho district he occasionally pressed +one hand to his breast, and a bundle of bank notes, tucked snugly away +there, gave forth a rustling sound. The thought of them aggravated him +sorely.</p> + +<p>"A thousand pounds to that black-mailing scoundrel!" he muttered. "It's +a steep price, and yet it means much more than that to me. There was no +other way out of it, and I can't blame the fellow for making a hard +bargain and sticking to it. If all goes smoothly, and I get possession +of the papers, it's ten to one I will be secure, with nothing more to +fear. It was fortunate that Timmins picked <i>me</i> out. It would have meant +ruin to my prospects had he sold his knowledge elsewhere. He is a clever +rascal, and he knows that it will be to his interest to keep his mouth +shut hereafter. What risk there may be from other quarters is so slight +that I needn't worry about it."</p> + +<p>It had not been an easy matter to find the thousand pounds, and in the +interval he had twice seen Mr. Timmins, and vainly tried to beat down +his price. The money was finally squeezed out of Stephen Foster, with +extreme reluctance on his part, and by means which he resented bitterly +but was powerless to combat. He had angrily upbraided his unscrupulous +young confederate, who would not even tell him for what purpose he +wanted the sum. Nevill was indifferent to Stephen Foster's wrath and +reproaches. He had accomplished his object, and he was too hardened by +this time to feel any twinges of conscience. He was now going to meet +the man Timmins by appointment, and buy from him the valuable papers in +his possession.</p> + +<p>It was nine o'clock when the cab put him down in one of the noisy +thoroughfares of Kentish Town. He paid the driver, and entered a public +house on the corner. He ordered a light stimulant, and on the strength +of it he re-examined the rather vague written directions Mr. Timmins had +given him. He came out five minutes later, and turned eastward into a +gloomy and squalid neighborhood. He lost his bearings twice, and then +found himself at one end of Peckwater street. He took the first turn to +the left, and began to count the houses and scan their numbers.</p> + +<p>While Nevill was speeding along the Kentish Town road in a cab, Mr. +Timmins, <i>alias</i> Noah Hawker, was at home in the dingy little room which +he had selected for his residence in London. With a short pipe between +his teeth, he reclined in a wooden chair, which was tipped back against +the wall. On a table, within easy reach of him, were a packet of tobacco +and a bottle of stout. A candle furnished light.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if the bloke'll turn up," he reflected, as he puffed rank +smoke from his mouth. "If he don't he knows what to expect—I ain't a +man to go back on my word. But I needn't fear. He'll come all right, and +he'll have the dust with him. Is it likely he'd throw away a fortune, +such as I'm offerin' him? Not a bit of it! I'll be glad when the thing +is done and over with. A thousand pounds ain't to be laughed at. I'll go +abroad and spend it, where the sun shines in winter and—"</p> + +<p>At this point Mr. Hawker's soliloquies were interrupted by footsteps +just outside the room.</p> + +<p>"That's my swell," he thought, "and he's a bit early. He must be in a +hurry to get hold of the documents."</p> + +<p>The door opened quickly and sharply, and two sinewy, plainly-dressed men +stepped into the room. Hawker knew his visitors to be detectives.</p> + +<p>His jaw dropped, his face turned livid with rage and fear, and he tried +to thrust one hand behind him. But the move was anticipated, and he +abandoned all thought of resistance when the muzzle of a revolver stared +him in the eyes.</p> + +<p>"None of that, Hawker," said the detective who held the weapon. "You'd +best come quietly. Didn't expect to catch us napping, did you?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't done nothin'," panted Hawker, who was breathing like a winded +beast.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say you had," was the reply, "but you've been missing for a +few months. Last spring you stopped reporting yourself and went abroad. +We want you for that—nothing else <i>at present</i>."</p> + +<p>The two final words were spoken with an emphasis and significance that +did not escape the prisoner, and brought a desperate look to his face. +He seemed about to show fight, but the next instant a pair of irons were +clapped on his wrists, and he was helpless.</p> + +<p>A brief time was required to search the room, but nothing was found, +for all that Hawker owned was on his person. The bedding was pulled +apart, and the strip of ragged carpet was lifted up. Then the detectives +went downstairs with their prisoner, followed by the indignant and +scandalized Mrs. Miggs. She angrily upbraided Mr. Hawker, who received +her reproaches in sullen silence. Her breath was spent when she slammed +the door shut.</p> + +<p>The affair had been managed quietly, without attracting public +attention, and the street was as lonely and dark as usual. One of the +detectives whistled for a cab, which he had in waiting around the +corner, and just then a man walked quickly by the house, glancing keenly +at the little group as he passed. He slouched carelessly on into the +gloom, but not until he had been recognized by Noah Hawker.</p> + +<p>The cab came up, and the prisoner was bundled into it. He was apparently +very submissive and unconcerned as he sat with manacled hands between +his captors, but when the vehicle rolled into a more populous +neighborhood, the street lamps revealed the expression of burning, +implacable hatred that distorted his face.</p> + +<p>"It was that swell who betrayed me to the police," he thought bitterly. +"I was a fool to trust him. I know his little game, but he'll be badly +mistaken if he expects to find the papers. They'll be safe enough till I +want them again. I'll get square in a way he don't dream of, curse him! +Yes, I'll do it! I'd rather have revenge than money. A few days yet, and +then—"</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked one of the detectives.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," Mr. Hawker replied, in a tone of sarcasm. "I was thinkin' of +a friend of mine, what'll be sorry I was took."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX" ></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>THE VICAR OF DUNWOLD.</h3> + + +<p>At a safe distance Victor Nevill stopped and turned around. When the cab +rolled away, he walked slowly back, looking keenly at the house as he +passed it. His demeanor was calm, but it was only skin deep. He felt +like swearing loudly at everybody and everything. His brain was in a +whirl of rage and fear, sharp anxiety and keen disappointment. He had +recognized Noah Hawker and seen the gleam of steel at his wrists, which +explained the situation as clearly as words could have done.</p> + +<p>"The poor chap has been tracked and arrested," he thought; "possibly for +some past burglary. Our negotiations are ended for the present, confound +the luck! But the papers! By Jove, suppose Hawker had them on his +person! If so, they will be found when he is searched. They will be +opened and examined, and the whole truth will come out. I can't be +sure that Hawker won't give away my part in the affair. I shall be +ruined—nothing short of it! What a luckless devil I am!"</p> + +<p>The iron hand of Nemesis seemed reaching out to grasp Nevill, and he +shuddered as he realized his danger. The rustle of the bank notes in his +breast pocket afforded him a momentary relief as he remembered that they +would give him a fresh start in case he had to flee from England. Then a +sudden thought lightened the gloom still more, and he clutched eagerly +at the ray of hope thus thrown out.</p> + +<p>"Hawker was too shrewd a man to be caught unawares," he reasoned. "He +kept the papers in a secure hiding-place, and he certainly would not +have taken them from it until I came and he saw the color of the money. +Nor is it likely that the police found them, though they must have +searched the place. If they are still in the room, why should I not try +to get possession of them? I could square up with Hawker afterward, when +he recovers his liberty. By Jove, it's worth risking!"</p> + +<p>Nevill walked as far as Peckwater street, debating the question. He did +not hesitate long, for there was too much at stake. He quickly made up +his mind, and retraced his steps to the dingy house from which the +detectives had taken their prisoner. He had planned his course of +procedure when the door opened to his knock, and Mrs. Miggs revealed her +distrustful countenance. Nevill tendered her half a sovereign on the +spot, and asked to see the room lately occupied by Mr. Noah Hawker.</p> + +<p>"It's a private matter," he explained. "Yes, I know that Mr. Hawker has +just been arrested and taken away. District detectives did that—they +were onto him for some breach of the law. I was after him myself, with +a Scotland Yard warrant, but I arrived too late, unfortunately."</p> + +<p>"Then what do you want?" grumbled the woman.</p> + +<p>"I want to search Hawker's room for some papers which I believe he hid +there. If I find them you shall be rewarded."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Miggs relaxed visibly. She had a wholesome respect for the police, +and she did not doubt that Nevill was other than he purported to be—a +Scotland Yard officer. She let him into the hall and closed the door.</p> + +<p>"You can come up," she said ungraciously, "but I don't think there's +anything there."</p> + +<p>She lighted a candle and guided Nevill upstairs. He could scarcely +restrain his excitement as he entered the little room. He glanced keenly +about, noting the half-empty bottle of stout and the dirty glass.</p> + +<p>"Did the police search here?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Of course they did, but they didn't find nothin', 'cause there wasn't +anything to find. 'Awker was as poor as Job!"</p> + +<p>"They examined his person?—his clothes, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, an' all they got was a knife, and a pistol, and some loose silver +and coppers."</p> + +<p>"They didn't discover any papers?"</p> + +<p>"No; I'm sure o' that," asserted Mrs. Miggs. "I can't stand 'ere all +night," she impatiently added.</p> + +<p>Nevill took the hint, and set to work in good spirits. The landlady +watched him scornfully while he hauled the carpet and bedding about, and +examined all the joints of the few articles of furniture. He then +proceeded—there was no fireplace in the room—to tap every part of the +walls, and to try the flooring to see if any boards were loose. But the +walls were solid and untampered with, and the nails in the floor had +clearly not been disturbed for many years. He spent half an hour at his +task, and the result was a barren failure. He realized that it would be +useless to search further. He looked sharply at the landlady, and said, +on a sudden impulse:</p> + +<p>"You knew Mr. Hawker pretty well, I think. Perhaps he asked you to +oblige him by taking care of the papers I am looking for; they could not +possibly be of any advantage to you in the future, and if you have them +I should be glad to buy them from you. I would give as much as—"</p> + +<p>"I only wish I <i>did</i> 'ave them!" interrupted Mrs. Miggs. "I wouldn't +'esitate a minute to turn 'em into money. But I don't know nothin' of +them, sir, an' you see yourself they ain't 'id in this room, an' Mr. +'Awker never put foot in any other part of the 'ouse."</p> + +<p>The woman's expression of disappointment, her manner, satisfied Nevill +that his suspicion was baseless. There was nothing more to be done, so +he gave Mrs. Miggs an additional half-sovereign, cautioned her not to +speak of his visit, and left the house. His last state of mind was worse +than his first, and dread of exposure, tormenting visions of a dreary +and perpetual exile from England, not to speak of more bitter things, +haunted him as he strode moodily toward the lights of the Kentish Town +road.</p> + +<p>"The papers may be in that room, hidden so securely as to baffle any +search," he said to himself, "and if that is the case there is still +hope. But it is more likely that Hawker had them concealed under his +clothing or in his boots. I will know in a day or two—if the police +find them, they will make the matter public. All I can do is to wait. +But the suspense is awful, and I wish it was over."</p> + +<p>The next day was cold, sunny and bracing—more like the end of February +than the end of November. At nine o'clock in the morning Victor Nevill +crawled out of bed after a troubled night; with haggard face and dull +eyes he looked down into Jermyn street, wondering, as he recalled the +events of the previous night, what another day would bring forth.</p> + +<p>At the same hour, or a little later, Jimmie Drexell was at Hastings. +Having to wait some time for another train, he walked through the pretty +town to the sea, and the sight of its glorious beauty—the embodiment of +untrammeled freedom—made him think sadly of poor Jack in a prison cell.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, I'll have him out soon!" he vowed.</p> + +<p>He returned to the station, and was whirled on through the flat, green +country to the charming Sussex village of Pevensey, with its ruined old +castle and rambling street, and the blue line of the Channel flashing in +the distance. His journey did not end here, and he was impatient to +continue it. He procured a horse and trap at the Railway Arms, gleaned +careful instructions from the landlord, and drove back a few miles along +the hedge-lined roads, while the sea faded behind him.</p> + +<p>It was eleven o'clock when he reached the retired little hamlet of +Dunwold. He put up his vehicle at a quaint old inn, and refreshed +himself with a simple lunch. Then he sought the vicarage, hard by the +ancient church with its Norman tower, and, on inquiring for Mr. +Chalfont, he was shown into a sunny library full of books and +Chippendale furniture, with flowers on the deep window-seats and +a litter of papers on the carved oak writing-desk.</p> + +<p>The vicar entered shortly—an elderly gentleman of benevolent aspect and +snowy beard, but sturdy and lithe-limbed for his years, clearly one of +those persons who seemed predestined for the placidity of clerical life. +After a penetrating glance he greeted his visitor most graciously, and +expressed pleasure at seeing him.</p> + +<p>"I am sure that you are a stranger to the neighborhood," he continued. +"Our fine old church draws many such hither. If you wish to go over it, +I can show you many things of interest—"</p> + +<p>"At another time," Jimmie interrupted, "I should be only too delighted. +I regret to say that it is quite a different matter that brings me +here—hardly a pleasant one. This will partly explain, Mr. Chalfont."</p> + +<p>He presented the letter Sir Lucius had given him, and when it had been +opened and read he poured out the whole story of Diane's life and end, +of the charge against Jack Vernon, and the clew that the murdered woman +had revealed to her landlady.</p> + +<p>The vicar rose from his chair, showing traces of deep agitation and +distress.</p> + +<p>"A friend of Sir Lucius Chesney is a friend of mine," he said, hoarsely. +"I shall be glad to help you—to do anything in my power to clear your +friend. I believe that he is innocent. Your sad story has awakened old +memories, Mr. Drexell. And it is a great shock to me, as you will +understand when I tell you all. I seldom read the London papers, and +it comes as a blow and a surprise to me that Diane Merode has been +murdered."</p> + +<p>"Then you know her by that name?" exclaimed Jimmie. "This is indeed +fortunate, Mr. Chalfont. I feared that you would find it difficult to +identify the woman—to recall her. And the man whom she proclaimed as +her enemy—do you know <i>him</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Judge for yourself," replied the vicar, as he sat down and settled back +in his chair. "I will state the facts, distinctly and briefly. That will +not be hard to do. To begin, I have been in this parish for thirty +years, and I am familiar with its history. I remember when Diane +Merode's father came home with his young bride. He was a doctor, with +some small means of his own, and he lived in the second house beyond the +church. His wife was a French girl, well educated and beautiful, and he +met and married her while on a visit to France; his name was George +Hammersley. They settled here in the village, but I do not think that +they lived very happily together. Their one child, christened Diane, +was born two years after the marriage. She inherited her mother's +vivacious disposition and love of the world, and I always felt +misgivings about her future. She spent five years at a school in Paris, +and returned at the age of sixteen. Within less than two years her +parents died within a week of each other, of a malignant fever that +attacked our village. A friend of George Hammersley's took Diane to his +home—it appeared that she had no relatives—and nine months later she +married a man, nearly twenty years her senior, who had fallen +passionately in love with her."</p> + +<p>"By Jove, so she was really married before!" cried Jimmie. "But I beg +your pardon, Mr. Chalfont, for interrupting you."</p> + +<p>"This man, Gilbert Morris, was comparatively well-to-do," resumed the +vicar. "He owned a couple of ships, and when at home he lived in +Dunwold; but he was away the greater part of his time, sailing one or +the other of his vessels to foreign ports. Six months after the marriage +he started on such a voyage, leaving his youthful bride with an old +housekeeper, and just three weeks later Diane disappeared. Every effort +was made to trace her, but in vain, and it was believed that she had +gone to London. Before the end of the winter our village squire returned +from abroad, and declared that he had recognized Diane in Paris, and +that she was a popular dancer under the name of Merode. About the same +time it was reported in the papers that the vessel on which Gilbert +Morris had set sail, the <i>Nautilus</i>, had been lost in a storm, with all +hands on board. There was every reason to credit the report—"</p> + +<p>"But it was not true," exclaimed Jimmie. "I can read as much in your +eyes, Mr. Chalfont. What became of Gilbert Morris?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX" ></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>RUN TO EARTH.</h3> + + +<p>The vicar hesitated for a moment, and then looked his companion straight +in the face.</p> + +<p>"That unhappy man, Gilbert Morris, was spared by the sea," he answered +in a low voice. "The ship was lost, as reported, but he and two of the +crew were picked up by a sailing vessel and carried to South America. +Months elapsed before they were heard of, and Diane had been gone for +a year when Gilbert Morris returned to Dunwold. The news was a terrible +shock to him, for he had loved his wife with all the depth of a fierce +and fiery nature. His affection seemed to turn to rage, and it was +thought best to keep him in ignorance of the fact that Diane had been +seen in Paris. Brain fever prostrated him, and when he recovered +physically from that his mind was affected—in other words, he was +a homicidal lunatic, with a fixed determination to find and kill his +wife."</p> + +<p>"By heavens!" exclaimed Jimmie. "The scent is getting warm! What was +done with the man?"</p> + +<p>"He was sent to a private madhouse in Surrey."</p> + +<p>"And is he there still?"</p> + +<p>"No, he is not," the vicar replied agitatedly. "He succeeded in making +his escape more than a week ago. The matter was hushed up, because it +was hoped that he would come back to Dunwold, and that he could be +quietly captured here. But, in spite of the utmost vigilance, he was +not found or traced; and this very morning I received a letter from +Doctor Bent, the proprietor of the madhouse, stating that he had +furnished the London police with a description of his missing patient."</p> + +<p>"That settles it!" cried Jimmie, jumping up in excitement. "Gilbert +Morris is the man!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I fear he is the murderer," assented the vicar. "But, pray sit +down, Mr. Drexell, and we will talk further of the sad affair. Lunch +will be ready in a few minutes, and I shall be glad to have you—"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, but I can't stop," Jimmie interrupted, as he put on his hat. +"I'm off to town to help the police to find the guilty man."</p> + +<p>"But surely, my dear sir, this is a very hasty conclusion—"</p> + +<p>"Can you doubt for one moment, in your heart, that Gilbert Morris killed +that unfortunate woman?"</p> + +<p>"The circumstances all point that way," admitted Mr. Chalfont. "Yes, it +is a pretty clear case. It is distressing to think that the crime might +have been prevented, had the police been promptly informed of the +madman's escape. But only Doctor Bent and myself were aware of the +fact—excepting the attendants of the institution. As I told you, I knew +nothing of the murder until you informed me, and it was unlikely that +the doctor—though he must have read the papers—should have associated +the deed with Morris; he took charge of the place quite recently, and +could not have been well posted regarding the history of his patient."</p> + +<p>"He ought to be arrested for criminal neglect," Jimmie said, +indignantly. "He is in a measure responsible for the murder. Gilbert +Morris might have been retaken almost at once had the police been +informed at the time of the escape."</p> + +<p>"Just so!" the vicar agreed.</p> + +<p>"I'm off now," continued Jimmie. "I can't thank you enough, Mr. +Chalfont, for the information you have given me. I shall never forget +it, nor will my friend."</p> + +<p>"It was Providence that guided you here," replied the vicar. "His ways +are indeed marvelous. I wish you every success, Mr. Drexell. I trust +that your friend will speedily be at liberty, and if I can be of any +further service, count upon me."</p> + +<p>"I'll do that, sir," Jimmie assured him.</p> + +<p>The next minute he was striding away from the vicarage, and it was a +very perspiring and foam-flecked horse that pulled up outside the +Railway Arms at Pevensey half an hour later. Jimmie jumped out of the +trap, paid the account, and dashed over to the station. His arrival +was timely, for he learned that a through London train was due in ten +minutes. During the interval he found some vent for his impatience in +sending a wire to Sir Lucius Chesney, as follows:</p> + +<p>"Success! Back in town at three o'clock."</p> + +<p>Never had a railway journey seemed so long and tiresome to Jimmie as +that comparatively short one, in a fast train, from Pevensey to London. +He had a book and a newspaper, but he could not read; he smoked like a +furnace, and glared from the window at the flying landscape. He reached +Victoria station at five minutes past three, and just outside the gates +he met Sir Lucius.</p> + +<p>"I barely got here—I was afraid I'd miss you," the latter exclaimed +breathlessly; his face was a more ruddy color than usual. "I have +something to tell you," he went on; "something that happened—"</p> + +<p>"It's a jolly good thing, sir, that I went down to Pevensey," Jimmie +interrupted, as he drew his companion aside to a quieter spot. "You'll +scarcely believe what I have found out. The vicar told me a most amazing +story, and we spotted the murderer at once. He is Diane's real +husband—Jack was never legally married to her—and his name is Gilbert +Morris. He is an escaped lunatic—"</p> + +<p>"Gad, sir, the man is arrested!" gasped Sir Lucius. "He is in custody!"</p> + +<p>"Arrested?" cried Jimmie.</p> + +<p>"Yes; the afternoon papers are full of it. The police, furnished with +a description of the man and other information, apprehended him this +morning early in a Lambeth lodging-house. There were blood-spots on his +clothing, and in his pocket they found a bloodstained knife. He became +violent the moment he was arrested, and raved about his wife Diane, who +had deserted him, and how he had killed her to avenge his honor."</p> + +<p>"That's the man!" said Jimmie. "He's as mad as a March hare. Thank God, +they have got him!"</p> + +<p>"We'll soon have Mr. Vernon out," Sir Lucius replied, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Jimmie told the rest of the story in the privacy of a cab, which drove +the two rapidly from Victoria station to Bedford street, Strand. They +found Mr. Tenby in his office, and had a long interview with him. The +solicitor had read the papers, and when he was put in possession of +the further important facts bearing on the case, he promised to secure +Jack's release as soon as the necessary legal formalities could be +complied with. Moreover, he promised to go to Holloway within the course +of an hour or two, and communicate the good news to the prisoner. Jimmie +was anxious to go with him, but he reluctantly abandoned the project +when the solicitor assured him that it would be most difficult to +arrange.</p> + +<p>"Be patient, gentlemen, and leave the matter in my hands," said Mr. +Tenby. "I think we shall have Mr. Vernon out of Holloway to-morrow, and +without a stain on his character."</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius and Jimmie walked to Morley's and separated. The former went +into the hotel, half resolved to pack up his luggage and take an early +train in the morning to Priory Court; he was tired of London and the +recent excitement he had passed through, and longed for his country +home. But, on second thought, he altered his mind, and concluded to wait +until Jack Vernon was a free man again; he was strangely interested in +the unfortunate young artist, and was as anxious as ever to have a talk +with him on matters of a private nature.</p> + +<p>Jimmie went to his chambers in the Albany, where he removed the dust of +travel and changed his clothes. He did not at once go out to dinner, +though he was exceedingly hungry. He was impulsive and impatient, and he +had conceived a plan whereby he might punish Victor Nevill's perfidy +without a public exposure, and at the same time, he fondly hoped, do +Jack a good turn.</p> + +<p>"It will hardly be safe to wait longer," he reflected, "for all I know +to the contrary, the girl may be married to-morrow. She will be glad to +have her eyes opened—I can't believe that she is in love with that +blackguard. As for Sir Lucius, I would rather face a battery of guns +than tell the dear old chap the shameful story to his face. But it must +be told somehow."</p> + +<p>Jimmie proceeded to carry out his plans. He took Diane's last letter +from its hiding-place, and sitting down to his desk he made two copies +of it, prefacing each with a brief explanation of how the statement had +come into his hands. It was a laborious task, and it kept him busy for +two hours. At nine o'clock he went out to dinner, and on the way to the +Cafe Royal he dropped two bulky letters into a street-box. One was +addressed to "Miss Madge Foster, Strand-on-the-Green, Chiswick, W." The +other to "Sir Lucius Chesney, Morley's Hotel."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the phenomenal November weather +showed no signs of breaking up. The sun shone brightly in Trafalgar +Square, and the people and busses, the hoary old Nelson Column and its +guardian lions, made a picture more Continental than English in its +coloring.</p> + +<p>But to Sir Lucius Chesney the world looked as black as midnight. He +paced the floor of his room, purple of countenance and savage of eye, +letting slip an occasional oath as he glanced at the sheets of Jimmie's +letter scattered over the table. The blow had hit him hard; it had +wounded him in his most tender spot—his family honor. His first +paroxysm of rage had passed, but he could not think calmly. His brain +was on fire with pent-up emotions—shame and indignation, bitter grief +and despair, a sense of everlasting disgrace. One moment he doubted; +the next the damning truth overwhelmed him and defied denial.</p> + +<p>"I can't believe it!" he muttered hoarsely. "It is too terrible! How +blindly I trusted that boy! I heard rumors about him, and turned a deaf +ear to them. I knew he was inclined to be dissolute and extravagant, but +I never dreamed of this! To drag the name of Chesney in the dirt! My +nephew a liar and a traitor, a scoundrel of the blackest dye to a +confiding friend, a seducer, a tout for money-lenders, a consort of +blood-sucking Jews! By heavens, I will confront him and hear the truth +from his own lips! How do I know that this letter is not a forgery? +Perhaps young Drexell never saw it."</p> + +<p>It was a slim ray of hope, but Sir Lucius took some comfort from it. He +put on his hat, took his stick, and marched down stairs. As he passed +through the office, a clerk handed him a letter that had just been +brought in. He waited until he was outside to open it, and with the +utmost amazement he read the contents:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Pentonville Prison.</p> + +<p>"My Dear Sir Lucius—I see by the papers that you are in town +temporarily, so I address you at Morley's instead of Priory Court. A very +curious thing has happened. A few days ago a prisoner who was arrested +for a breach of the police-supervision rules, but who was really wanted +for a much more serious affair, was put in my charge. This man, Noah +Hawker by name, sent for me and made a secret communication. He stated +that in his room in Kentish Town, where he was arrested, he had hidden +some papers of the greatest importance to yourself. He told me how to +find them, and yesterday I got them and brought them here. They are in a +sealed parcel, and the prisoner begs that they shall not be opened except +in your presence, as he wishes to tell you the whole story. So I thought +it best to send for you, and if convenient I should like to see you about +noon to-day. I am posting this early in the morning, and hope you will +receive it in good time.</p> + +<p>"Sincerely your old friend,</p> + +<p>"Major Hugh Wyatt."</p></div> + +<p>"I don't understand it," thought Sir Lucius. "It is certainly most +perplexing. What can it mean? I haven't seen Wyatt for years, but I +remember now that he was appointed Governor of Pentonville some time +ago. But who the deuce is the man Hawker? I never heard the name. Papers +of importance to me? What could they be, and how did the fellow get +them? There must be some mistake. And yet—"</p> + +<p>He read the letter a second time, and it turned his curiosity into a +desire to probe the mystery. He concluded to put off the interview with +his nephew, and see him later in the day. He hailed a cab, and told the +driver to take him to Pentonville.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI" ></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3>NOAH HAWKER'S DISCLOSURE.</h3> + + +<p>True to his word, Mr. Tenby set the machinery of the law in motion as +speedily as possible. About the time when Sir Lucius entered the dreary +prison that lies Islington way, Gilbert Morris was brought to the court +in Great Marlborough street. Jack was present—a warder had driven him +from Holloway—and he promptly identified the prisoner as the man he had +seen coming out of the Beak street house on the night of the murder. +Other evidence was given by the police, and by Doctor Bent, the +proprietor of the Surrey madhouse, and the lunatic was remanded for a +week; he boasted of his crime while in the dock. Then a brief formality +ensued. Mr. Tenby applied for the discharge of his client, and the +magistrate granted it without delay.</p> + +<p>A free man again! The words seemed to ring in Jack's ears as he left the +court, but they meant little to him, so broken was he in spirit, so +ashamed of his unmerited disgrace. Jimmie was waiting for him, and +congratulated him fervently. The two shook hands with the solicitor, and +thanked him for what he had done, and they went quickly off in a cab.</p> + +<p>They drove to the Albany, and Jimmie ordered a lunch to be sent in from +a Piccadilly restaurant. Jack ate listlessly, but a bottle of prime +claret made him slightly more cheerful and brought some color to his +bleached features. He listened to all that Jimmie had to tell him—sat +with stern eyes and compressed lips while the black tale of Victor +Nevill's treachery was recounted. He could not doubt when he had read +the murdered woman's statement; it breathed truth in every word. He +crushed the letter in his hand, as though he wished it had been the +throat of his enemy.</p> + +<p>"Nevill, of all men!" he said, hoarsely. "A creeping serpent, masked as +a friend, who struck in the dark! And he was Diane's seducer! The night +he stole her from me we were drinking together in a <i>brasserie</i> in the +Latin Quarter! And, as if that was not deep enough injury, he brought +her to England, years afterwards, to ruin my new-found happiness. There +was never such perfidy! I was not even aware that he knew Madge, much +less that he loved her. But she surely won't marry him now."</p> + +<p>"No fear!" replied Jimmie. "His retribution has come. I hope you will +pay him with interest, old chap."</p> + +<p>"I should like to confront him," Jack answered, "but it is wiser +not to; my passion would get the better of me. No, his punishment is +sufficient—you have avenged me, Jimmie. Think of what it means! Public +exposure, perhaps, exile from England, and the loss of his uncle's +fortune. He will suffer more keenly than any low-born criminal who goes +to the gallows. I will leave him to his conscience and his God."</p> + +<p>"You are too merciful—too kind-hearted," said Jimmie. "But it is +useless to argue with you. Come, we'll talk of something more cheerful +and forget the past. What are you going to do with yourself? Go back +to the art?"</p> + +<p>"I have no plans," Jack replied, bitterly, "except that I shall get away +from London as speedily as possible. I can't live down my disgrace here. +I shall probably return to India. I have lost faith in human nature, +Jimmie, and learned the mockery of friendship—no, by heavens, I +shouldn't say that! I have found out what true friendship is. I can +never forget what you did for me—how you worked to prove my innocence!"</p> + +<p>"It was a pleasure, old fellow. I would have done a hundred times as +much. But don't talk blooming nonsense about leaving London. Many an +innocent man falls under suspicion—there is not a shadow of disgrace +attached to it. Stay here and work! Go back to your studio! And marry +the woman you love. Why shouldn't you, now that you are free in every +sense? I'll bet anything you like that she cares for you as much as +ever—"</p> + +<p>"Stop; don't speak of <i>her</i>!" cried Jack. "I can't bear it!—the memory +of Madge brings torments! It is too late, too late! She can never be +mine!"</p> + +<p>"That's where you're wrong, old chap," said Jimmie. "I know how you feel +about it, but do listen to reason—"</p> + +<p>He broke off at the sound of a couple of sharp raps, and jumping up +he opened the door. Into the room strode Sir Lucius Chesney, with a +bewildered, agitated look on his face that had been there when he drove +away from Pentonville Prison an hour before, after a lengthy and most +startling interview with Major Wyatt and Noah Hawker.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will excuse my abrupt intrusion," he said quickly. "I went +to Tenby's office, and he told me where you had gone. I have something +very important to say—I will come to it presently. Mr. Vernon, I +congratulate you! No one can rejoice more sincerely than myself that +this black cloud has passed away from your life. You have paid dearly +for your youthful folly—your boyish infatuation with a French dancer."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, sir," said Jack, as he accepted the proffered hand. +"I hear that I owe very much to you."</p> + +<p>"Thank God that I have found you—that I am not left desolate in my old +age!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, to the wonder of his companions. "Prepare +for a great surprise! Your name is not Vernon, but Clare?"</p> + +<p>"John Clare is my real name, sir."</p> + +<p>"And your father was Ralph Vernon Clare?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!"</p> + +<p>"I knew as much—it was needless to ask," replied Sir Lucius, in +tremulous tones; something glistened in his eye. He rested an arm on +Jack's shoulder and looked into his face. "My dear boy, your mother was +my youngest sister," he added. "And you are my nephew!"</p> + +<p>A rush of color dyed Jack's cheeks, and he stared in amazement; he could +not grasp the meaning of what he had just heard.</p> + +<p>"You my uncle, Sir Lucius?" he asked, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Yes, your uncle!"</p> + +<p>"By Jove, another mystery!" gasped Jimmie. "It knocks me breathless! I +don't know what to make of it—it beats the novels that wind up with the +discovery of the lost heir. At all events, Jack, you seem to be in luck. +I'm awfully glad!"</p> + +<p>"I—I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Jack. "I never suspected +anything of the sort, though I remember that my mother rarely spoke of +her early life."</p> + +<p>"That was her secret," replied Sir Lucius, "and she intended that it +should be revealed to you after her death. Read these; they will tell +you all!"</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius produced three papers from his pocket. Jack took them, and +he uttered an exclamation of astonishment as he saw that one was a +certificate of his mother's marriage, and another one of his own birth. +The third paper was a letter of a dozen closely written sheets, in the +dead hand that was so familiar to him. As he read on, his face showed +various emotions.</p> + +<p>"My poor mother, how she suffered!" he said when he had finished the +letter. "It is a strange story, Sir Lucius. So my mother was your +sister, and Victor Nevill was the son of another sister, which makes him +my cousin. My mother knew all these things, and yet she never told me!"</p> + +<p>"She had the family pride," Sir Lucius answered, with a sigh. "As for +Victor Nevill, I regret that the blood of the Chesneys runs in his +veins. But he is no longer any kin of mine—I disown him and cast him +out. The letter does not speak so harshly of me as I deserve. Your +mother, Mary, was my youngest and favorite sister—I loved her the more +because my wife had died childless soon after my marriage. I got a +clever young artist, Ralph Clare, down to Priory Court to paint Mary's +portrait, little foreseeing what would happen. She fell in love with +him, and fled to become his wife. It was a blow to my family pride, and +my anger was stronger than my grief. I vowed that I would never forgive +her, and when she wrote to me—once a short time after her flight, and +again ten years later—I returned her letters unopened. Her elder sister +was as obdurate as myself, and refused to have anything to do with her. +After the death of Elizabeth—that was Victor Nevill's mother—I began +to feel that I had been too harsh with Mary. My remorse grew, giving me +no rest, until recently I determined to find her. But I might never +have succeeded had not mere chance helped me. I was struck by your +resemblance to Mary when I first met you in Lamb and Drummond's shop—"</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment, struggling with emotion.</p> + +<p>"My boy, believe that I am truly repentant," he added. "I have no kith +or kin left but you—you alone can fill the empty void in my heart. You +must reign some day at Priory Court. Will you forgive me, as your mother +did at the last?"</p> + +<p>For an instant Jack hesitated. He remembered the sad story he had +just read—the story of his father's illness and death, his mother's +subsequent privations, and the grief caused by her brother's cruel +conduct, which continued to cloud her life after a distant relative +bequeathed to her a comfortable legacy. Then he recalled the last words +of the letter, and his face softened.</p> + +<p>"I forgive you freely, Sir Lucius," he said. "My mother wished me to +bear you no malice, and I cannot disregard that."</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my boy," replied Sir Lucius. "You have made me very +happy."</p> + +<p>"Come, cheer up!" put in Jimmie. "This is an occasion for rejoicing. I +have a bottle of champagne, and we'll drink it to the health of the new +heir."</p> + +<p>The wine was produced and opened, and Jack responded to the toast.</p> + +<p>"There is one thing that puzzles me, Sir Lucius," he said. "How did +these papers come into your hands? They could not have been among my +mother's effects."</p> + +<p>"Are you aware," replied Sir Lucius, "that on the night after your +mother's death her house in Bayswater was broken into by a burglar?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I remember that."</p> + +<p>"Well, the burglar carried off, among other things that were of little +value, this packet of papers. He concealed them at his lodgings in +Kentish Town, and he chose a curious and ingenious hiding-place—a +recess behind a loose brick in the wall of the house, just below his +window. Shortly afterward the rascal—his name was Noah Hawker—was +caught at another crime, and sent to penal servitude for a term of +years. On his release last spring, on ticket-of-leave, he went abroad, +and when he returned to England several weeks ago he resurrected the +papers from their place of security, studied them, and saw an +opportunity for gain. He knew that they concerned three persons—you, +Victor Nevill and myself—and he was cunning enough to start with +Victor. He hunted him up and offered to sell the papers for a thousand +pounds. My nephew agreed to buy them, intending to destroy them and thus +retain his position as my sole heir—"</p> + +<p>"Then Nevill knew who I was?" exclaimed Jack.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he knew recently," Sir Lucius replied. "I must break off to tell +you that while I was abroad this summer, Victor promised, at my request, +to try to trace your mother; but I am thoroughly convinced now that he +made no effort whatever, and that he lied to me basely, with the hope of +making me believe that the task was impossible. To proceed, the man +Hawker was traced by the police, and arrested while awaiting the arrival +of my nephew to complete the sale of the papers. He believed that Victor +had betrayed him, and he determined to be revenged. So he confided in +the Governor of Pentonville Prison, who went to the house in Kentish +Town and found the papers. Then, at the prisoner's earnest request, he +sent for me this morning. I went to Pentonville and Hawker told me the +whole story and gave me the papers. By the way, he knows you, my boy, +and declares that you did him a kindness not long ago. It was at a +night-club, I think, and you bandaged a wound on his head."</p> + +<p>"I remember!" exclaimed Jack. "By Jove, was that the man?"</p> + +<p>"The fellow <i>must</i> have been intent on revenge," said Jimmie, "to +incriminate himself so deeply."</p> + +<p>"That can't make much difference to Hawker, and he knows it," Sir Lucius +replied. "It seems that he was really wanted for something more serious +than failing to report himself to the police. In fact, as you will be +surprised to learn, he is said to be mixed up in the robbery of the +Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond. His pal was arrested in Belgium, and +has confessed. Hawker is aware that there is a clear case against him, +and I understand that he has made some sensational disclosures. I heard +this from the Governor of Pentonville, who happens to be an old friend of +mine. He hinted that the matter was likely to be made public in a day or +two."</p> + +<p>"Meaning the theft of the real Rembrandt," said Jack. "I don't suppose +it will throw any light on the mystery of the duplicate one."</p> + +<p>"It may," replied Sir Lucius; and he spoke more truly than he thought. +Major Wyatt had been too discreet to tell all that he knew.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII" ></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW THE DAY ENDED.</h3> + + +<p>It was a day of strange events and sudden surprises. To Jack the +propitious fates gave freedom and a relative whose existence he had +never even suspected before; to Sir Lucius Chesney they brought a fresh +interest in life, a nephew whom he was prepared to take to his heart. +Let us see how certain others, closely connected with our story, fared +before the day was ended.</p> + +<p>Victor Nevill spent the afternoon at one of his clubs, where he won +pretty heavily at cards and drank rather more brandy than he was +accustomed to take. Feeling consequently in good spirits, he determined +to carry out a plan that he had been pondering for some time. He left +the club at six o'clock, and an hour later a cab put him down at the +lower end of Strand-on-the-Green. Mrs. Sedgewick admitted him to Stephen +Foster's house. The master had not returned from town, she said, but +Miss Foster was at home. Nevill asked to see her, and was shown into the +drawing-room, where a couple of red-shaded lamps were burning. He was +too restless to sit down, and, sauntering to the window, he drew aside +the curtains and looked out at the river, with the lights from the +railway bridge reflected on its dark surface.</p> + +<p>"There is no reason why I shouldn't do it—no reason why I should fear +a refusal on her part," he thought. "The clouds have blown over. Noah +Hawker's silence can be explained only in one way. The papers are hidden +where he is certain that they cannot be found, and no doubt he intends +to let the matter rest until he gets out of jail. As for Jack, it is not +likely that he will ever learn the truth or cross my path again. The +grave tells no secrets. I hope he will leave England when he is released. +That will probably be to-day, since the real murderer has been found."</p> + +<p>He turned away from the window, and smiled complacently as he dropped +into a big chair.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will do it," he resolved. "I shall ask Madge to marry me within +a fortnight or three weeks, and we will go down to Nice or Monte +Carlo—I'll risk taking half of that thousand pounds. I dare say my +uncle will be a bit cut up when he hears the news; but I won't tell him +for a time, and after he sees my wife he will be only too eager to +congratulate me. Any man might be proud of such—"</p> + +<p>Soft footsteps interrupted his musing, and the next instant the door +opened. Madge entered the room, holding in one white hand a crumpled +letter. She wore a gown of lustrous rose-colored material, with filmy +lace on the throat and bosom, and her splendid hair strayed coyly over +her neck and temples. She had never looked more dazzlingly lovely, +Nevill thought, and yet—</p> + +<p>He rose quickly from the chair, and then the words of greeting died on +his lips. He recoiled like a man who sees a ghost, and a sharp and +sudden fear stabbed him. In Madge's face, in her flushed cheeks and +blazing, scornful eyes, he read the signs of a woman roused to supremest +anger.</p> + +<p>"How dared you come?" she cried, in a voice that he seemed never to have +heard before. "How dared you? Have you no shame, no conscience? Go! Go!"</p> + +<p>"Madge! What has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Not that name from you! I forbid it; it dishonors me!"</p> + +<p>"I will speak! What does this farce mean?"</p> + +<p>"Need you ask? I know all, Victor Nevill! I know that you are a liar +and a traitor—that you are everything wicked and vile, infamous and +cowardly! Heaven has revealed the truth! I know that Diane Merode was +never Jack's wife! It was you, his trusted friend, who stole her from +him in Paris six years ago! You, who found her in London last spring, +and persuaded her to play the false and wicked part that crushed the +happiness out of two lives! That is not all; but it would be useless +to recount the rest of your dastardly deeds. Oh, how I despise and hate +you! Your presence is an insult—it is loathsome! Go! Leave me!"</p> + +<p>Nevill had listened to this tirade with a madly throbbing heart, and a +countenance that was almost livid. He was stunned and bewildered; he did +not understand how it was possible for detection to have overtaken him. +His first impulse was to brazen the thing out, on the chance that the +girl's accusations were prompted more by surmise than knowledge.</p> + +<p>"It is false!" he cried, striving to compose himself. "You will be sorry +for what you have said. Has John Vernon told you these lies?"</p> + +<p>"I have not seen him; he probably knows nothing as yet. But he <i>will</i> +learn all, and if you are within his reach—"</p> + +<p>"This is ridiculous nonsense," Nevill hoarsely interrupted. "It is the +work of an enemy. Some one has been poisoning your mind against me. Who +is my accuser?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Diane Merode!</i>" cried Madge, hissing the words from her clenched +teeth. "She accuses you from the grave! Here! Take this and read it—it +is a copy of the original. And then deny the truth if you dare!"</p> + +<p>Nevill clutched the proffered letter—the girl did not give him Jimmie's +extra enclosure. He read quickly, merely scanning the written pages, and +yet grasping their fateful import. He must have been more than human to +hide his consternation. The blow fell like a thunderbolt: betrayal had +come from the quarter whence he would have least expected it—from the +grave. His lips quivered uncontrollably. The pages dropped to the floor.</p> + +<p>"<i>Now</i> do you deny it?" Madge demanded. "Answer, and go!"</p> + +<p>"I deny everything," he snarled hoarsely. "It is a forgery—a tissue of +lies! Believe me, Madge! Don't spurn me! Don't cast me off! I will prove +to you—"</p> + +<p>"I say go!"</p> + +<p>The girl's voice was as hard and cold as steel. She pointed to the door +as Nevill made a step toward her. Her ravishing beauty, lost to him +forever, maddened him. For an instant he was tempted to fly at her +throat and bruise its loveliness. But just then a bell pealed loudly +through the house. The front door was heard to open, and voices mingled +with rapid steps. An elderly man burst unceremoniously into the room, +and Nevill recognized Stephen Foster's clerk and shop assistant. Bad +news was stamped on his agitated face.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Hawkins?" Madge asked, breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how can I tell you, Miss Foster? It is terrible! Your father—"</p> + +<p>"What of him?"</p> + +<p>"He is dead! He shot himself in his office an hour ago. The police—"</p> + +<p>The girl's cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble. She gave one cry +of anguish, reeled, and fell unconscious to the floor. Mrs. Sedgewick +rushed in, wringing her hands and wailing hysterically.</p> + +<p>"See to your young mistress—she has fainted," Nevill said, hoarsely. +"Fetch cold water at once."</p> + +<p>He looked once at Madge's pale and lovely face—he felt that it was +for the last time—and then he took Hawkins by the arm and pulled him +half-forcibly into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Tell me everything," he whispered, excitedly. "What has happened?"</p> + +<p>"There isn't much to tell, Mr. Nevill," the man replied. "Two Scotland +Yard men came to the shop at five o'clock. They arrested my employer for +stealing that Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond, and they found the +picture in the safe. Mr. Foster asked permission to make a statement in +writing—he took things coolly:—and they let him do it. He wrote for +half an hour, and then, before the police could stop him, he snatched +a pistol from a drawer and shot himself through the head. I was so +flustered I hardly knew what I was doing, but I thought first of Miss +Madge, whom I knew from often bringing messages and parcels to the +house—"</p> + +<p>"The statement? What was in it?" Nevill interrupted.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Then I must find out! I am off to town—I can't stop! You will be +needed here, Hawkins. Do all that you can for Miss Foster."</p> + +<p>With those words, spoken incoherently, Nevill jammed on his hat and +hurried from the house. He turned instinctively toward Grove Park, +remembering that the nearest railway station was there. He was haunted +by a terrible fear as he traversed the dark streets with an unsteady +gait. Worse than ruin threatened him. He shuddered at the thought of +arrest and punishment. He could not doubt that Stephen Foster had +written a full confession.</p> + +<p>"He would do it out of revenge—I put the screws on him too often!" he +reflected. "I <i>must</i> get to my rooms before the police come; all my +money is there. And I must cross the Channel to-night!"</p> + +<p>All the past rose before him, and he cursed himself for his blind +follies. He just missed a train at Chiswick station, and in desperation +he took a cab to Gunnersbury and caught a Mansion House train. He got +out at St. James' Park, and pulling his coat collar up he hastened +across to Pall Mall. He chose the shortest cut to Jermyn street, and on +the north side of St. James' Square, in the shadow of the railings, he +suddenly encountered the last man he could have wished to meet.</p> + +<p>"My God, my uncle!" he cried, staggering back.</p> + +<p>"You!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, in a voice half-choked by anger. "Stop, you +can't go to your rooms—the police are there. What do they want with +you?"</p> + +<p>"You will find out in the morning," Nevill huskily replied; he reeled +against the railings.</p> + +<p>"It can't be much worse—I know all about your dastardly conduct!" +said Sir Lucius. "Hawker has given me the papers, and I have found +poor Mary's son—the friend you betrayed. But there is no time for +reproaches, nor could anything I might say add to your punishment. If +you have a spark of conscience or shame left, spare me the further +disgrace of reading of your arrest in the papers. Get out of England—"</p> + +<p>"My money is in my rooms!" gasped Nevill. "I can't escape unless you +help me!"</p> + +<p>Sir Lucius took a handful of notes and gold from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Here are a hundred pounds—all I have with me," he said. "It will be +more than sufficient. Don't lose a moment! Go to Dover, and cross by the +night boat. And never let me see you or hear from you again! I disown +you—you are no nephew of mine! Do you understand? You have ruined your +life beyond redemption—you can't do better than finish it with a +bullet!"</p> + +<p>Nevill had no words to reply. He seized the money with a trembling hand, +and crammed it into his pocket. Then he slunk away into the darkness and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>On the following day a new sensation thrilled the public, and it may be +imagined with what surprise Sir Lucius Chesney and Jack Vernon—who had +especial cause to be interested in the revelation—read the papers. The +story was complete, for Mr. Shadrach, the Jew who managed business for +the firm of Benjamin and Company, took fright and made a full confession. +The <i>Globe</i>, after treating at length of the arrest and subsequent +suicide of Stephen Foster, continued its account as follows:</p> + +<p>"The history of the two Rembrandts forms one of the most curious and +unique episodes in criminal annals, and not the least remarkable feature +of the story is the manner in which it is pieced together by the +statement of Stephen Foster and the confession of Noah Hawker. When Lamb +and Drummond purchased the original Rembrandt from the collection of the +late Martin Von Whele, and exhibited it in London, Stephen Foster and +his confederate, Victor Nevill, laid clever plans to steal the picture. +They knew that a duplicate Rembrandt, an admirable copy, was in the +possession of Mr. John Vernon, the well-known artist, who was lately +accused wrongfully of murder. By a cunning ruse Foster stole the +duplicate, and on the night of the robbery he exchanged it for the real +picture, while Nevill engaged the watchman in conversation in the Crown +Court public-house. But two other men, Noah Hawker and a companion +called the Spider, had designs on the same picture. Hawker, while +prowling about, saw Stephen Foster emerge from Crown Court, but thought +nothing of that circumstance until long afterward. So he and the Spider +stole the false Rembrandt which Foster had substituted, believing it to +be the real one.</p> + +<p>"Hawker and his companion went abroad, and when they tried to dispose of +their prize in Munich they learned that it was of little value. They +sold it, however, for a trifling sum, and the dealer who bought it +disposed of it as an original to Sir Lucius Chesney. On his return to +England, hearing for the first time of the robbery, Sir Lucius took the +painting to Lamb and Drummond and discovered how he had been tricked. +Meanwhile Hawker and his companion quarreled and separated. Both had +been under suspicion since a short time after the theft of the +Rembrandt, and when the Spider was arrested in Belgium, for a crime +committed in that country, he made some statements in regard to the Lamb +and Drummond affair. Hawker, coming back to London, fell into the hands +of the police. He had before this suspected Stephen Foster's crime, and +when he found how strong the case was against himself, he told all that +he knew. Scotland Yard took the matter up, and quickly discovered more +evidence, which warranted them in arresting Foster yesterday. They found +the original Rembrandt in his safe, and the unfortunate man, after +writing a complete confession, committed suicide. His fellow-criminal, +Victor Nevill, must have received timely warning. The police have not +succeeded in apprehending him, and it is believed that he crossed to the +Continent last night."</p> + +<p>It was not until the middle of the day that the papers printed the +complete story. Sir Lucius and Jack had a long talk about that and +other matters, and in the afternoon they went together to the house at +Strand-on-the-Green, and left messages of sympathy for Miss Foster; she +was too prostrated to see any person, Mrs. Sedgewick informed them. +Three days later, after the burial of Stephen Foster, Jack returned +alone. He found the house closed, and a neighbor told him that Madge +and Mrs. Sedgewick had gone away and left no address.</p> + +<p>It was a bitter disappointment, and it proved the last straw to the +burden of Jack's troubles. For a week he tried vainly to trace the girl, +and then, at the earnest request of Sir Lucius, he went down to Priory +Court. There fever gripped him, and he fell seriously ill.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII" ></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> + + +<p>For weeks Jack hovered between life and death, and when the crisis was +finally passed, and he found himself well on the road to convalescence, +the new year was a month old. His first thoughts were of Madge, whose +disappearance was still a mystery; he learned this from Jimmie, who came +down to Priory Court more than once to see his friend. He had decided to +spend the winter in England, and since Jack's illness he had been trying +to find the girl.</p> + +<p>By medical advice the patient was sent off to Torquay, in Devonshire, to +recuperate, and Sir Lucius, who was anxious to restore his nephew to +perfect health again, accompanied him. Jimmie remained in London, +determined to prosecute his search for Madge more vigorously than ever. +Sir Lucius, who, of course, knew the whole story, himself begged Jimmie +to spare no pains.</p> + +<p>In the mild climate of Devon the days dragged along monotonously, and +Jimmie's letters spoke only of failure. But Jack grew stronger and +stouter, and in looks, at least, he was quite like his old self, with a +fine bronze on his cheeks, when he returned with Sir Lucius to Priory +Court in March. It was the close of the month, and many a nine days' +wonder had replaced in the public interest the tragic death of Stephen +Foster, the exposure of Benjamin and Company's nefarious transactions, +and the solved mystery of the two Rembrandts. The world easily forgets, +but not so with the actors concerned.</p> + +<p>Jack had been at Priory Court two days, and was expecting a visit from +Jimmie, when the latter wired to him to come up to town at once if he +was able. Sir Lucius was not at home; he was riding over some distant +property he had recently bought. So Jack left a note for him, drove to +the station, and caught a London train. He reached Victoria station at +noon, and the cab that whirled him to the Albany seemed to crawl. Jimmie +greeted him gladly, with a ring of deep emotion in his mellow voice.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, old fellow," he cried, "you are looking splendidly fit!"</p> + +<p>"Have you succeeded?" Jack demanded, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have found her," Jimmie replied. "It was by a mere fluke. I went +to a solicitor on some business, and it turned out that he was acting +for Miss Foster—you see her father left a good bit of money. He was +close-mouthed at first, but when I partly explained how matters stood, +he told me that the girl and her old servant, Mrs. Sedgewick, went off +to a quiet place in the country—"</p> + +<p>"And he gave you the address?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; here it is!"</p> + +<p>Jack took the piece of paper, and when he glanced at it his face +flushed. He wrung his friend's hand silently, looking the gratitude that +he could not utter, and then he made a bolt for the door.</p> + +<p>"I'm off," he said, hoarsely. "God bless you, Jimmie—I'll never forget +this!"</p> + +<p>"Sure you feel fit enough?"</p> + +<p>"Quite; don't worry about that."</p> + +<p>"Well, good luck to you, old man!"</p> + +<p>Jack shouted good-by, and made for Piccadilly. He sprang into the first +cab that came along, and he reached Waterloo just in time to catch a +Shepperton train. He longed to be at his destination, and alternate +hopes and fears beset him, as he watched the landscape flit by. He drew +a deep breath when he found himself on the platform of the rustic little +station. It was a beautiful spring-like day, warm and sunny, with birds +making merry song and the air sweet and fragrant. He started off at a +rapid pace along the hedge-bordered road, and, traversing the length of +the quaint old village street, he stopped finally at a cottage on the +farther outskirts. It was a pretty, retired place, lying near the +ancient church-tower, and isolated by a walled garden full of trees and +shrubbery.</p> + +<p>Jack's heart was beating wildly as he opened the gate. He walked up the +graveled path, between the rows of tall green boxwood, and suddenly a +vision rose before him. It was Madge herself, as lovely and fair as the +springtime, in a white frock with a pathetic touch of black at the +throat and waist. She approached slowly, then lifted her eyes and saw +him. And on the mad impulse of the moment he sprang forward and seized +her. He held her tight against his heart, as though he intended never to +release her.</p> + +<p>"At last, darling!" he whispered passionately. "At last I have found +you! Cruel one, why did you hide so long? Can you forgive me, Madge? Can +you bring back the past?—the happiness that was yours and mine in the +old days?"</p> + +<p>At first the girl lay mutely in his arms, quivering like a fragile +flower with emotions that he could not read. Then she tried to break +from his embrace, looking at him with a flushed and tear-stained face.</p> + +<p>"Let me go!" she pleaded. "Oh, Jack, why did you come? It was wrong of +you! I have tried to forget—you know that the past is dead!"</p> + +<p>"Hush! I love you, Madge, with a love that can never die. I won't lose +you again. Be merciful! Don't send me away! Is the shadow of the +past—the heavy punishment that fell upon me for boyish follies—to +blast your life and mine? Have I not suffered enough?"</p> + +<p>The girl slipped from his arms and confronted him sadly.</p> + +<p>"It is not that," she said. "I am unworthy of you, Jack. What is your +disgrace to mine? Would you marry the daughter of a man who—"</p> + +<p>"Are you to blame for your father's sins?" Jack interrupted. "Let the +dead rest! He would have wished you to be happy. You are mine, mine! +Nothing shall part us, unless—But I won't believe that. Tell me, Madge, +that you love me—that your feelings have not changed."</p> + +<p>"I do love you, Jack, with all my heart, but—"</p> + +<p>He stopped her lips with a kiss, and drew her to his arms again.</p> + +<p>"There is no but," he whispered. "The shadows are gone, and the world is +bright. Dearest, you will be my wife?"</p> + +<p>He read his answer in her eloquent eyes, in the passion of the lips that +met his. A joy too deep for words filled his heart, and he felt himself +amply compensated for all that he had suffered.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The marriage took place in June, at old Shepperton church, and Jimmie +was best man. Sir Lucius Chesney witnessed the quiet ceremony, and then +considerately went off to Paris for a fortnight, while the happy pair +traveled down to Priory Court, to spend their honeymoon in the ancestral +mansion that would some day be their own. And, later, Jack took his wife +abroad, intending to do the Continent thoroughly before buckling down +in London to his art; he could not be persuaded to relinquish that, in +spite of the sad memories that attached to it.</p> + +<p>Jimmie took a sudden longing for his native heath, and returned to New +York; but it is more than likely that he will spend a part of each year +in England, as so many Americans are eager to do. Madge does not forget +her father, unworthy though he was of such a daughter; and to Jack the +memory of Diane is untempered by bitter feelings; for he knows that she +repented at the last. The Honorable Bertie Raven has learned his hard +lesson, and his present conduct gives reasonable assurance that he will +run a straight course in the future, thanks to the friend who saved him. +Noah Hawker is doing five years "hard," and Victor Nevill is an outcast +and an exile in Australia, eking out a wretched existence on a small +income that Sir Lucius kindly allows him.</p> + +<p>As for the two Rembrandts, the original, of course, reverted to Lamb and +Drummond. The duplicate hangs in the gallery at Priory Court, and Sir +Lucius prizes it highly because it was the main link in the chain of +circumstances that gave him a nephew worthy of his honored name.</p> + + +<p>THE END.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's In Friendship's Guise, by Wm. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: In Friendship's Guise + +Author: Wm. Murray Graydon + +Release Date: May 31, 2005 [EBook #15965] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN FRIENDSHIP'S GUISE *** + + + + +Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + In Friendship's Guise + + BY WM. MURRAY GRAYDON + + AUTHOR OF "The Cryptogram," etc. + + 1899 + + + + +CONTENTS. + +CHAPTER. + + I.--The Duplicate Rembrandt + + II.--Five Years Afterwards + + III.--An Old Friend + + IV.--Number 320 Wardour Street + + V.--A Mysterious Discussion + + VI.--A Visitor from Paris + + VII.--Love's Young Dream + + VIII.--An Attraction in Pall Mall + + IX.--Uncle and Nephew + + X.--A London Sensation + + XI.--A Mysterious Discovery + + XII.--A Cowardly Communication + + XIII.--The Tempter + + XIV.--The Dinner at Richmond + + XV.--From the Dead + + XVI.--The Last Card + + XVII.--Two Passengers from Calais + + XVIII.--Home Again + + XIX.--A Shock for Sir Lucius + + XX.--At a Night Club + + XXI.--A Quick Decision + + XXII.--Another Chance + + XXIII.--On the Track + + XXIV.--A Fateful Decision + + XXV.--A Fruitless Errand + + XXVI.--A Thunderbolt from the Blue + + XXVII.--An Amateur Detective + + XXVIII.--A Discovery + + XXIX.--The Vicar of Dunwold + + XXX.--Run to Earth + + XXXI.--Noah Hawker's Disclosure + + XXXII.--How the Day Ended + + XXXIII.--Conclusion + + + + +IN FRIENDSHIP'S GUISE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE DUPLICATE REMBRANDT. + + +The day began well. The breakfast rolls were crisper than usual, the +butter was sweeter, and never had Diane's slender white hands poured out +more delicious coffee. Jack Clare was in the highest spirits as he +embraced his wife and sallied forth into the Boulevard St. Germain, with +a flat, square parcel wrapped in brown paper under his arm. From the +window of the entresol Diane waved a coquettish farewell. + +"Remember, in an hour," she called down to him. "I shall be ready by +then, Jack, and waiting. We will lunch at Bignon's--" + +"And drive in the Bois, and wind up with a jolly evening," he +interrupted, throwing a kiss. "I will hasten back, dear one. Be sure +that you put on your prettiest frock, and the jacket with the ermine +trimming." + +It was a clear and frosty January morning, in the year 1892, and the +streets of Paris were dry and glistening. There was intoxication in the +very air, and Jack felt thoroughly in harmony with the fine weather. +What mattered it that he had but a few francs in his pocket--that the +quarterly remittance from his mother, who dreaded the Channel passage +and was devoted to her foggy London, would not be due for a fortnight? +The parcel under his arm meant, without doubt, a check for a nice sum. +He and Diane would spend it merrily, and until the morrow at least his +fellow-workers at Julian's Academy would miss him from his accustomed +place. + +Bright-eyed grisettes flung coy looks at the young artist as he strode +along, admiring his well-knit figure, his handsome boyish features +chiseled as finely as a cameo, the crisp brown hair with a slight +tendency to curl, his velvet jacket and flowing tie. Jack nodded and +smiled at a familiar face now and then, or paused briefly to greet a +male acquaintance; for the Latin Quarter had been his little world for +three years, and he was well-known in it from the Boulevard St. Michel +to the quays of the Seine. He snapped his fingers at a mounted +cuirassier in scarlet and silver who galloped by him on the Point Royal, +and whistled a few bars of "The British Grenadiers" as he passed the +red-trowsered, meek-faced, under-sized soldiers who shouldered their +heavy muskets in the courts of the Louvre. The memory of Diane's +laughing countenance, as she leaned from the window, haunted him in the +Avenue de l'Opera. + +"She's a good little girl, except when she's in a temper," he said to +himself, "and I love her every bit as much as I did when we were married +a year ago. Perhaps I was a fool, but I don't regret it. She was as +straight as a die, with a will of her own, and it was either lose her +altogether or do the right thing. I couldn't bear to part with her, and +I wasn't blackguard enough to try to deceive her. I'm afraid there will +be a row some day, though, when the Mater learns the truth. What would +she say if she knew that Diane Merode, one of the most popular and +fascinating dancers of the Folies Bergere, was now Mrs. John Clare?" + +It was not a cheerful thought, but Jack's momentary depression vanished +as he stopped before the imposing facade of the Hotel Netherlands, in +the vicinity of the Opera. He entered boldly and inquired for Monsieur +Martin Von Whele. The gentleman was gone, a polite garcon explained. He +had received a telegram during the night to say that his wife was very +ill, and he had left Paris by the first train. + +The happiness faded from Jack's eyes. + +"Gone--gone back to Amsterdam?" he exclaimed incredulously. + +"Yes, to his own country, monsieur." + +"And he left no message for me--no letter?" + +"Indeed, no, monsieur; he departed in great haste." + +An appeal to a superior official of the hotel met with the same +response, and Jack turned away. He wandered slowly down the gay street, +the parcel hanging listlessly under his left arm, and his right hand +jingling the few coins in his pocket. His journey over the river, begun +so hopefully, had ended in a bitter disappointment. + +Martin Von Whele was a retired merchant, a rich native of Amsterdam, and +his private collection of paintings was well known throughout Europe. He +had come to Paris a month before to attend a private sale, and had there +purchased, at a bargain, an exceedingly fine Rembrandt that had but +recently been unearthed from a hiding-place of centuries. He determined +to have a copy made for his country house in Holland, and chance brought +him in contact with Jack Clare, who at the time was reproducing for an +art patron a landscape in the Luxembourg Gallery--a sort of thing that +he was not too proud to undertake when he was getting short of money. +Monsieur Von Whele liked the young Englishman's work and came to an +agreement with him. Jack copied the Rembrandt at the Hotel Netherlands, +going there at odd hours, and made a perfect duplicate of it--a +dangerous one, as the Hollander laughingly suggested. Jack applied the +finishing touches at his studio, and artfully gave the canvas an +appearance of age. He was to receive the promised payment when he +delivered the painting at the Hotel Netherlands, and he had confidently +expected it. But, as has been seen, Martin Von Whele had gone home in +haste, leaving no letter or message. For the present there was no +likelihood of getting a cheque from him. + +The brightness of the day aggravated Jack's disappointment as he walked +back to the little street just off the Boulevard St. Germain. He tried +to look cheerful as he mounted the stairs and threw the duplicate +Rembrandt into a corner of the studio, behind a stack of unfinished +sketches. Diane entered from the bedroom, ravishingly dressed for the +street in a costume that well set off her perfect figure. She was a +picture of beauty with her ivory complexion, her mass of dark brown +hair, and the wonderfully large and deep eyes that had been one of her +chief charms at the Folies Bergere. + +"Good boy!" she cried. "You did not keep me waiting long. But you look +as glum as a bear. What is the matter?" + +Jack explained briefly, in an appealing voice. + +"I'm awfully sorry for your sake, dear," he added. "We are down to our +last twenty-franc piece, but in another fortnight--" + +"Then you won't take me?" + +"How can I? Don't be unreasonable." + +"You promised, Jack. And see, I am all ready. I won't stay at home!" + +"Is it my fault, Diane? Can I help it that Von Whele has left Paris?" + +"You can help it that you have no money. Oh, I wish I had not given up +the stage!" + +Diane stamped one little foot, and angry tears rose to her eyes. She +tore off her hat and jacket and dashed them to the floor. She threw +herself on a couch. + +"You deceived me!" she cried bitterly. "You promised that I should want +for nothing--that you would always have plenty of money. And this is how +you keep your word! You are selfish, unkind! I hate you!" + +She continued to reproach him, growing more and more angry. Words of +the lowest Parisian argot, picked up from her companions of the Folies +Bergere, fell from her lovely lips--words that brought a blush of shame, +a look of horror and repulsion, to Jack's face. + +"Diane," he said pleadingly, as he bent over the couch. + +Her mood changed as quickly, and she suddenly clasped her arms around +his neck. + +"Forgive me, Jack," she whispered. + +"I always do," he sighed. + +"And, please, please get some money--now." + +"You know that I can't." + +"Yes, you can. You have lots of friends--they won't refuse you." + +"But I hate to ask them. Of course, Jimmie Drexell would gladly loan me +a few pounds--" + +"Then go to him," pleaded Diane, as she hung on his neck and stopped his +protests with a shower of kisses. "Go and get the money, Jack, dear--you +can pay it back when your remittance comes. And we will have such a +jolly day! I am sure you don't want to work." + +Jack hesitated, and finally gave in; it was hard for him to resist a +woman's tears and entreaties--least of all when that woman was his +fascinating little wife. A moment later he was in the street, walking +rapidly toward the studio of his American friend and fellow-artist, +Jimmie Drexell. + +"How Diane twists me around her finger!" he reflected ruefully. "I hate +these rows, and they have been more frequent of late. When she is in a +temper, and lets loose with her tongue, she is utterly repulsive. But I +forget everything when she melts into tears, and then I am her willing +slave again. I wonder sometimes if she truly loves me, or if her +affection depends on plenty of money and pleasure. Hang it all! Why +is a man ever fool enough to get married?" + + * * * * * + +On a corner of the Boulevard St. Michel and a cross street there is a +brasserie beloved of artists and art students, and slightly more popular +with them than similar institutions of the same ilk in the Latin +Quarter. Here, one hazy October evening, nine months after Mr. Von +Whele's hurried departure from Paris, might have been found Jack Clare. +Tete-a-tete with him, across the little marble-topped table, was his +friend Victor Nevill, whom he had known in earlier days in England, and +whose acquaintance he had recently renewed in gay Paris. Nevill was an +Oxford graduate, and a wild and dissipated young man of Jack's age; he +was handsome and patrician-looking, a hail-fellow-well-met and a +favorite with women, but a close observer of character would have +proclaimed him to be selfish and heartless. He had lately come into +a large sum of money, and was spending it recklessly. + +The long, low-ceilinged room was dim with tobacco smoke, noisy with +ribald jests and laughter. Here and there the waitresses, girls +coquettishly dressed, tripped with bottles and syphons, foaming bocks, +and glasses of brandy or liqueurs. The customers of the brasserie were +a mixed lot of women and men, the latter comprising' numerous +nationalities, and all drawn to Paris by the wiles of the Goddess of +Art. Topical songs of the day succeeded one another rapidly. A group of +long-haired, polyglot students hung around the piano, while others +played on violins or guitars, which they had brought to contribute to +the evening's enjoyment. At intervals, when there was a lull, the click +of billiard balls came from an adjoining apartment. Out on the +boulevard, under the glaring lights, the tide of revelers and +pleasure-seekers flowed unceasingly. + +"I consider this a night wasted," said Jack. "I would rather have gone +to the Casino, for a change." + +"It didn't much matter where we went, as long as we spent our last +evening together," Victor Nevill replied. "You know I leave for Rome +to-morrow. I fancy it will be a good move, for I have been going the +pace too fast in Paris." + +"So have I," said Jack, wearily. "I'm not as lucky as you, with a pot of +money to draw on. I intend to turn over a new leaf, old chap, and you'll +find me reformed when you come back. I've been a fool, Nevill. When my +mother died last February I came into 30,000 francs, and for the last +five months I have been scattering my inheritance recklessly. Very +little of it is left now." + +"But you have been working?" + +"Yes, in a sort of a way. But you can imagine how it goes when a fellow +turns night into day." + +"It's time you pulled up," said Nevill, "before you go stone broke. You +owe that much to your wife." + +He spoke with a slight sneer which escaped his companion. + +"I like that," Jack muttered bitterly. "Diane has spent two francs to +my one--or helped me to spend them." + +"Such is the rosy path of marriage," Nevill remarked lightly. + +"Shut up!" said Jack. + +He laughed as he drained his glass of cognac, and then settled back in +his seat with a moody expression. His thoughts were not pleasant ones. +Since the early part of the year he and his wife had been gradually +drifting apart, and even when they were together at theatres or +luxurious cafes, spending money like water, there had been a restraint +between them. Of late Diane's fits of temper had become more frequent, +and only yielded to a handful of gold or notes. Jack had sought his own +amusements and left her much alone--more than was good for her, he now +reflected uneasily. Yet he had the utmost confidence in her still, and +not a shadow of suspicion had crossed his mind. He believed that his +honor was safe in her care. + +"I have wished a thousand times that I had never married," he said to +himself, "but it is too late for that now. I must make the best of it. +I still love Diane, and I don't believe she has ceased to care for me. +Poor little girl! Perhaps she feels my neglect, and is too proud to own +it. I was ready enough to cut work and spend money. Yes, it has been my +fault. I'll go to her to-night and tell her that. I'll ask her to move +back to our old lodgings, where we were so happy. And then I'll turn +over that new leaf--" + +"What's wrong with you, my boy?" broke in Victor Nevill. "Have you been +dreaming?" + +"I am going home," said Jack, rising. "It will be a pleasant surprise +for Diane." + +Nevill looked at him curiously, then laughed. He took out his watch. + +"Have another drink," he urged. "We part to-night--who knows when we +will meet again? And it is only half-past eleven." + +"One more," Jack assented, sitting down again. + +Brandy was ordered, and Victor Nevill kept up a rapid conversation, and +an interesting one. From time to time he glanced covertly at his watch, +and it might have been supposed that he was purposely detaining his +companion. More brandy was placed on the table, and Jack frequently +lifted the glass to his lips. With a cigar between his teeth, with +flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, he laughed as merrily as any in the +room. But he did not drink too much, and the hand that he finally held +out to Nevill was perfectly steady. + +"I must be off now," he said. "It is long past midnight. Good-by, old +chap, and bon voyage." + +"Good-by, my dear fellow. Take care of yourself." + +It was an undemonstrative parting, such as English-men are addicted to. +Jack sauntered out to the boulevard, and turned his steps homeward. His +thoughts were all of Diane, and he was not to be cajoled by a couple of +grisettes who made advances. He nodded to a friendly gendarme, and +crossed the street to avoid a frolicksome party of students, who were +bawling at the top of their voices the chorus of the latest topical song +by Paulus, the Beranger of the day-- + +"Nous en avons pour tous les gouts." + +Victor Nevill heard the refrain as he left the brasserie and looked +warily about. He stepped into a cab, gave the driver hurried +instructions, and was whirled away at a rattling pace toward the Seine. + +"He will never suspect me," he muttered complacently, as he lit a +cigar. + +With head erect, and coat buttoned tightly over his breast, Jack went on +through the enticing streets of Paris. He had moved from his former +lodgings to a house that fronted on the Boulevard St. Germain. Here he +had the entresol, which he had furnished lavishly to please his wife. He +let himself in with a key, mounted the stairs, and opened the studio +door. A lamp was burning dimly, and the silence struck a chill to his +heart. + +"Diane," he called. + +There was no reply. He advanced a few feet, and caught sight of a letter +pinned to the frame of an easel. He turned up the lamp, opened the +envelope, and read the contents: + +"Dear Jack:-- + +"Good-by forever. You will never see me again. Forgive me and try to +forget. It is better that we should part, as I could not endure a life of +poverty. I love you no longer, and I am sure that you have tired of me. I +am going with one who has taken your place in my heart--one who can +gratify my every wish. It will be useless to seek for me. Again, +farewell. DIANE." + +The letter fell from Jack's hand, and he trampled it under foot. He +reeled into the dainty bedroom, and his burning eyes noted the signs of +confusion and flight--the open and empty drawers, the despoiled dressing +table, the discarded clothing strewn on the floor. + +"Gone!" he cried hoarsely. "Gone at the bidding of some +scoundrel--perhaps a trusted friend and comrade! God help my betrayer +when the day of reckoning comes! But I am well rid of her. She was +heartless and mercenary. She never could have loved me--she has left me +because she knew that my money was nearly spent. But I love her still. I +can't tear her out of my heart. Diane, my wife, come back! Come back!" + +His voice rang through the empty, deserted rooms. He threw himself on +the bed, and tore the lace coverings with his finger nails. He wept +bitter tears, strong man though he was, while out on the boulevard the +laughter of the midnight revelers mocked at his grief. + +Finally he rose; he laughed harshly. + +"Damn her, she would have dragged me down to her own level," he +muttered. "It is for the best. I am a free man once more." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +FIVE YEARS AFTERWARDS. + + +Jack Vernon looked discontentedly at the big canvas on the easel, and +with a shrug of the shoulders he turned his back on it. He dropped his +palette and flung his sheaf of brushes into an open drawer. + +"I am not fit for anything to-day," he said petulantly. "I was up too +late last night. No, most decidedly, I am not in the mood for work." + +He sauntered to the huge end window of the studio, and looked out over +the charming stretch of Ravenscourt Park. It was an ideal morning toward +the close of April, 1897--such a morning as one finds at its best in the +western suburbs of mighty London. The trees were in fresh leaf and bud, +the crocuses were blooming in the well-kept beds, and the grass was a +sheet of glittering emeralds. The singing of birds vied with the jangle +of tram-bells out on the high-road. + +"A pull on the river will take the laziness out of me," thought Jack, as +he yawned and extended his arms. "What glorious weather! It would be a +shame to stop indoors." + +A mental picture of the silvery Thames, green-wooded and sunny, proved +too strong an allurement to resist. Jack did not know that Destiny, +watchful of opportunity, had taken this beguiling shape to lead him to +a turning-point of his life--to steer him into the thick of troubled and +restless waters, of gray clouds and threatening storms. He discarded +his paint-smeared blouse--he had worn one since his Paris days--and, +getting quickly into white flannel and a river hat, he lit a briar pipe +and went forth whistling to meet his fate. + +He was fond of walking, and he knew every foot of old Chiswick by heart. +He struck across the high-road, down a street of trim villas to a more +squalid neighborhood, and came out by the lower end of Chiswick Mall, +sacred to memories of the past. He lingered for a moment by the stately +house immortalized by Thackeray in Vanity Fair, and pictured Amelia +Sedley rolling out of the gates in her father's carriage, while Becky +Sharpe hurled the offending dictionary at the scandalized Miss +Pinkerton. Tempted by the signboard of the Red Lion, and by the +red-sailed wherries clustered between the dock and the eyot, he stopped +to quaff a foaming pewter on a bench outside the old inn. + +A little later he had threaded the quaint passage behind Chiswick +Church, left the sonorous hammering of Thorneycroft's behind him, and +was stepping briskly along Burlington Lane, with the high wall of +Devonshire House on his right, and on his left, far over hedges and +orchards, the riverside houses of Barnes. He was almost sorry when he +reached Maynard's boat-house, where he kept a couple of light and +serviceable craft; but the dimpled bosom of the Thames, sparkling in the +sunlight, woke a fresh enthusiasm in his heart, and made him long to +transfer the picture to canvas. + +"Even a Turner could not do it half justice," he reflected. + +It was indeed a scene to defy any artist, but there were some bold enough +to attempt it. As Jack pulled up the river he saw, here and there, a +fellow-craftsman ensconced in a shady nook with easel and camp-chair. His +vigorous strokes sent him rapidly by Strand-on-the-Green, that secluded +bit of a village which so few Londoners have taken the trouble to search +out. A narrow paved quay, fringed with stately elm trees, separated the +old-fashioned, many-colored houses from the reedy shore, where at high +tide low great black barges, which apparently go nowhere, lie moored in +picturesque array. + +It was all familiar to Jack, but he never tired of this stretch of the +Thames. He dived under Kew Bridge, shot by Kew Gardens and ancient +Brentford, and turned around off Isleworth. He rowed leisurely back, +dropping the oars now and again to light his pipe. + +"There's nothing like this to brace a fellow up," he said to himself, as +he drew near Maynard's. "I should miss the river if I took a studio in +town. I'll have a bit of lunch at the Red Lion, and then go home and do +an afternoon's work." + +A churning, thumping noise, which he had disregarded before, suddenly +swelled louder and warned him of possible danger. He was about off the +middle of Strand-on-the-Green, and, glancing around, he saw one of the +big Thames excursion steamers, laden with passengers, ploughing +up-stream within fifty yards of him, but at a safe distance to his +right. The same glimpse revealed a pretty picture midway between himself +and the vessel--a young girl approaching in a light Canadian canoe. She +could not have been more than twenty, and the striking beauty of her +face was due to those charms of expression and feature which are +indefinable. A crimson Tam-o'-Shanter was perched jauntily on her golden +hair, and a blue Zouave jacket, fitting loosely over her blouse, gave +full play to the grace and skill with which she handled the paddle. + +Jack was indifferent to women, and wont to boast that none could +enslave him, but the sight of this fair young English maiden, if it did +not weaken the citadel of his heart, at least made that organ beat a +trifle faster. He shot one look of bold admiration, then turned and bent +to the oars. + +"I don't know when I have seen so lovely a face," he thought. "I wonder +who she is." + +The steamer glided by, and the next moment Jack was nearly opposite to +the canoe. What happened then was swift and unexpected. Above the splash +of the revolving paddles he heard hoarse shouts and warning cries. He +saw green waves approaching, flung up in the wake of the passing vessel. +As he dropped the oars and leapt anxiously to his feet the frail canoe, +unfitted to encounter such a peril, was clutched and lifted broadside by +the foaming swell. Over it went instantly, and there was a flash of red +and blue as the girl was flung headfirst into the river. + +As quickly Jack clasped his hands and dived from his boat. He came to +the top and swam forward with desperate strokes. He saw the upturned +canoe, the floating paddle, the half-submerged Tam-o'-Shanter. Then a +mass of dripping golden hair cleft the surface, only to sink at once. + +But Jack had marked the spot, and, taking a full breath, he dived. To +the onlookers the interval seemed painfully long, and a hundred cheering +voices rent the air as the young artist rose to view, keeping himself +afloat with one arm, while the other supported the girl. She was +conscious, but badly scared and disposed to struggle. + +"Be quite still," Jack said, sharply. "You are in no danger--I will save +you if you trust me." + +The girl obeyed, looking into Jack's eyes with a calmer expression. The +steamer had stopped, and half a dozen row-boats were approaching from +different directions. A grizzled waterman and his companion picked up +the two and pulled them across to Strand-on-the-Green. Others followed +towing Jack's boat and the canoe, and the big steamer proceeded on her +way to Kew Pier. + +The Black Bull, close by the railway bridge, received the drenched +couple, and the watermen were delighted by the gift of a sovereign. A +motherly woman took the half-dazed girl upstairs, and Jack was led into +the oak-panelled parlor of the old inn by the landlord, who promptly +poured him out a little brandy, and then insisted on his having a change +of clothing. + +"Thank you; I fear I must accept your offer," said Jack. "But I hope you +will attend to the young lady first. Your wife seemed to know her." + +"Quite well, sir," was the reply. "Bless you, we all know Miss Madge +Foster hereabouts. She lives yonder at the lower end of the Green--" + +"Then she had better be taken home." + +"I think this is the best place for her at present, sir. Her father is +in town, and there is only an old servant." + +"You are quite right," said Jack. "I suppose there is a doctor near by." + +"There is, sir, and I will send for him at once," the landlord promised. +"If you will kindly step this way--" + +At that moment there was a stir among the curious idlers who filled the +entrance passage of the inn. An authoritative voice opened a way between +them, and a man pushed through to the parlor. His face changed color at +the sight of Jack, who greeted him with a cry of astonishment. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +AN OLD FRIEND + + +There was gladness as well as surprise in Jack's hearty exclamation, for +the man who stood before him in the parlor of the Black Bull was his old +friend Victor Nevill, little altered in five years, except for a heavier +mustache that improved his dark and handsome face. To judge from +appearances, he had not run through with all his money. He was daintily +booted and gloved, and wore morning tweeds of perfect cut; a sprig of +violets was thrust in his button-hole. The two had not met since they +parted in Paris on that memorable night, nor had they known of each +other's whereabouts. + +"Nevill, old chap!" cried Jack, holding out a hand. + +Nevill clasped it warmly; his momentary confusion had vanished. + +"My dear Clare--" he began. + +"Not that name," Jack interrupted, laughingly. "I'm called Vernon on +this side of the Channel." + +"What, John Vernon, the rising artist?" + +"The same." + +"It's news to me. I congratulate you, old man. If I had known I would +have looked you up long ago, but I lost all trace of you." + +"That's my case," said Jack. "I supposed you were still abroad. Been +back long?" + +"Yes, a couple of years." + +"By Jove, it's queer we didn't meet before. Fancy you turning up here!" + +"I stopped last night with a friend in Grove Park," Nevill answered, +after a brief hesitation, "and feeling a bit seedy this morning, I came +for a stroll along the river. I hear of a gallant rescue from the water, +and, of course, you are the hero, Jack. Is the young lady all right?" + +"I believe so." + +"Do you know who she is?" + +"Miss Madge Poster, sir," spoke up the landlord, "and I can assure you +she was very nearly drowned--" + +"Not so bad as that," modestly protested Jack. + +Victor Nevill's face had changed color again, and for a second there was +a troubled look in his eyes. He spoke the girl's name carelessly, then +added in hurried tones: + +"You must get into dry clothes at once, Jack, or you will be ill--" + +"Just what I told him, sir," interrupted the landlord. "Young men _will_ +be reckless." + +"I am going back to town to keep an engagement," Nevill resumed. "Can I +do anything for you?" + +"If you will, old chap," Jack said gratefully. "Stop at my studio," +giving him the address, "and send my man Alphonse here with a dry rig." + +"I'll go right away," replied Neville. "I can get a cab at Kew Bridge. +Come and see me, Jack. Here is my card. I put up in Jermyn street." + +"And you know where to find me," said Jack. "I am seldom at home in the +evenings, though." + +A few more words, and Neville departed. Jack was prevailed upon by the +landlord to go to an upper room, where he stripped off his drenched +garments and rubbed himself dry, then putting on a suit of clothes +belonging to his host. The latter brought the cheering news that Miss +Foster had taken a hot draught and was sleeping peacefully, and that it +would be quite unnecessary to send for a doctor. + +A little later Alphonse and a cab arrived at the rear of the Black +Bull, where there was a lane for vehicular traffic, and Jack once more +changed his attire. He left his card and a polite message for the girl, +pressed a substantial tip on the reluctant landlord, and was soon +rattling homeward up Chiswick high-road, feeling none the worse for his +wetting, but, on the contrary, gifted with a keen appetite. He had sent +his boat back to Maynard's. + +"What a pretty girl that was!" he reflected. "It's the first time in +five years I've given a serious thought to a woman. But I shall forget +her as quickly--I am wedded to my art. It's rather a fetching name, +Madge Foster. Come to think of it, it was hardly the proper thing to +leave my card. I suppose I will get a fervid letter of gratitude from +the girl's father, or the two of them may even invade my studio. How +could I have been so stupid?" + +He ate a hearty lunch, and set to work diligently. But he could not keep +his mind from the adventure of the morning, and he saw more frequently +the face of the lovely young English girl, than that of the swarthy +Moorish dancer he was doing in oils. + +Those five years had made a different man of Jack Clare--had brought him +financial prosperity, success in his art, and contentment with life. He +was now twenty-seven, clean-shaven, and with the build of an athlete; +and his attractive, well-cut features had fulfilled the promise of +youth. But for six wretched months, after that bitter night when Diane +fled from him, he had suffered acutely. In vain his friends, none of +whom could give him any clew to his betrayer, sought to comfort him; in +vain he searched for trace of tidings of his wife, for her faithlessness +had not utterly crushed his love, and the recollections of the first +months of his marriage were very sweet to him. The chains with which the +dancer of the Folies Bergere bound him had been strong; his hot youth +had fallen victim to the charms of a face and figure that would have +enslaved more experienced men. + +But the healing power of time works wonders, and in the spring of the +succeeding year, when Paris burst into leaf and blossom, Jack began to +take a fresh interest in life, and to realize with a feeling little +short of satisfaction that Diane's desertion was all for the best, and +that he was well rid of a woman who must ultimately have dragged him +down to her own level. The sale of his mother's London residence, a +narrow little house in Bayswater, put him in possession of a fairly +large sum of money. He left Paris with his friend Jimmie Drexell, and +the two spent a year in Italy, Holland and Algeria, doing pretty hard +work in the way of sketching. Jack returned to Paris quite cured, and +with a determination to win success in his calling. He saw Drexell off +for his home in New York, and then he packed up his belongings--they had +been under lock and key in a room of the house on the Boulevard St. +Germain--and emigrated to London. His great sorrow was only an +unpleasant memory to him now. He had friends in England, but no +relations there or anywhere, so far as he knew. His father, an artist +of unappreciated talent, had died twenty years before. It was after his +death that Jack's mother had come into some property from a distant +relative. + +Taking his middle name of Vernon, Jack settled in Fitzroy Square. A +couple of hundred pounds constituted his worldly wealth. His ambition +was to be a great painter, but he had other tastes as well, and his +talent lay in more than one channel. Within a year, by dint of hard +work, he obtained more than a foothold. He had sold a couple of pictures +to dealers; his black-and-white drawings were in demand with a couple of +good magazines, and a clever poster, bearing his name, and advertising +a popular whisky was displayed all over London. Then, picking up a +French paper in the Monico one morning, he experienced a shock. The body +of a woman had been found in the Seine and taken to the Morgue, where +several persons unhesitatingly identified her as Diane Merode, the +one-time fascinating dancer of the Folies Bergere. + +Jack turned pale, and crushed the paper in his hand. Evening found him +wandering on the heights of Hampstead, but the next morning he was at +his easel. He was a free man now in every sense, and the world looked +brighter to him. He worked as hard as ever, and with increasing success, +but he spent most of his evenings with his comrades of the brush, with +whom he was immensely popular. He was indifferent to women, however, and +they did not enter into his life. + +But a few months before the opening of this story Jack had taken his new +studio at Ravenscourt Park, in the west of London. It was a big place, +with a splendid north light, and with an admirable train service to all +parts of town; in that respect he was better off than artists living in +Hampstead or St. John's Wood. He had a couple of small furnished rooms +at one end of the studio, in one of which he slept. He usually dined in +town, Paris fashion, but his breakfast and lunch were served by his +French servant, Alphonse, an admirable fellow, who had lodgings close by +the studio; he could turn his hand to anything, and was devoted to his +master. + +Jack had achieved success, and he deserved it. His name was well known, +and better things were predicted of him. The leading magazines displayed +his black-and-white drawings monthly, and publishers begged him to +illustrate books. He was making a large income, and saving the half of +it. Nor did he lose sight of his loftier goal. His picture of last year +had been accepted by the Academy, hung well, and sold, and he had just +been notified that he was in again this spring. Fortune smiled on him, +and the folly of his youth was a fading memory that could never cloud or +dim his future. + + * * * * * + +It was two days after the adventure on the river, late in the afternoon. +Jack was reading over the manuscript of a book, and penciling possible +points for illustration, when Alphonse handed him a letter. It was +directed in a feminine hand, but a man had clearly penned the inclosure. +The writer signed himself Stephen Foster, and in a few brief sentences, +coldly and curtly expressed, he thanked Mr. Vernon for the great and +timely service he had rendered his daughter. That was all. There was no +invitation to the house at Strand-on-the-Green--no hope or desire for a +personal acquaintance. + +Jack resented the bald, stereotyped communication. He felt +piqued--slightly hurt. He had been trying to forget the girl, but now, +thinking of her as something out of his reach, he wanted to see her +again. + +"A conceited, crusty old chap--this Stephen Foster," he said to himself. +"No doubt he is a money-grubber in the city, and regards artists with +contempt. If I had a daughter like that, and a man saved her life, I +should be properly grateful. Poor girl, she can't lead a very happy +life." + +He lighted a pipe, read a little further, and then tossed the sheaf of +manuscript aside. He rose and put on a hat and a black coat--he wore +evening dress as little as possible. + +"Will you dine in town to-night, sir?" asked Alphonse, who was cleaning +a stack of brushes. + +"Yes, oh, yes," Jack answered. "You can go when you have finished." + +Whatever may have been his intention when he left the studio, Jack did +not cross the park toward the District Railway station. He walked slowly +to the high-road, and then westward with brisker step. He struck down +through Gunnersbury, by way of Sutton Court, and came out at the river +close to the lower end of Strand-on-the-Green. + +A girl was sitting on a bench near the shore, pensively watching the sun +drooping over the misty ramparts of Kew Bridge; she held a closed book +in one hand, and by her side lay a sketching-block and a box of colors. +She heard the young artist's footsteps, and glanced up. A lovely blush +suffused her countenance, and for an instant she was speechless. Then, +with less confusion, with the candor of an innocent and unconventional +nature, she said: + +"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Vernon." + +"That is kind of you," Jack replied, with a smile. + +"Yes, I wanted to thank you--" + +"Your father has written to me." + +"But that is different. I wanted to thank you for myself." + +"I wish I were deserving of such gratitude," said Jack, thinking that +the girl looked far more charming than when he had first seen her. + +"Ah, don't say that. You know that you saved my life. I am a good +swimmer, but that morning my clothes seemed to drag me down." + +"I am glad that I happened to be near at the time," Jack replied, as +he seated himself without invitation on the bench. "But it is not a +pleasant topic--let us not talk about it." + +"I shall never forget it," the girl answered softly. She was silent for +a moment, and then added gravely: "It is so strange to know you. I +admire artists so much, and I saw your picture in last year's Academy. +How surprised I was when I read your card!" + +"You paint, yourself, Miss Foster?" + +"No, I only try to. I wish I could." + +She reluctantly yielded her block of Whatman's paper to Jack, and in the +portfolio attached to it he found several sketches that showed real +promise. He frankly said as much, to his companion's delight, and then +the conversation turned on the quaintness of Strand-on-the-Green, and +the constant and varied beauty of the river at this point--a subject +that was full of genuine interest to both. When the sun passed below the +bridge the girl suddenly rose and gathered her things. + +"I must go," she said. "My father is coming home early to-day. Good-by, +Mr. Vernon." + +"Not really good-by. I hope?" + +An expression of sorrow and pain, almost pitiful, clouded her lovely +face. Jack understood the meaning of it, and hated Stephen Foster in his +heart. + +"I shall see you here sometimes?" he added. + +"Perhaps." + +"Then you do not forbid me to come again?" + +"How can I do that? This river walk is quite free, Mr. Vernon. Oh, +please don't think me ungrateful, but--but--" + +She turned her head quickly away, and did not finish the sentence. She +called a word of farewell over her shoulder, and Jack moodily watched +her slim and graceful figure vanish between the great elm trees that +guard the lower entrance to Strand-on-the-Green. + +"John Vernon, you are a fool," he said to himself. "The best thing for +you is to pack up your traps and be off to-morrow morning for a couple +of months' sketching in Devonshire. You've been bitten once--look out!" + +He took a shilling from his pocket, and muttered, as he flipped it in +the air: "Tail, Richmond--head, town." + +The coin fell tail upward, and Jack went off to dine at the Roebuck on +the hill, beloved of artists, where he met some boon companions and +argued about Whistler until a late hour. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +NUMBER 320 WARDOUR STREET. + + +The rear-guard of London's great army of clerks had already vanished in +the city, and the hour was drawing near to eleven, when Victor Nevill +shook off his lassitude sufficiently to get out of bed. A cold tub +freshened him, and as he dressed with scrupulous care, choosing his +clothes from a well-filled wardrobe, he occasionally walked to the +window of his sitting-room and looked down on the narrow but lively +thoroughfare of Jermyn street. It was a fine morning, with the scent of +spring in the air, and the many colors of the rumbling 'busses glistened +like fresh paint in the sunlight. + +His toilet completed, Victor Nevill pressed an electric bell, in answer +to which there presently appeared, from some mysterious source +downstairs, a boy in buttons carrying a tray on which reposed a small +pot of coffee, one of cream, a pat of butter, and a couple of crisp +rolls. Nevill ate his breakfast with the mechanical air of one who is +doing a tiresome but necessary thing, meanwhile consulting a tiny +memorandum-book, and counting over a handful of loose gold and silver. +Then he put on his hat and gloves, looked at the fit of his gray +frock-coat in the glass, and went into the street. At Piccadilly Circus +he bought a _boutonniere_, and as he was feeling slightly rocky after a +late night at card-playing, he dropped into the St. James. He emerged +shortly, fortified by a brandy-and-soda, and sauntered westward along +the Piccadilly pavement. + +A typical young-man-about-town, an indolent pleasure-lover, always +dressed to perfection and flush with money--such was Victor Nevill in +the opinion of the world. For aught men knew to the contrary, he thrived +like the proverbial lily of the field, without the need of toiling or +spinning. He lived in expensive rooms, dined at the best restaurants, +and belonged to a couple of good clubs. To his friends this was no +matter of surprise or conjecture. They were aware that he was +well-connected, and that years before he had come into a fortune; they +naturally supposed that enough of it remained to yield him a comfortable +income, in spite of the follies and extravagances that rumor attributed +to him in the past, while he was abroad. + +But Nevill himself, and one other individual, knew better. The bulk of +his fortune exhausted by reckless living on the Continent, he had +returned to London with a thousand pounds in cash, and a secured annuity +of two hundred pounds, which he was too prudent to try to negotiate. The +thousand pounds did not last long, but by the time they were spent he +had drifted into degraded and evil ways. None had ever dared to +whisper--none had ever suspected--that Victor Nevill was a rook for +money-lenders and a dangerous friend for young men. He knew what a +perilous game he was playing, but he studied every move and guarded +shrewdly against discovery. There were many reasons, and one in +particular, for keeping his reputation clean and untarnished. It was +a matter of the utmost satisfaction to him that his uncle, Sir Lucius +Chesney, of Priory Court in Sussex, cared but little for London, and +seldom came up to town. For Sir Lucius was childless, elderly, and +possessed of fifteen thousand pounds a year. + +Victor Nevill's progress along Piccadilly was frequently interrupted by +friends, fashionably dressed young men like himself, whose invitations +to come and have a drink he declined on the plea of an engagement. Just +beyond Devonshire House he was accosted eagerly by a fresh-faced, +blond-haired boy--he was no more than twenty-two--who was coming from +the opposite direction. + +"Hullo, Bertie," Nevill said carelessly, as he shook hands. "I was on my +way to the club." + +"I got tired of waiting. You are half an hour over the time, Vic. I +thought of going to your rooms." + +"I slept later than I intended," Nevill replied. "I had a night of it." + +"So had I--a night of sleeplessness." + +The Honorable Bertie Raven, second son of the Earl of Runnymede, might +have stepped out of one of Poole's fashion-plates, so far as dress was +concerned. But there was a strained look on his handsome, patrician +face, and in his blue eyes, that told of a gnawing mental anxiety. He +linked arms with his companion, and drew him to the edge of the +pavement. + +"Is it all right?" he asked, pleadingly and hurriedly. "Were you able to +fix the thing up for me?" + +"You are sure there is no other way, Bertie?" + +"None, Vic. I have until this evening, and then--" + +"Don't worry. I saw Benjamin and Company yesterday." + +"And they will accommodate me?" + +"Yes, at my request." + +"You mean for your indorsement on the bill?" the lad exclaimed, +blushing. "Vic, you're a trump. You're the best fellow that ever lived, +and I can't tell you how grateful I am. God only knows what a weight +you've lifted from my mind. I'm going to run steady after this, and with +economy I can save enough out of my allowance--" + +"My dear boy, you are wasting your gratitude over a trifle. Could I +refuse so simple a favor to a friend?" + +"I don't know any one else who would have done as much, Vic. I was in an +awful hole. Will--will they give me plenty of time?" + +"As much as you like. And, I say, Bertie, this affair must be quite +_entre nous_. There are plenty of chaps--good fellows, too--who would +like to use my name occasionally. But one must draw the line--" + +"I understand, Vic. I'll be mum as an oyster." + +"Well, suppose we go and have the thing over," said Nevill, "and then +we'll lunch together." + +They turned eastward, walking briskly, and a few minutes later they +entered a narrow court off Duke street, St. James. Through a dingy and +unpretentious doorway, unmarked by sign or plate, they passed into the +premises of Benjamin and Company. In a dark, cramped office, scantily +furnished, they found an elderly Jewish gentleman seated at a desk. + +Without delay, with a smoothness that spoke well for the weight and +influence of Victor Nevill's name, the little matter of business, as the +Jew smilingly called it, was transacted. A three-months' bill for five +hundred pounds was drawn up for Bertie's signature and Nevill's +indorsement. The lad hesitated briefly, then wrote his name in a bold +hand. He resisted the allurements of some jewelry, offered him in part +payment, and received the amount of the bill, less a prodigious discount +for interest. The Jew servilely bowed his customers out. + +The Honorable Bertie's face was grave and serious as he walked toward +Piccadilly with his friend; he vaguely realized that he had taken the +first step on a road that too frequently ends in disgrace and ruin. But +this mood changed as he felt the rustling bank notes in his pocket. The +world had not looked so bright for many a day. + +"I never knew the thing was so easy," he said. "What a good fellow you +are, Vic! You've made a new man of me. I can pay off those cursed +gambling losses, and a couple of the most pressing debts, and have +nearly a hundred pounds over. But I wish I had taken that ruby bracelet +for Flora--it would have pleased her." + +"Cut Flora--that's my advice," replied Nevill. + +"And jolly good advice, too, Vic. I'll think about it seriously. But +where will you lunch with me?" + +"You are going to lunch with _me_," said Nevill, "at the Arlington." + + * * * * * + +In Wardour street, Soho, as many an enthusiastic collector has found out +to the depletion of his pocket-book, there are sufficient antique +treasures of every variety stored away in dingy shop windows and dingier +rooms to furnish a small town. Number 320, which by chance or design +failed to display the name of its proprietor, differed from its +neighbors in one marked respect. Instead of the usual conglomerate mass, +articles of value cheek by jowl with worthless rubbish, the long window +contained some rare pieces of china and silver, an Italian hall-seat of +richly carved oak, and half a dozen paintings by well-known artists of +the past century, the authenticity of which was an excuse for the amount +at which they were priced. + +Behind the window was a deep and narrow room, lined on both sides with +cabinets of great age and curious workmanship, oaken furniture belonging +to various periods, pictures restored and pictures cracked and faded, +cases filled with dainty objects of gold and silver, brass work from +Moorish and Saracenic craftsmen, tall suits of armor, helmets and +weapons that had clashed in battle hundreds of years before, and other +things too numerous to mention, all of a genuine value that put them +beyond the reach of a slim purse. + +In the rear of the shop--which was looked after by a salesman--was a +small office almost opulent in its appearance. Soft rugs covered the +floor, and costly paintings hung on the walls. The chairs and desk, the +huge couch, would have graced a palace, and a piece of priceless +tapestry partly overhung the big safe at one end. An incandescent lamp +was burning brightly, for very little light entered from the dreary +court on which a single window opened. + +Here, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Stephen Foster sat poring over a +sheaf of papers. He was a man of fifty-two, nearly six feet tall and +correspondingly built--a man with a fine head and handsome features, a +man to attract more than ordinary attention. His hands were white, slim +and long. His eyes were deep brown, and his mustache and beard--the +latter cut to a point--were of a tawny yellowish-brown color, mixed with +gray to a slight degree. It would be difficult to analyze his character, +for in many ways he was a contradiction. He was not miserly, but his +besetting evil was the love of accumulating money--the lever that had +made him thoroughly unscrupulous. He was rich, or reputed so, but in +amassing gold, by fair means or foul, lay the keynote to his life. And +it was a dual life. He had chosen the old mansion at Strand-on-the-Green +to be out of the roar and turmoil of London life, and yet within touch +of it. Here, where his evenings were mostly spent, he was a different +man. He derived his chief pleasures from his daughter's society, from a +table filled with current literature, from a box of choice Havanas. In +town he was a sordid man of business, clever at buying and selling to +the best advantage. He had loved his wife, the daughter of a city +alderman and a friend of his father's, and her death twelve years before +had been a great blow to him. Madge resembled her, and he gave the girl +a father's sincere devotion. + +Few persons knew that Stephen Foster was the proprietor of the +curio-shop in Wardour street--his daughter was among the ignorant--and +but one or two were aware that the business of Benjamin and Company, +carried on in Duke street, belonged also to him. None, assuredly, among +his sprinkling of acquaintances, would have believed that he could stoop +to lower things, or that he and his equally unscrupulous and useful +tool, Victor Nevill, the gay young-man-about-town, had been mixed up in +more than one nefarious transaction that would not bear the light of +day. He had taken the place in Wardour street within the past five +years, and prior to that time he had held a responsible position as +purchasing agent--there was not a better judge of pictures in +Europe--with the well-known firm of Lamb and Drummond, art dealers +and engravers to Her Majesty, of Pall Mall. + +A slight frown gathered on Stephen Foster's brow as he put aside the +packet of papers, and it deepened as he recognized a familiar step +coming through the shop. But he had a cheery smile of greeting ready +when the office door opened to admit Victor Nevill. The young man's face +was flushed with excitement, and he carried in one hand a crumpled copy +of the Westminster _Budget_. + +"Seen the evening editions yet?" he exclaimed. + +"No; what's in them?" asked the curio-dealer. + +"I was lunching at the Arlington, with the Honorable Bertie--By the +way, he took the hook," Nevill replied, in a calmer tone, "and when I +came out I bought this on the street. But read for yourself." + +He opened the newspaper, folded it twice, and tossed it down on Stephen +Foster's desk. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A MYSTERIOUS DISCUSSION. + + +The paragraph in the Westminster _Budget_ to which Victor Nevill +referred was headed in large type, and ran as follows: + +"This morning, at his palatial residence in Amsterdam, commenced the +sale of the gallery of valuable paintings collected by the late Mr. +Martin Von Whele, who died while on a visit to his coffee estate in +Java. He left everything to his son, with the exception of the pictures, +which, by the terms of his will, were to be disposed of in order to +found a hospital in his native town. Mr. Von Whele was a keen and +discriminating patron of art, a lover of both the ancient and the +modern, and his vast wealth permitted him to indulge freely in his +hobby. His collection was well known by repute throughout the civilized +world. But the trustees of the estate seem to have committed a grave +blunder--which will undoubtedly cause much complaint--in waiting until +almost the last moment to announce the sale. But few bidders were +present, and these had things pretty much their own way, apparently +owing to the gross ignorance of the auctioneer. The gem of the gallery, +the famous Rembrandt found and purchased in Paris some years ago by Mr. +Von Whele, was knocked down for the ridiculous sum of L2,400. The lucky +purchaser was Mr. Charles Drummond, of the firm of Lamb and Drummond, +Pall Mall." + +A remark that would not look well in print escaped Stephen Foster's lips +as he threw the paper on his desk. + +"A blunder?" he cried. "It was criminal! A rascally conspiracy, with +Drummond at the bottom of it--British cunning against Dutch stupidity! I +seldom miss anything in the papers, Nevill, and yet I never heard of Von +Whele's death. I didn't get a hint of the sale." + +"Nor I," replied Nevill. "It's a queer business. I thought the paragraph +would interest you. The sale continues--do you think of running over to +Amsterdam?" + +"No; I shan't go. It's too late. By to-morrow a lot of dealers will have +men on the spot, and the rest of the pictures will likely fetch full +value. But L2,400 for the Rembrandt! Why, it's worth five times as much +if it's worth a penny! There's a profit for you, Nevill. And I always +coveted that picture. I had a sort of a hope that it would drop into my +hands some day. I believe I spoke to you about it." + +"You did," assented Nevill, "and I remembered that at once when I read +of the sale. But I had another reason--one of my own--for calling your +attention to the matter." + +Stephen Foster apparently did not hear the latter remark. + +"I saw the Rembrandt when I was in Amsterdam, two years ago," he said +bitterly. "It was a splendid canvas--the colors were almost as fresh and +bright as the day they were laid on. And as a character study it was a +masterpiece second to none, and in my estimation superior to his +'Gilder,' which is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. It +represented a Pole or a Russian, with a face of intense ferocity. His +rank was shown by his rich cloak, the decorations on his furred hat, and +by the gold-beaded mace held in his hand. Von Whele declared that the +subject was John the Third, of Poland; but that was mere conjecture. And +now Drummond has the picture, and it will soon be drawing crowds around +the firm's window, I dare say. What a prize I have let slip through my +fingers!" + +"I want to ask you a question," Nevill started abruptly. "Suppose this +Rembrandt, or any other painting of value and renown, should be stolen +from a big dealer's shop. How could the thief dispose of it?" + +"He would have little or no chance of doing so at once," was the reply, +"unless he found some unscrupulous collector who was willing to buy it +and hide it away. But in the course of a few years, when the affair had +blown over, the picture could be sold for its full value, without any +risk to the seller, if he was a smart man." + +"Then, if you had this Rembrandt locked up in your safe, you would +regard it as a sound and sure investment, to be realized on in the +future?" + +"Certainly. I should consider it as an equivalent for L10,000," Stephen +Foster replied. "But there is not much of that sort of thing done--the +ordinary burglar doesn't understand the game," he went on, carelessly. +"And a good thing for the dealers, too. With my knowledge of the place, +I could very easily remove a picture from Lamb and Drummond's store-room +any night." + +"Yes, you know the ground thoroughly. Would you like to make L10,000 at +a single stroke, without risk?" + +"I don't think I should hesitate long, if it was a sure thing," Stephen +Foster replied, laughingly. "Nevill, what are you driving at?" he added +with sudden earnestness. + +"Wait a moment, and I'll explain." + +Victor Nevill stepped to the door, listened briefly, and turned the key +noiselessly in the lock. He drew a chair close to his companion and sat +down. + +"I am going to tell you a little story," he said. "It will interest +you, if I am not mistaken." + +It must have been a very important and mysterious communication, from +the care with which Nevill told it, from the low and cautious tone in +which he spoke. Stephen Foster listened with a blank expression that +gradually changed to a look of amazement and satisfaction, of +ill-concealed avarice. Then the two discussed the matter together, +heedless of the passage of time, until the clock struck five. + +"It certainly appears to be simple enough," said Stephen Foster, "but +who will find out about--" + +"You must do that," Nevill interrupted. "If I went, it might lead to +awkward complications in the future." + +"It's the worst part, and I confess I don't like it. But I'll take a +night to think it over, and give you an answer to-morrow. It's an ugly +undertaking--" + +"But a safe one. If it comes off all right, I want L500 cash down, on +account." + +"It is not certain that it will come off at all," said Stephen Foster, +as he rose. "Come in to-morrow afternoon. Oh, I believe I promised you +some commission to-day." + +"Yes; sixty pounds." + +The check was written, and Nevill pocketed it with a nod. He put on his +hat, moved to the door, and paused. + +"By the by, there's a new thing on at the Frivolity--awfully good," he +said. "Miss Foster might like to see it. We could make up a little party +of three--" + +"Thank you, but my daughter doesn't care for theatres. And, as you know, +I spend my evenings at home." + +"I don't blame you," Nevill replied, indifferently. "It's a snug and +jolly crib you have down there by the river. And the fresh air does a +fellow a lot of good. I feel like a new man when I come back to town +after dining with you. One gets tired of clubs and restaurants." + +"Come out when you like," said Stephen Foster, in a voice that lacked +warmth and sincerity. + +"That's kind of you," Nevill replied. "Good-night!" + +A minute later he was walking thoughtfully down Wardour street. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A VISITOR FROM PARIS. + + +It was seven o'clock in the evening, ten days after Jack's second +encounter with Madge Foster, and a blaze of light shone from the big +studio that overlooked Ravenscourt Park. The lord and master of it was +writing business letters, a task in which he was assisted by frequent +cigarettes. A tray containing whisky, brandy and siphons stood on a +Moorish inlaid smoking stand, and suggested correctly that a visitor was +expected. At noon Jack had received a letter from Victor Nevill, of whom +he had seen nothing since their meeting at Strand-on-the-Green, to say +that he was coming out at eight o'clock that night to have a chat over +old times. Alphonse, being no longer required, had gone to his lodgings +near by. + +"It will be a bit awkward if Nevill wants his dinner," Jack said to +himself, in an interval of his letter writing. "I'll keep him here a +couple of hours, and then take him to dine in town. He's a good fellow, +and will understand. He'll find things rather different from the Paris +days." + +There was a touch of pardonable pride in that last thought, for few +artists in London could boast of such luxuriously decorated quarters, or +of such a collection of treasures as Jack's purse and good taste had +enabled him to gather around him. The hard oak floor, oiled and polished +by the hands of Alphonse, was sparsely strewn with Oriental rugs and a +couple of tiger skins. A screen of stamped leather hid three sides of +the French stove. The eye met a picturesque confusion of inlaid cabinets +with innumerable drawers, oak chests and benches, easy chairs of every +sort, Chippendale trays and escritoires, Spanish lanterns dangling from +overhead, old tables worn hollow on top with age, countless weapons and +pieces of armor, and shelves stacked with blue delf china and rows of +pewter plates. A long costume case flashed its glass doors at a cosy +corner draped with art muslin. On the walls, many of them presented by +friends, were scores of water-colors and oil paintings, etchings and +engravings, no two of them framed alike. Minor articles were scattered +about in profusion, and a couple of bulging sketch-books bore witness to +their owner's summer wanderings about England. + +The letters finished and stamped, Jack closed his desk with a sigh of +relief. The evening was chilly, and he had started a small fire of coals +in the grate--he used his stove only in wintry weather. He pulled a big +chair to the blaze, stretched his legs against the fender, and fell +straightway into a reverie; an expression that none of his English +companions had ever seen there softened his handsome face. + +"I wonder what she is doing now," he thought. "I fancy I can see her +sitting opposite to her father, at the dinner table, with the soft +lamplight on her lovely cheeks, and that bewitching look in her eyes. +I am a conceited fool to believe that she cares for me, and yet--and +yet--By Jove, I would marry her in a minute. She is the most winsome +girl I ever saw. It is not like the passion I had for Diane--I was a +foolish, hot-headed boy then. Madge would be my good angel. In spite of +myself, she has come into my life and taken a deep hold on my heart--I +can't put her out again. Jack, my boy, you had better have gone on that +sketching tour--better have fled to Devonian wilds before it was too +late." + +But was it too late now? If so, the fact did not seem to trouble Jack +much, for he laughed softly as he stirred the fire. He, the impregnable +and boastful one, the woman-hater, had fallen a victim when he believed +himself most secure. It was unutterably sweet to him--this second +passion--and he knew that it was not to be shaken off. + +During the past ten days he had seen Madge frequently. Nearly every +afternoon, when the fading sun glimmered through a golden haze, he had +wandered down to Strand-on-the-Green, confident that the girl would not +be far away, that she would welcome him shyly and blushingly, with that +radiant light in her eyes which he hoped he could read aright. They had +enjoyed a couple of tramps together, when time permitted--once up the +towing-path toward Richmond, and again down the river to Barnes. + +They were happy hours for both. Madge was unconventional, and would +have resented a hint that she was doing anything in the least improper. +She had left boarding school two years before, and since then she had +rejoiced in her freedom, not finding life dull in the sleepy Thames-side +suburb of London. As for Jack, his conscience gave him few twinges in +regard to these surreptitious meetings. It would be different, he told +himself, had Stephen Foster chosen to receive him as a visitor. But he +had gathered, from what Madge told him, that her father was eccentric, +and detested visitors--that he would permit nothing to break the +monotonous and regular habits of the secluded old house. Madge admitted +that one friend of his, a young man, came sometimes; but she intimated +unmistakably that she did not like him. Jack was curious to know what +business took Stephen Foster to town every day, but on that subject the +girl never spoke. + +As the young artist sat watching the fire in the grate, his fancy +painted pleasing pictures. "Why should I not marry?" he mused. "Bachelor +life is well enough in its way, but it can't compare with a snug house, +and one's own dining-table, and a charming wife to drive away the +occasional blue-devils. I have money put aside, and it won't be long +till I'm making an easy twelve hundred a year. By Jove, I will--" + +A noisy rap at the door interrupted Jack's train of thought, and brought +him to his feet. + +"Come in!" he cried, expecting to see Nevill. + +But the visitor was a telegraph boy, bearing the familiar brown +envelope. Jack signed for it, and tore open the message. + +"Awfully seedy," Victor Nevill wired. "Sorry I can't get out to-night. +Am going to bed." + +"No answer," said Jack, dismissing the boy. With his hands in his +pockets he strolled undecidedly about the studio for a couple of +minutes. "I hope nothing serious is the matter with Nevill," he +reflected. "He's not the sort of a chap to go to bed unless he feels +pretty bad. What shall I do now? I must be quick about it if I want +to get any dinner in town. It's past eight, and--" + +There was the sound of slow footsteps out in the passage, followed by +the nervous jingling of the electric bell. + +"Who can that be?" Jack muttered. + +He pulled a cord that turned the gas higher in the big circlet of jets +overhead, and opened the door curiously. The man who entered the studio +was a complete stranger, and it was certain that he was not an +Englishman, if dress and appearance could decide that fact. He was +very tall and well-built, with a handsome face, so deeply tanned as +to suggest a recent residence in a tropical country. His mustaches were +twisted into waxed points, and there was a good deal of gray in his +beard, which was parted German fashion in the middle, and carefully +brushed to each side. His top hat was unmistakably French, with a flat +rim, and his boots were of patent leather. As he opened his long caped +cloak, the collar of which he kept turned up, it was seen that he was in +evening dress. + +"Do I address Monsieur Vernon, the artist?" he asked in good English, +with a French accent. + +"Yes, that's right." + +"Formerly Monsieur John Clare?" + +"I once bore that name," said Jack, with a start of surprise; he was +ill-pleased to hear it after so many years. + +The visitor produced a card bearing the name of M. Felix Marchand, Parc +Monceaux, Paris. + +"I do not recall you," said Jack. "Will you take a seat." + +"We have not met until now," said M. Marchand, "but I have the honor to +be familiar with your work, and to possess some of it. Pictures are to +me a delight--I confess myself a humble patron of art--and a few years +ago I purchased several water-color sketches signed by your name. They +appealed to me especially because they were bits of Paris--one looking +down the river from the bridge of the Carrousel, and the other a night +impression of Montmartre." + +"I remember them vaguely," said Jack. "They, with others, were sold for +me by a dealer named Cambon--" + +"Monsieur is right. It was from Jacques Cambon, of the Quai Voltaire, +I obtained the sketches. They pleased me much, and I went again to seek +more--that was eighteen months later, when I returned to Paris after a +long absence. Imagine my disappointment to learn that Jacques Cambon +had no further knowledge of Monsieur Clare, and no more of his sketches +to sell." + +"No; I had come to London by that time--or was in Italy," said Jack. +"But perhaps--pardon me--you would prefer to carry on our conversation +in French." + +"Monsieur is thoughtful," replied M. Marchand. "He will understand that +I desire, while in England, to improve as much as possible my knowledge +of the language." + +"Quite so," assented Jack. "You speak it already like a native born," he +added to himself. + +"The years passed on," resumed the Frenchman, "but I did not forget the +author of my little sketches. A few weeks ago I resolved to cross the +Channel and pay a visit to London, which I last saw in 1891. I had but +lately returned from a long trip to Algeria and Morocco, and I was told +that the English spring was mild; in Paris I found the weather too cold +for my chest complaint. So I said to myself, 'I will make endeavor to +find the artist, John Clare.' But how? I had an idea. I went to the +school of the great Julian, and there my inquiries met with success. +'Monsieur Clare,' one of the instructors told me, 'is now a prosperous +painter of London, by the name of Vernon.' They gave me the address of +a magazine in your Rue Paternoster, and at that place I was this morning +informed where to find you. I trust that my visit is not an intrusion." + +"Oh, not at all," said Jack. "Who at Julian's can have known so much +about me?" he thought. + +"I have spoken with freedom--perhaps too much," M. Marchand went on. +"But I desired to explain clearly. I have come on business, monsieur, +hoping that I may be privileged to purchase one or two pictures to take +back with me to Paris." + +"I am very sorry," said Jack, "but I fear I have nothing whatever to +sell at present. I am indeed flattered by your kind interest in my work." + +"Monsieur has nothing?" + +Jack shook his head. + +"You see I do a great deal in the way of magazine drawing," he +explained. "The half-finished water-colors on the easels are orders. +I expect to have a large painting in the Royal Academy shortly." + +"Alas, I will not be able to see it," M. Marchand murmured. "I leave +London to-morrow." All the time he was speaking he had been looking with +interest about the studio, and his eyes still wandered from wall to +wall. "Ah, monsieur, I have a thought," he added suddenly. "It is of the +finished pictures, of your later work, that you speak. But surely you +possess many sketches, and among them would be some of Paris, such as +you placed with Jacques Cambon. Is it not so?" + +Jack, in common with all artists, was reluctant to part with his +sketches. But he was growing uncomfortably hungry, and felt disposed to +make a sacrifice for the sake of getting rid of his importunate visitor. + +"I will show you my collection," he answered briefly. + +Lifting the drapery of a couch, he pulled out one of half a dozen fat +portfolios, of huge dimensions. He untied the strings and opened it, +exhibiting a number of large water-color drawings on bristol-board, most +of them belonging to his student days in Paris, some made in Holland and +Normandy. The sight of them, recalling his married life with Diane, +awoke unpleasant memories. He moved away and lighted a cigarette. + +The Frenchman began to turn the sketches over eagerly, and presently +Jack saw him staring hard at an unstiffened canvas which he had found. +It was the duplicate Rembrandt painted for Martin Von Whele. Jack had +not been reading the papers much of late, and was ignorant of the +Hollander's death. + +"That is nothing of any account," he said. "It is the copy of an old +master." + +"Ah, I have a little taste for the antique," replied M. Marchand. +"This is repulsive--it is a frightful face. Were it in my collection, +monsieur, it would quite spoil my pretty bits of scenery." + +He tossed the canvas carelessly aside, and finally chose a couple of +water-colors, both showing picturesque nooks of Paris. + +"I should like to have these," he said, "if monsieur is willing to name +a price." + +"Fifteen pounds for the two," Jack announced reluctantly. "Can I send +them for you?" he added. + +"No; I will take them with me." + +Jack tied up the portfolio and replaced it under the couch, an operation +that was closely watched by his visitor. Then he wrapped up the two +sketches, and received three five-pound notes. + +"May I offer you some refreshment?" he said, politely. "You will find +brandy there--" + +"I love the golden whisky of England," protested M. Marchand. + +He mixed some for himself, and after drinking it he wiped his lips with +a handkerchief. As he returned it to his pocket Jack saw on the white +linen a brown stain that he was sure had not been there before. + +M. Felix Marchand looked at his watch, shook hands with Jack, and hoped +that he would have the pleasure of seeing him again. Then he bowed +ceremoniously, and was gone, carrying the parcel under his arm. Jack +closed the door, and retired to an inner room to change his clothing for +the evening. + +"I'll have a grill at the Trocadero," he told himself, "and drop in at +the Alhambra for the last few numbers. A queer chap, that Frenchman! +Where did he pick up such good English? He was all right, of course, but +I can't help feeling a bit puzzled. Fancy his taking a craze for my +studies of Paris! I remember that they gathered dust for months in old +Cambon's window, until one day I missed them. It's a funny thing about +that brown mark which came off on his handkerchief after he wiped his +mustache. Still, I've known men to use such stuff to give them a healthy +color, though this chap didn't look as if he needed it. And he said he +suffered from a chest complaint." + + * * * * * + +At eight o'clock Jack was up and splashing in his bath, a custom that he +hugely enjoyed, winter and summer. He had come home the night before by +the last train, after dining with some friends he had picked up, and +spending an hour with them at the Alhambra. + +He dressed himself with unusual care and discrimination, selecting a +suit of dark brown tweeds that matched his complexion, and a scarf with +a good bit of red in it. Prepared for him in the studio, and presided +over by Alphonse in a white apron, were rolls and coffee, eggs and +bacon. The sun was shining brightly outside. The postman came while he +was at breakfast, and he read his batch of letters; from some of which +dropped checks. One he purposely saved for the last, and the +contents--only a few lines--brought a smile to his lips. He tore the +dainty sheet of note-paper into small pieces and threw them into the +fire. Then he filled his cigar case with choice Regalias, pulled on his +driving gloves, and perched a jaunty Alpine hat on his head. + +"Alphonse, you must be here all day," he said. "Mordaunt, of the +Frivolity, will send for that poster; and a messenger may come from the +Piccadilly Magazine--the drawings are in a parcel on my desk. Say to any +person who calls that I will not be back until evening." + +"I will remember," assured Alphonse. + +"By the by, Alphonse, you were living in a big house in the Parc +Monceaux half a dozen years ago?" + +"Monsieur is right." + +"Do you remember a gentleman by the name of Marchand--M. Felix +Marchand?" + +"My memory may be at fault," Alphonse answered, "but I do not recall a +person of that name." + +"Well, no matter. He may not have resided there then, and the Parc +Monceaux means a large neighborhood." + +Jack banished M. Marchand from his mind with ease, as he went out into +the sunshine and freshness of the spring morning; the singing of the +birds, and the beauty of the trees and flowers, told him that it was a +glorious thing to be alive. He waited a few moments at a nearby livery +stable, while the attendants brought out a very swell-looking and newly +varnished trap, and put into the shafts a horse that would have held his +own in Hyde Park. + +Chiswick high-road, with its constantly widening and narrowing +perspectives, its jumble of old and modern houses, had never looked more +cheerful as Jack drove rapidly westward. He crossed Kew Bridge, rattled +on briskly, and finally entered Richmond, where he pulled up by the curb +opposite to the station where centre a number of suburban railway lines. + +He had not long to wait--a glance at his watch told him that. Five +minutes later the rumble of an incoming train was heard, and presently +a double procession of passengers came up the steps to the street. Jack +had eyes for one only, a radiant vision of loveliness, as sweet and +fresh and blushing as a June rose. The vision was Madge Foster, her +graceful figure set off by a new spring gown from Regent street, and a +sailor hat perched on her golden curls. She stepped lightly into the +trap, and nestled down on the cushions. + +"Oh, Jack, what _will_ you think of me after this," she cried, half +seriously. + +"I think that the famed beauties of Hampton Court would turn green +in their frames with envy if they could see you now," Jack answered +evasively, as he flicked the horses with his whip. "Here we go for +a jolly day. It will come to an end all too soon." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. + + +The trap rattled up crooked George street, and swung around and down +to classic-looking Richmond Bridge, with its gorgeous vistas of river +scenery right and left over the low parapets. Madge was very quiet for +a time, and it was evident that she felt some misgivings as to the +propriety of what she had consented to do at Jack's urgent request. She +had left home soon after her father's departure for town, and she must +be back before six o'clock to meet him on his return. Her secret was +shared with the old servant, Mrs. Sedgwick, who was foolishly fond of +the girl, and naturally well-disposed toward Jack because he had saved +Madge's life. This faithful creature, on the death of her young husband +twenty years before, had entered Mrs. Foster's service; she practically +managed Stephen Foster's establishment, assisted by a housemaid and by +the daily visits of a charwoman. + +Until Richmond was left behind, Jack was as serious and thoughtful +as his companion. He had a high sense of honor, a hatred of anything +underhanded, and his conscience pricked him a little. However, it was +not his fault, he told himself. Stephen Foster had no business to be +churlish and ungrateful, and treat his daughter as though she were a +school miss still in her teens. And what wrong could there be about the +day's outing together, if no harm was intended? It would all come right +in the end, unless, unless-- + +He felt reassured as he stole a glance at Madge's face, and saw her quick +blush. She laughed merrily, and nestled a little closer to his side. + +"You are not sorry?" he asked. + +"Sorry? Oh, no. It is so good of you, Jack, and the weather is +perfect--we could not have had a better day." + +Their depression vanished like a summer cloud, as they rode through +Twickenham and Teddington, under the shade of the great trees, enjoying +the occasional views of the shining river, and the peeps into the walled +gardens of the fine old houses. + +"It is all new to me," said Madge, with a sigh. "I used to go to Hampton +Court with father on Sundays, but that was long ago; he doesn't take me +anywhere now, except to the theatre once or twice a year." + +"It is a shame," Jack replied indignantly, "when you enjoy things so +much." + +"Oh, but I dearly love Strand-on-the-Green. I am very happy there." + +"And you never long for a wider life?" + +"Yes--sometimes. I want to go abroad and travel. It must be delightful +to see the places and countries one has read about, to roam in foreign +picture galleries." + +"I would like to show you the Continent," said Jack. "We have the same +tastes, and--" + +A rapturous "Oh!" burst from Madge. They had turned suddenly in at +the gates of Bushey Park, and before them was the twenty-mile-long +perspective of the chestnut avenue, bounded by the white sunlit walls of +the hospitable Greyhound. The girl's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and in +her excitement, as some fresh bit of beauty was revealed, she rested a +tiny gloved hand on Jack's arm. + +"I will take you out often, if you will let me," he said. + +They drove out of the park, and swung around the weather-beaten wall of +Hampton Court. Red-coated soldiers were lounging by the barracks in the +palace yard, and the clear notes of a bugle rose from quarters; a tide +of people and vehicles was flowing in the sunlight over Molesey Bridge. +Jack turned off into the lower river road, and so on by shady and +picturesque ways to the ancient village of Hampton. + +They put up the horse and trap at the Flower Pot, and lunched in the +coffee-room of that old-fashioned hostelry, at a little table laid in +the bow-window, looking out on the quaint high-street. It was a charming +repast, and both were hungry enough to do it justice. The Chambertin +sparkled like rubies as it flowed from the cobwebbed bottle, and Jack +needed little urging from Madge to light a fragrant Regalia. + +Then they sauntered forth into the sunshine, down to the river shore, +and Jack chose a big roomy boat, fitted with the softest of red cushions. +He pulled for a mile or more up the rippling Thames, chatting gaily with +Madge, who sat opposite to him and deftly managed the rudder-ropes. A +little-known backwater was the goal, and suddenly he drove the boat under +a screen of low-drooping bushes and into a miniature lake set in a frame +of leafy trees that formed a canopy of dense foliage overhead. + +"What do you think of it?" Jack asked, as he ran the bow gently ashore +and pulled in the oars. + +"It is like fairyland. It is too beautiful for words." + +Madge averted her eyes from his, and pushed back a tress of golden hair +that had strayed from under her hat; she took off one glove, and dipped +the tips of her fingers in the water. + +"I wish I had brought a book," she said. "Why don't you smoke? You have +my permission, sir. But we must not stop long." + +Jack felt for his cigar-case and dropped it again. The next instant he +was beside the girl, and one arm encircled her waist. + +"Madge, my darling!" he cried. "Don't you know--can't you guess--why I +brought you here?" + +Her silence, the droop of her blushing face, emboldened him. The old, +old story, the story that was born when the world began, fell from his +lips. They were honest, manly words, with a ring of heartfelt passion +and pleading. + +"Have I surprised you, Madge?" he went on. "Have I spoken too soon? We +have known each other only a short time, it is true, but I could not +care more for you had we been acquainted for months or years. I am not +an impulsive boy--I know my own heart. I loved you from the day you came +into my life. I love you now, and will always love you. I will be a good +and true husband. Have you no answer for me, dear?" + +The girl suddenly raised her face to his. Half-shed tears glistened in +her eyes, but there was also a radiant look there which trilled his +heart with unspeakable joy. He knew that he had won her. + +"Madge, my sweet Madge!" he whispered. + +She trembled as his arm tightened about her waist. + +"Jack, do you really, really love me?" + +"More than I can tell you, dear. Can you doubt me? Have you nothing to +say? Do you think it so strange--" + +"Strange? Yes, it is more than I dared to hope for. Don't think me +unwomanly, Jack, for telling the truth, but--but I do love you with all +my heart." + +"Madge! You have made me the happiest man alive! God grant that I be +always worthy of your affection!" + +A bird began to sing overhead, and Jack thought it was the sweetest +music he had ever heard, as he drew Madge to him and pressed a lover's +first kiss on her lips. Side by side they sat there in the leafy +retreat, heedless of time, while the afternoon sun drooped lower in the +sky. They had much to talk of--many little confidences to exchange. They +lived over again the events of that brief period in which they had known +each other. + +"You have upset all my plans," said Madge, with a pretty pout. "I was +going to devote my life to art, and become a second Rosa Bonheur or Lady +Butler." + +"One artist in the family will be enough," her lover answered, +laughingly. "But you shall continue to paint, dearest. We will roam +over Europe with our sketch-books." + +"Oh, how delightful! To think of it--my dreams will be realized! I +knew your work, Jack, before I knew you. But I am so ignorant of the +world--even of the little world of London." + +"Madge, you are talking nonsense. You are my queen--you are the dearest, +sweetest little woman that ever man won. And I love you the better +because you are as fresh and pure as a flower, untainted by the wicked +world, where innocence rubs off her bloom on vice's shoulders. I am not +old, dear, but I have lived long enough to appreciate the value of--" + +"Hush, or I shall think you do not mean all you say. Oh, Jack, promise +me that you will never repent of your bargain. I wonder that some woman +did not enslave you long ago." + +A shadow crossed Jack's face, and he was silent for a moment. + +"Madge," he said, hesitatingly, "I have not been a bad man in my time, +nor have I been a particularly good one. I was an art student in Paris +for years, and Paris is a city of dissipation, full of pitfalls and +temptations to young fellows like myself. There is something connected +with my past, which I feel it is my duty to--" + +"Don't tell me, Jack--please don't. I might not like to hear it. I will +try to forget that you had a past, and I will never ask you about it. +You are mine now, and we will think only of the present and the future. +I trust you, dear, and I know that you are good and true. You will +always love me, won't you?" + +"Always, my darling," Jack replied in a tone of relief. He told himself, +as he kissed the troubled look from the girl's eyes, that it was better +to keep silence. What could he gain by dragging up the black skeleton of +the past? He was a free man now, and the withholding of that bitter +chapter of his life would be the wisest course. If the future ever +brought it to light, Madge would remember that she herself had checked +the story on his lips. + +"Jack, you are looking awfully serious." + +"Am I? Well, I won't any more. But, I say, Madge, when will you be my +wife? And how about speaking to your father? You know--" + +"I can't tell him yet, Jack, really--you must wait a while. You won't +mind, will you?" + +"I hate this deception." + +"So do I. But father has not been quite himself lately--I think +something troubles him." + +"Does he want to marry you to any one else?" Jack asked, jealously. "Is +there anything of the sort between him and that young chap who comes to +the house?" + +"I can't be certain, Jack, but sometimes I imagine so, though father +has never spoken to me about it. I dislike Mr. Royle, and discourage his +attentions." + +"His attentions?" + +"Oh, Jack, don't look at me in that way--you make me feel wretched. +Won't you trust me and believe me? I love you with all my heart, and +I am as really yours as if I were married to you." + +"My darling, I _do_ trust you," he said contritely. "Forgive me--I was +very foolish. I know that nothing can separate us, and I will await your +own time in patience. And when you are willing to have me speak to your +father--" + +"It shall be very soon, dear," whispered Madge, looking up at him with +a soft light in her eyes. "If I find him in a good humor I will tell him +myself. We are great chums, you know." + +Jack kissed her, and then glanced at his watch. + +"Four o'clock," he said, regretfully. "We must be off." + +He pulled the boat back to Hampton, and ordered the hostler at the +Flower Pot to get the trap ready. The world looked different, somehow, +to the happy couple, as they drove Londonwards. Love's young dream had +been realized, and they saw no shadow in the future. + +The ride home was uneventful until they reached Richmond. Then, on the +slope of the hill in front of the Talbot, where the traffic was thick +and noisy, a coach with half a dozen young men on top was encountered, +evidently bound for a convivial dinner at the Star and Garter or the +Roebuck. A well-known young lord was driving, and beside him sat Victor +Nevill. He smiled and nodded at Jack, and turned to gaze after his fair +companion. + +"That was an old friend of mine," remarked Jack, as the trap passed on. +"A jolly good fellow, too." + +"Drive faster, please," Madge said, abruptly. "I am afraid it is late." + +There was a troubled, half-frightened look on her face, and she was very +quiet until the station was reached, where she was sure to get a train +to Gunnersbury within a few minutes. She sprang lightly to the pavement, +and let her hand rest in Jack's for a moment, while her eyes, full of +unspeakable affection, gazed into his. Then, with a brief farewell, she +had vanished down the steps. + +"She is mine," thought Jack, as he drove on toward Kew and Chiswick. "I +have won a pearl among women. I think I should kill any man who came +between us." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +AN ATTRACTION IN PALL MALL. + + +There was a counter-attraction in Pall Mall--a rival to Marlborough +House, opposite which, ranged along the curb, a number of persons are +usually waiting on the chance of seeing the Prince drive out. The rival +establishment was the shop of Lamb and Drummond, picture dealers and +engravers to Her Majesty. Since nine o'clock that morning, in the +blazing May sunshine, there had been a little crowd before the plate +glass window, behind which the firm had kindly exposed their latest +prize to the public gaze. Newspaper men had been admitted to a private +view of the picture, and for a couple of days previous the papers had +contained paragraphs in reference to the coming exhibition. Rembrandts +are by no means uncommon, nor do all command high prices; but this +particular one, which Martin Von Whele had unearthed in Paris, was +conceded to be the finest canvas that the master-artist's brush had +produced. + +It was the typical London crowd, very much mixed. Some regarded the +picture with contemptuous indifference and walked away. Others admired +the rich, strong coloring, the permanency of the pigments, and the +powerful, ferocious head, either Russian or Polish, that seemed to +fairly stand out from the old canvas. A few persons, who were keener +critics, envied Lamb and Drummond for the bargain they had obtained at +such a small figure. + +Early in the afternoon Jack Vernon joined the group before the shop +window; an interview with the editor of the _Piccadilly Magazine_ had +brought him to town, and, having read the papers, he had walked from the +Strand over to Pall Mall. Memories of his Paris life, of the morning +when he had trudged home in bitter disappointment to the Boulevard St. +Germain and Diane, surged into his mind. + +"It is the same picture that I copied at the Hotel Netherlands," he said +to himself, "and it ought to sell for a lot of money. How well I recall +those hours of drudgery, with old Von Whele looking over my shoulder and +puffing the smoke of Dutch tobacco into my eyes! I was sorry to read of +his death, and the sale of his collection. He was a good sort, if he +_was_ forgetful. By Jove, I've half a mind to box up my duplicate and +send it to his executors. I wonder if they would settle the long-standing +account." + +Several hours later, when Jack had gone home and was hard at work in his +studio, Victor Nevill sauntered down St. James street. He wore evening +dress, and carried a light overcoat on his arm. He stopped at Lamb and +Drummond's window for a few moments, and scrutinized the Rembrandt +carelessly, but with a rather curious expression on his face. Then he +looked at his watch--the time was half-past five--and cutting across +into the park he walked briskly to St. James' Park station. The train +that he wanted was announced, and when it came in he watched the row of +carriages as they flashed by him. He entered a first-class smoker, and +nodded to Stephen Foster. The two were not alone in the compartment, and +during the ride of half an hour they exchanged only a few words, and +gave close attention to their papers. But they had plenty to talk about +after they got out at Gunnersbury, and their conversation was grave and +serious as they walked slowly toward the river, by the long shady +streets lined with villas. + +Stephen Foster's house stood close to the lower end of +Strand-on-the-Green. It was more than a century old, and was larger +than it looked from the outside. It had the staid and comfortable stamp +of the Georgian period, with its big square windows, and the unique +fanlight over the door. Directly opposite the entrance, across the strip +of paved quay, was a sort of a water-gate leading down to the sedgy +shore of the Thames--a flight of stone steps, cut out of the masonry, +from the foot of which it was possible to take boat at high tide. In the +rear of the house was a walled garden, filled with flowers, shrubbery, +and fruit trees. + +Opening the door with his key, Stephen Foster led his guest into the +drawing-room, where Madge was sitting with a book. She kissed her +father, and gave a hand reluctantly to Nevill, whom she addressed as Mr. +Royle. She resumed her reading, perched on a couch by the window, and +Nevill stole numerous glances at her while he chatted with his host. + +The curio-dealer dined early--he was always hungry when he came back +from town--and dinner was announced at seven o'clock. It was a +protracted ceremony, and the courses were well served and admirably +cooked; the wine came from a carefully selected cellar, and was beyond +reproach. Madge presided at the table, and joined in the conversation; +but it evidently cost her an effort to be cheerful. After the dessert +she rose. + +"Will you and Mr. Royle excuse me, father?" she said. "I know you want +to smoke." + +"I hope you are not going to desert us, Miss Foster," Nevill replied. +"Your company is preferable to the best cigar." + +"We will go up stairs and smoke," said Stephen Foster. "Come, Royle; my +daughter would rather play the piano." + +The library, whither Nevill accompanied his host, was on the second +floor front. It was a cozy room, trimmed with old oak, with furniture to +match, lined with books and furnished with rare engravings and Persian +rugs. Stephen Foster lighted the incandescent gas-lamp on the big table, +drew the window curtains together, and closed the door. Then he unlocked +a cabinet and brought out a box of Havanas, a siphon, a couple of +glasses, and a bottle of whisky and one of Maraschino. + +"Sit down, and help yourself," he said. "Or is it too early for a +stimulant?" + +Nevill did not reply; he was listening to the low strains of music from +the floor beneath, where Madge was at the piano, singing an old English +ballad. He hesitated for a moment, and dropped into an easy chair. +Stephen Foster drew his own chair closer and leaned forward. + +"We are quite alone," he said, "and there is no danger of being +overheard or disturbed. You intimated that you had something particular +to say to me. What is it? Does it concern our little--" + +"No; we discussed that after we left the train. It is quite a different +matter." + +Nevill's usual self-possession seemed to have deserted him, and as he +went on with his revelation he spoke in jerky sentences, with some +confusion and embarrassment. + +"That's all there is about it," he wound up, aggressively. + +"All?" cried Stephen Foster. + +He got up and walked nervously to the window. Then he turned back and +confronted Nevill; there was a look on his face that was not pleasant to +see, as if he had aged suddenly. + +"Is this a jest, or are you serious?" he demanded, coldly. "Do I +understand that you love my daughter?--that you wish to marry her?" + +"I have told you so plainly. You must have known that I loved her--you +cannot have been blind to that fact all this time." + +"I have been worse than blind, Nevill, I fear. Have you spoken to Madge?" + +"No; I never had a chance." + +"Do you consider yourself a suitable husband for her?" + +"Why not?" Nevill asked; he was cool and composed now. "If you are good +enough to be her father, am I not worthy to be her husband?" + +"Don't say that," Stephen Foster answered. "You are insolent--you forget +to whom you are speaking. Whatever our relations have been and are, +whatever sort of man I am at my desk or my ledgers, I am another person +at home. Sneer if you like, it is true. I love my daughter--the child of +my dead wife. She does not know what I do in town--you are aware of +that--and God forbid that she ever does learn. I want to keep her in +ignorance--to guard her young life and secure her future happiness. And +_you_ want to marry her!" + +"I do," replied Nevill, trying to speak pleasantly. + +"How will you explain the deception--the fact that you have been coming +here under a false name?" + +"I will get around that all right. It was your suggestion, you remember, +not mine, that I should take the name of Royle. Look here, Foster, I +know there is some reason in what you say--I respect your motives. But +you misunderstand and misjudge me. I love the girl with all my heart, +with a true, pure and lasting affection. I might choose a wife in higher +places, but Madge has enslaved me with her sweet face and charming +disposition. As for our relations--you know what poverty drove me to. +Given a secure income, and I should never have stooped to dishonor. The +need of money stifled the best that was in my nature. It is not too late +to reform, though. I don't mean now, but when I come into my uncle's +fortune, which is a sure thing. Then, I promise you, I will be as +straight as you could wish your daughter's husband to be. Believe me, +I am sincere. No man could offer Madge a deeper affection." + +There was no doubt that Victor Nevill spoke the truth, for once in his +life; he loved Madge with a passion that dominated him, and he knew his +own unworthiness. Stephen Foster paced the floor with a haggard face, +with knitted brows. + +"It is impossible," he said to himself. "I would rather see her married +to some poor but honest clerk." He lighted a cigar and bit it savagely. +"What if I refuse?" he added aloud. + +A dangerous light flashed in Nevill's eyes. + +"I won't give her up," he replied; and in the words there was a hidden +menace which Stephen Foster understood. + +"Give her up?" he echoed. "You have not won her yet." + +"I know that, but I hope to succeed." + +"What do you expect me to do?" + +"All in your power. Give me a fair show." + +"The girl shan't be bullied or browbeaten--I won't force her into such a +step against her wishes. If she marries you, it will be of her own free +will." + +"That's fair enough. But I want an open field. You must keep other +admirers away from the girl, and there isn't any time to lose about it. +It may be too late now--" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that Madge has improved her acquaintance with the chap who +pulled her out of the river a couple of weeks ago." + +"Impossible, Nevill!" + +"It is perfectly true. And do you know who the man is? It is none other +than Jack Vernon, the artist." + +"By heavens, Jack Vernon! The same who--" + +"Yes, the same. I did not tell you before." + +"And I did not dream of it. I wrote a letter of gratitude to the fellow, +and told Madge to get his address from the landlord of the Black Bull--I +did not know it myself, else--" + +"I was afraid you might have some scruples. It is too late for that +now." + +"It was like your cursed cunning," exclaimed Stephen Foster. "Yes, +I should have hesitated. But are you certain that Madge has seen the +fellow since?" + +"Certain? Why, I passed them in George street, Richmond, last evening, +as I was driving to the Star and Garter. They were together in a trap, +going toward Kew. That is the reason I determined to speak to you +to-night." + +Stephen Foster rose and hurried toward the door; his face was pale with +anger and alarm. + +"Stop!" cried Nevill. "What are you going to do?" + +"Sit still," was the hoarse reply. "I'll tell you when I return." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +UNCLE AND NEPHEW. + + +Victor Nevill was on his feet instantly, and by a quick move he +intercepted Foster and clutched him by the arm. He repeated his +question: "What are you going to do?" + +"Take your hand off me. I shall hear from Madge's own lips a denial of +your words. How dare you accuse her of stooping to an intrigue?" + +"I wouldn't call it that. Madge is young and innocent. She knows little +of the censorious world. She has been left pretty much to herself, and +naturally she sees no harm in meeting Vernon. As for denying my +words--she can't do that." + +"I will call her to account, and make her confess everything." + +"But not to-night," urged Nevill. "Come, sit down." + +Stephen Foster yielded to the solicitation of his companion, and went +back to his chair. He mixed a whisky and soda, and drank half of it. + +"I forget," he muttered, "that my little Madge has grown to womanhood. +Her very innocence would make her an easy prey to some unscrupulous +scoundrel. I must speak to her, Nevill." + +"Yes, by all means." + +"And why not to-night?" + +"Need you ask? Would not Madge know at once that it was I who told you? +And what, then, would be my chance of winning her?" + +"It couldn't be any poorer than it is now," thought Stephen Foster. +"Did she see you yesterday?" he said aloud. + +"No, by good luck she did not--at least I feel pretty sure of it. A +jolly good thing, too, for Vernon recognized me and nodded to me. But +whether Madge saw me or not won't make much difference under present +circumstances. If you go downstairs now and start a row with her, she +will be sure to suspect that you received your information from me." + +"Quite likely. What do you want me to do?" + +"Wait until to-morrow evening, when you return from town. Then tell +her that some stock-broking friend of yours in the city saw her near +Richmond station." + +"That is the best plan," assented Stephen Foster. "I will take your +advice." + +"Of course you will forbid her to have anything more to do with Vernon, +and will see that your wishes are enforced?" + +"Decidedly. The man has behaved badly, and I can't believe that he has +any honorable intentions. He has been simply amusing himself with the +girl." + +"That's like him," Nevill said carelessly. "Jack Vernon was always a +rake and a _roue_; though, as I am a friend of his, I ought not to tell +you this. But for your daughter's sake--" + +"I understand. The warning is timely, and I will see that the girl's +eyes are opened." + +"And you will give Madge to me if I can win her consent." + +"She shall marry the man she loves--the man of her choice," replied +Stephen Foster, "provided he is worthy of her. But I won't compel her +to do anything against her wishes." + +"I am not asking you to do that. I have your permission, then, to visit +here as a suitor?" + +"Yes; I shall be glad to see you a couple of times a week." + +Stephen Foster did not speak very cordially, and his expression was not +that of a father who has found a suitable husband for his daughter; but +Victor Nevill had gained his point, and was satisfied with what he had +so far accomplished. He was a vain man, and possessed an overweening +amount of self-confidence, especially where women were concerned. + +The two had other subjects to discuss. For a couple of hours--long after +Madge had forsaken the piano and gone to bed--a whispered conversation +was carried on that had no reference to the girl. It was nearly eleven +o'clock when Nevill left the house, and bade Stephen Foster good-night +on the step. He knew the way in spite of the darkness and the paucity +of street lamps. Having lighted a cigar, he walked briskly toward +Gunnersbury. + +"It was a narrow squeak yesterday," he reflected. "Until I met the girl +to-night, I was doubtful as to her having failed to see me on the coach. +It would have been most unfortunate had both of them recognized me; they +would have compared notes in that case, and discovered that Victor +Nevill and Mr. Royle were one and the same. I must be more careful in +future. Foster was rather inclined to be ugly, but he promised certain +things, and he knows that he can't play fast and loose with me. I am +afraid some harm has been done already, but it will blow over if he +keeps a tight rein on his daughter. As for Vernon, he must be forced to +decamp. Curse the fate that brought him across my path! There's not much +I would stop at if he became a dangerous rival. But there is no danger +of that. I have the inner track, and by perseverance I will win the +girl in the end. She is not a bit like other women--that's her +charm--but it ought to count for something when she learns that I am Sir +Lucius Chesney's heir. I've been going to the devil pretty fast, but I +meant what I told Foster. I love Madge with all my better nature, and +for her sake I would run as straight as a die. A look from her pretty +eyes makes me feel like a blackguard." + +Thus Nevill communed with himself until he neared Gunnersbury station, +when the distant rumble of a train quickened his steps. He had just time +to buy his ticket, dash down the steps, and jump into a first-class +carriage. Getting out at Portland road, he took a cab to Regent street, +and dropped in at the Cafe Royal for a few minutes. Then he started +toward his lodgings on foot. It was that witching hour when West End +London, before it goes to sleep, foams and froths like a glass of +champagne that will soon be flat and flavorless. Men and women, inclined +to be hilarious, thronged the pavements under the strong lights. Birds +of prey, male and female, prowled alertly. + +A jingling hansom swung from Piccadilly Circus into the Quadrant. Its +occupants were a short, Jewish-looking man with a big diamond in his +shirt-front, and a woman who leaned forward more prominently than her +companion. She was richly dressed, and--at least by gaslight--strikingly +beautiful, with great eyes of a purplish hue, and a mass of golden-red +hair that might or might not have been natural; only at close range +could one have detected the ravages of an unfortunate and unbridled +life--the tell-tale marks that the lavish use of powder and rouge could +not utterly hide. + +The vehicle very nearly ran Victor Nevill down--he had been about to +cross the street--and as he dodged back to the sidewalk his face was +for an instant close to the woman's, and he saw her distinctly. He +uttered an exclamation of surprise, and started as though an unseen hand +had dealt him a blow. He hesitated briefly, seemingly dazed, and then +started in pursuit. But he ran into a couple of men at the outset, and +by the time he had stammered an apology, and was free to look about him +again, the swift-moving hansom was lost to sight in a maze of similar +vehicles. + +"It's no use to follow in a cab," muttered Nevill. "And I must be +mistaken, anyway. It can't be she whom I saw--she is dead." + +He stood at the edge of the pavement, staring undecidedly up the curve +of the street. When a brace of painted women, emboldened by his +attitude, shot covert remarks at him, he turned on them sharply. But, +seeing a policeman approaching, he walked on. + +"By heavens, I was _not_ mistaken!" he said to himself. "The papers must +have blundered--such things often happen. She is much altered, but they +were her eyes, her lips. To think that her peerless beauty should have +brought her so low! She is nothing to me now, though I nearly broke my +heart over her once. But she may serve as a useful tool. She will be a +trump card to play, if need be. She has probably come to London recently, +and if she stays any time it would not be a difficult matter for me to +find her. I daresay she drained the Russian's purse, and then served +him as she served me. The heartless vampire! But I am glad I saw her +to-night. With her aid it will be easier than I hoped, perhaps, to win +Madge." + + * * * * * + +Since ten o'clock an unexpected visitor had been waiting in Victor +Nevill's rooms on Jermyn street. In a big basket-chair, drawn close to +the light, sat Sir Lucius Chesney. He had helped himself to cigars and +brandy-and-soda, and had dipped into half a dozen late novels that were +scattered about the table, but without finding any to interest him. It +was long past twelve now, and he was beginning to feel drowsy and out of +temper. He wished he had remained in the smoking-room of his hotel, or +hunted up some old acquaintances at the Country Club. + +Sir Lucius was a medium-sized, slightly portly gentleman of fifty-eight, +though he did not look his age, thanks to the correct life he led. He +had a military carriage, a rubicund face, a heavy mustache, keen, +twinkling eyes, and a head of iron-gray hair. He was a childless +widower, and Victor Nevill, the son of his dead sister Elizabeth, was +his nephew, and presumably his heir. He had had another sister--his +favorite one--but many years ago he had cast her out of his life. He +lived alone at his fine old place in Sussex, Priory Court, near to the +sea and the downs. When he was at home he found occupation in shooting +and fishing, riding, cultivating hot-house fruits, and breeding horses +and cattle. These things he did to perfection, but his knowledge of art +was not beyond criticism. He was particularly fond of old masters, but +he bought all sorts of pictures, and had a gallery full of them. He made +bad bargains sometimes, and was imposed upon by unscrupulous dealers. +That, however, was nobody's business, as long as he himself was +satisfied. + +He cared nothing for London or for society, and seldom came up to town; +but he liked to travel, and a portion of each year he invariably spent +on the Continent or in more remote places. He smoked Indian cheroots +from choice--he had once filled a civil position in Bombay for eighteen +months--and his favorite wine was port. He was generous and +kind-hearted, and believed that every young man must sow his crop of +wild oats, and that he would be the better for it. But there was another +and a deeper side to his character. In his sense of honor he was a +counterpart of Colonel Newcome, and he had a vast amount of family +pride; a sin against that he could neither forget nor forgive, and he +was relentless to the offender. + +It was twenty minutes to one when Victor Nevill mounted the stairs and +opened his door, surprised to see that the gas was lighted in his rooms. +If he was unpleasantly startled by the sight of his visitor, he masked +his feelings successfully. + +"My dear uncle," he cried, "I am delighted to see you!" + +"You dog!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, with a beaming countenance. "You +night-bird! Do you know that I have been here since ten o'clock?" + +"I am awfully sorry, I assure you, sir. If you had only dropped me a +line or wired. I have been dining with a friend in the suburbs, and the +best train I could catch took me to Portland road." + +Possibly Sir Lucius did not believe this explanation. He glanced keenly +at his nephew, noting his flushed face and rumpled shirt-bosom, and a +shadow of displeasure crossed his features. + +"I hoped to spend a few quiet hours with you," he said. "I came to town +this evening, and put up at Morley's. I am off to Norway in the morning, +by a steamer that sails from the Thames, and from there I shall probably +go to the Continent. I have been feeling a little run down--livery--and +my physician has advised a complete change of air." + +"You are a regular globe-trotter," replied Victor, laughing to hide his +sudden look of relief. "I wish I could induce you to spend the season in +London." + +"That's well enough for an idle young dog like yourself--you can't exist +out of London. What are you doing?" + +"Nothing in particular. I read a good bit--" + +"Yes, trashy novels. Does your income hold out?" + +"I manage to get along, with economy." + +"Economy? Humph! I have taken the liberty to look about your rooms. +The landlady remembered me and let me in. You have a snug nest--more +luxurious than the last time I was here. It is fit for a Sybarite. Your +brandy is old liquor, and must have cost you a pretty penny. Your cigars +are too good for _me_, sir, and I'll warrant you don't pay less than ten +pounds a hundred for them. As for your clothing, you have enough to +start a shop." + +"I must keep up appearances, my dear uncle." + +"Yes, I suppose so. I don't blame you for wanting to stand well with +your friends, if you can afford it. Your father and mother spoiled you. +You should have gone to the bar, or into the army or the church. +However, it is too late to talk about that now. But, to be frank with +you, my boy, it has come to my ears that you are leading a fast life." + +"It is false!" Victor cried, indignantly. + +"I sincerely trust so. I have heard only rumors, and I do not care to +attach any credence to them. But a word of warning--of advice--may not +be out of place. Young men must have their fling, and I think none the +worse of them for it. But you are not young, in your knowledge of the +world. It is six or seven years since you were thrown on the Continent +with a full purse. You have been able to indulge every whim and fancy. +You have had enough of wild oats. Fill your niche in Society and +Clubdom, if you like. Be a butterfly and an ornament, if you feel no +inclination for anything better. But be a gentleman--be honorable. If +you ever forget yourself, and bring a shadow of shame upon the unsullied +names of Chesney or Nevill, by gad, sir, you shall never touch a penny +of my money. I will leave it all to charities, and turn Priory Court +into a hospital. Mark that! If you go wrong, I'll hear of it. I'm good +for twenty years yet, if I'm good for a day." + +"You seem to have a very bad opinion of me, Uncle Lucius. I never give +your fortune a thought. As for the honor of the family, it is as dear to +me as it is to you." + +"Glad to hear you say it, my boy," replied Sir Lucius, breathlessly. "It +shows spirit. Well, I hope you'll overlook my sharp words. I meant them +for your good. And if you want a check--" + +"Thanks, awfully, but I don't need it," Victor interrupted, with a +stroke of inspiration. "My income keeps me going all right. It is only +in trifles that I am extravagant. I have inherited a taste, sir, for +good cigars and old brandy." + +"You dog, of course you have. Your maternal grandfather was noted for +his wine cellar, and he bought his Havanas by the thousand from Fribourg +and Treyer. That I should prefer cheroots is rank degeneracy. But I must +be off, or I shall get no sleep. I won't ask you to come down to the +dock in the morning--" + +"But I insist upon coming, sir." + +"Then breakfast with me at Morley's--nine o'clock sharp." + +Uncle and nephew parted on the best of terms, but Sir Lucius was not +altogether easy in mind as he walked down Regent street, tapping the +now deserted pavement with his stick. + +"I hope the boy is trustworthy," he thought. "He has some excuse for +recklessness and extravagance, but none for dishonor. I told him the +name of Chesney was unsullied--I forgot for a moment. It is strange that +Mary should be so much in my mind lately. Poor girl! Perhaps I was too +harsh with her. I wonder if she is still alive--if she has a son. But if +she came to me this moment, I could not forgive her. Nearly thirty years +have not softened me." + +He sighed heavily as he entered Trafalgar Square, and to a wretched +woman with an infant in her arms, crouching under the shadow of the +Nelson Column, he tossed a silver piece. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A LONDON SENSATION. + + +It had rained most of the afternoon, and then cleared off beautifully +just before twilight. Strand-on-the-Green, ever changeful of mood, was +this evening as fresh and sweet-smelling as a bit of the upper +Thames--as picturesque as any waterside village a hundred miles from +London. + +By the grassy margin of the river, between Maynard's boat-house and the +elm trees, Jack Vernon strolled impatiently up and down. He was in low +spirits, and the beauty of the evening was wasted on him. He had been +here for fifteen minutes, and he told himself that he had been a fool to +come at all, at such an hour. He waited a little longer, and then, as he +was on the point of leaving, he heard light footsteps approaching, and +recognized them with a lover's keen perception. He hurried to meet the +slim, girlish figure, with a light cloak fluttering from her shoulders, +and Madge's little cry of pleasure was stifled on her lips as he kissed +them again and again. + +"My darling!" he whispered eagerly. "I scarcely dared to hope that you +would come to-night, but I could not stay away. Do you know that you +have treated me cruelly? I have not seen you for two days--since +Wednesday afternoon. And I have been here twice." + +"I am sorry, Jack, but I could not help it. I missed you ever so much." + +"Where is your father?" + +"He is not at home--that is why I came. He is dining in town with an +old friend, and won't be back until the last train, at the very +earliest." + +"I am indebted to him. I was hungry for a sight of you, dearest." + +"And I longed to see you, Jack. But I am afraid we shall not be able to +meet as often as before." + +"Madge, what do you mean? Has anything gone wrong?" + +The girl linked her arm in his, and drew him to a darker and lonelier +spot by the water. In a few words, tremulously spoken, she told him what +he had already surmised--that her father had discovered her secret, and +had taxed her with it when he came home on the previous evening. + +"By Jove, it was my fault," Jack said, contritely. "I should not have +tempted you to go on that unlucky trip last Tuesday. So you were seen +near Richmond station by some meddlesome individual--probably when you +got out of the trap! But it may turn out for the best; your father could +not have been kept in ignorance much longer. Was he angry?" + +"Yes, Jack; but he seemed more hurt and grieved. Oh, it was such a +wretched time!" + +"My poor girl! Does--does he want you to give me up?" + +"He forbade me to see you again." + +"And you are here!" + +"Did you expect me to obey him?" + +"What did you tell him, dearest?" + +"All--everything. I spoke up bravely, Jack. I told him I was a woman +now, and that I loved you with all my heart, and intended to marry you!" + +"My own plucky Madge! And I suppose that made him the more angry?" + +"No; my defiance surprised him--he thought I would yield. He talked +about ingratitude, and called me a foolish girl who did not know her own +mind. He looked awfully sad and stern, Jack, but when I kissed him and +begged him not to be angry, he melted a little." + +"And gave in?" + +"No, neither of us yielded; we agreed to a sort of a tacit truce. Father +did not speak of the matter again, and he went to town very early this +morning, before I was up. He left word with Mrs. Sedgewick that he would +not be back until late. I was sure he would go to your studio." + +"I have not seen him," replied Jack; "but I hope he will come. If he +doesn't I shall call on him and ask for your hand, and without delay. It +is the only honorable course. Until I set things right with him, and +satisfy him of my intentions, I can't blame him for thinking all sorts +of evil of me." + +"If he knew you as I know you, dear!" + +"But he doesn't," Jack said, bitterly. "Is it likely that he will consent +to let you marry a poor artist? No. But I can't--I won't--give you up, +Madge!" + +The girl rested her hands on his shoulders, and looked trustfully into +his face. + +"Dear Jack, don't worry," she whispered. "It will all come right in the +end. We love each other, and we will be true. Nothing shall part us. I +am yours always, and some day I will be your wife. Promise that you will +believe me--that you will never be afraid of losing me!" + +"I _do_ believe you, darling," Jack said, fervently. "You have made me +happy again--your words have driven the clouds away. I could not live +without you, Madge. Since I have known you the whole world seems +brighter and better. For your sake I am going to make a name and a +fortune." + +He kissed her passionately, and for a few moments they stood watching +the incoming tide, and talking in a lighter vein. Then they parted, and +Madge slipped away toward the old house with its guardian elm trees. The +memory of her last words cheered Jack as he walked to the high-road and +thence to his studio. Alphonse had prepared him a tempting little +supper, and he did not go to town that night. + +The next morning London awoke to a new sensation, which quite eclipsed +the week-old theft of the Duchess of Hightower's jewels and the recent +mysterious murder at Hoxton. The news was at first meager and +unsatisfactory, and contained little more in substance than was found +in the big headlines and on the posters of the leading papers: + +DARING ROBBERY AT LAMB AND DRUMMOND'S. + +THE FAMOUS REMBRANDT CARRIED OFF--WATCHMAN BRUTALLY HANDLED. + +The early journals had gone to press before a full report of the affair +could reach them, but a detailed account appeared between ten and eleven +o'clock in the first edition of the afternoon papers. The Rembrandt was +gone--there was no doubt of it--and the story of its disappearance +contained many dramatic elements. A curious crowd gathered about the +premises of Lamb and Drummond on Pall Mall, to gaze at the now vacant +window, and the services of a policeman were required to keep the +sidewalk clear. Many persons recalled the similar case, some years +before, of the Gainsborough portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire. + +Mr. Lamb, it appeared, had been detained at his place of business until +long after the closing hour, writing important letters. He left at nine +o'clock, and Raper, the night watchman, fastened the street door behind +him. During the night the policeman on duty in Pall Mall saw or heard +nothing suspicious about the premises. The Rembrandt was on an easel in +a large room back of the shop proper, and from it a rear door opened on +a narrow paved passage leading to Crown Court; the inmates heard no +noise in the night. At four o'clock in the morning a policeman, flashing +his lantern in Crown Court, found a window open at the back of Lamb and +Drummond's premises. He entered at once. Inside the gas was burning +dimly, and the watchman lay bound and gagged in a corner, with a strong +odor of drugs mingling with his breath. The Rembrandt had been cut out +of its frame and carried away. + +"The robbery was evidently well-planned, and is enveloped in mystery," +said the _St. James' Gazette_, "and the thieves left not the slightest +clew. It is difficult to conceive their motive. They cannot hope at +present to dispose of the picture, which is known by reputation in +Europe and America, nor is it certain that they could safely realize +on it after the lapse of years. The watchman, who has recovered +consciousness, declared that he has no knowledge of how the thieves +entered the building. It was about midnight, he states, when he was +knocked down from behind. He remembers nothing after that." + +The _Globe's_ account was more sensational. "It has come to light," +wrote the enterprising reporter, "that Raper, the watchman, was in the +habit of slipping out to the Leather Bottle, on Crown Court, for a +drink at ten o'clock every evening, and leaving the back door of the +shop unlocked. He came into the private bar at the usual time last +night, and remained for twenty minutes. He drank a pint of ale, and was +seen conversing with a shabbily dressed stranger, whose face was +unfamiliar to the publican and the barmaid. This incident suggests two +theories. Did the affable stranger drug Raper's beer, and, at a later +hour of the night, while the watchman was in a stupor, force the window +with one or more companions and carry off the Rembrandt? Or was the +watchman in the plot? Did the thieves slip into the building while he +was in the Leather Bottle, and subsequently bind, gag and drug him, and +force open the window from the outside, in order to screen him from the +suspicions of his employers? We learn that Raper has been suspended from +his position, pending an investigation. Mr. Lamb informs us that the +Rembrandt was insured against fire and burglary for the sum of ten +thousand guineas. The company is the Mutual, and they are sure to do all +in their power to apprehend the thieves and save themselves from such a +heavy loss." + +Such was the gist of the newspaper accounts of the puzzling affair. And +now to see how they affected certain individuals who are not strangers +to the reader. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY. + + +Stephen Foster sat in his office at No. 320 Wardour street, with half a +dozen of the morning and afternoon papers scattered about his desk. It +was two o'clock, but he had not gone out to lunch, and it had not +occurred to him that the usual hour for it was past. Footsteps came down +the length of the shop, and Victor Nevill opened the door. He closed it +quickly behind him as he entered the room; his face expressed extreme +agitation, and he looked like a man who has spent a sleepless night. + +"You have seen them?" he exclaimed, pointing to the papers. "You have +read the different accounts?" + +"Yes, I have read them--that is all. They tell me nothing. You could +have knocked me down with a feather when I bought a _Telegraph_ at +Gunnersbury station this morning, and saw the headlines." + +"And I first heard of it at breakfast--I got up rather late. I opened +the _Globe_ and there it was, staring me in the eyes. It knocked my +appetite, I can assure you. What do you make of it?" + +"It's a mystery," replied Stephen Foster, "and I am all in the dark +about it. Devilish unfortunate, I call it." + +"Right you are! And it's more than that. You have seen the _Globe_?" + +"Yes; here it is." + +"Did you know that the picture was insured?" + +"I judged that it was, but the fact was quite unimportant." + +"The Mutual people won't regard it in that light." + +"Hardly. Will you have a drink, my dear fellow? You are looking seedy." + +A stiff brandy-and-soda pulled Victor Nevill together, and for nearly an +hour the two men spoke in low and serious tones, occasionally referring +to the heap of papers. + +"Not the slightest clew," said Stephen Foster. "It is absurd to suspect +Raper of collusion with the thieves--his only fault was carelessness. +Leave the affair to the police. I shan't give it another thought." + +"That's easier said than done," Nevill replied. He rose and put on his +hat. "I must be off now. Oh, about the other matter--have you said +anything further to your daughter?" + +"Not a word." + +"She still defies you?" + +"She refuses to give the fellow up." Stephen Foster sighed. "The girl +has lots of spirit." + +"You won't let her have her own way?" + +"Not if I can prevent it." + +"Prevent it?" echoed Nevill, sneeringly. "What measures will you take?" + +"I shall see the artist." + +"Much good that will do," said Nevill. "Better begin by enforcing your +authority over your daughter." + +"I can't be harsh with her," Stephen Foster answered. "I am more +inclined to pity than anger." + +Under the circumstances, now that he knew how far matters had gone +with the woman he loved and his rival, Victor Nevill was curiously +unconcerned and unmoved, at least outwardly. It is true that he did not +despair of success, strong as were the odds against him. There was a +hard and evil expression on his face, which melted at times into a +cunning smile of satisfaction, as he walked down Wardour street. + +"I am on the right scent, and the game will soon be in my hands," he +reflected. "In another week I ought to be able to put an effectual spoke +in Jack Vernon's wheel. It will be a blow for Madge, but she will forget +him presently, and then I will commence to play my cards. I won't +fail--I'm determined to make her my wife. Shall I let Foster into the +scheme? I think not. Better let things take their course, and keep him +in ignorance of the fact that I had a hand in the revelation, if it +comes off. I'm afraid it won't, though." + +We must take the reader now to Ravenscourt Park, to the studio of Jack +Vernon. Early in the afternoon, while Victor Nevill was closeted with +Stephen Foster, the young artist was sitting at his easel. He had been +working since breakfast on a landscape, a commission from one of his +wealthy patrons. Things had gone unusually well with him lately. His +picture was on the line at the Academy, it had been favorably reviewed, +and he had received several offers for it. This indicated increased +fame, with a larger income, and a luxurious little home for Madge. + +"Will you have your lunch now, sir?" Alphonse called from the doorway +of an inner room. + +"Yes, you may fetch it," Jack replied. "I'm as hungry as a bear." + +He usually took his second meal at an earlier hour, but to-day he had +gone on working, deeply interested in his subject. He put aside his +brush and palette, and seated himself at the table, on which Alphonse +had placed a couple of chops, a bottle of Bass, and half a loaf of +French bread. When he had finished, he lighted a cigarette and opened +the _Telegraph_ lazily. He had not looked at it before, and he uttered +a cry of surprise as his eyes fell on the headlines announcing the theft +of the Rembrandt. He perused the brief paragraph, and turned to his +servant. + +"Go out and buy me an afternoon paper," he said. + +Alphonse departed, and, having the luck to encounter a newsboy in the +street, he speedily returned with the latest edition of the _Globe_. It +contained nothing more in substance than the earlier issues, but the +full account of the mysterious robbery was there, a column long, and +with keen interest Jack read every word of it over twice. + +"It's a queer case," he said to himself, "and the sort of thing +that doesn't often happen. The last sensation of the kind was the +Gainsborough, years ago. What will the thieves do with their prize? +They can't well dispose of it. It will be a waiting game. I daresay +the watchman knows more than he cares to tell. And so the picture was +insured--over-insured, too, for I don't believe it would have brought +ten thousand pounds. That's rather an interesting fact. Now, if Lamb +and Drummond were like some unscrupulous dealers that I know, instead +of being beyond reproach, there would be reason to think--" + +He did not finish the mental sentence, but tossed the paper aside, and +rose suddenly to his feet. + +"By Jove, I'll hang up the duplicate!" he muttered. "I was going to +send it to Von Whele's executors, but it is worth keeping now, as a +curiosity. It will be an attraction to the chaps who come to see me. +I hope it won't get me into trouble. It is so deucedly like the original +that I might be accused of stealing it from the premises of Lamb and +Drummond." + +He crossed the studio, knelt down by the couch and pulled the drapery +aside, and drew out the half-dozen of bulging portfolios; they had not +been disturbed since the visit of his French customer, M. Felix +Marchand. He opened the one in which he knew he had seen the Rembrandt +on that occasion, but he failed to find it, though he turned over the +sketches singly. He examined them again, with increasing wonder, and +then went carefully through the other portfolios. The search was +fruitless. The copy of Martin Von Whele's Rembrandt was gone! + +"What can it mean?" thought Jack. "I distinctly remember putting the +canvas back in the biggest portfolio--I could swear to that. I have not +touched them since. Yet the picture is gone--missing--stolen. Yes, +stolen! What else? By Jove, it's a queer coincidence that both the +original and the copy should disappear simultaneously!" + +He struck a match and looked beneath the couch; there was nothing there. +He ransacked about the studio for a few minutes, and then summoned his +servant. + +"Was there a stranger here at any time during the last two weeks?" he +asked; "any person whom you did not know?" + +Alphonse shook his head decidedly. + +"There was no one, monsieur. I am certain of that." + +"And my friends--" + +"On such occasions as monsieur's friends called while he was out, I was +in the studio as long as they remained." + +"Yes, of course. When did you sweep under this couch?" + +"About three weeks ago, monsieur," was the hesitating reply. + +"No less than that?" + +"No less, monsieur." + +Jack was satisfied. There was no room for suspicion, he told himself. +The man's word was to be relied upon. But by what agency, then, had the +canvas disappeared? How could a thief break into the studio without +leaving some trace of his visit, in the shape of a broken window or a +forced lock? There had been plenty of opportunities, it is true--nights +when Alphonse had been at home and Jack in town. + +"Has monsieur lost something?" + +"Yes, a large painting has been stolen," Jack replied. + +He went to the door and examined the lock from the outside, by the aid +of matches, though with no hope of finding anything. But a surprising +and ominous discovery rewarded him at once. In and around the key-hole, +sticking to it, were some minute fragments of wax. + +"By Jove, I have it!" cried Jack. "Here is the clew! Look, Alphonse! The +scoundrel, whoever he was, took an impression in wax on his first visit. +He had a key made from it, came back later at night, and stole the +picture. It was a cunning piece of work." + +"Monsieur is right," said Alphonse. "A thief has robbed him. You suspect +nobody?" + +"Not a soul," replied Jack. + +Though the shreds of wax showed how the studio had been entered, he was +no nearer the solution of the mystery than before. He excepted the few +trustworthy friends--only three or four--who knew that he had the +duplicate Rembrandt. + +"And even in Paris there were not many who knew that I painted the +thing," he thought. "I painted it at the Hotel Netherlands, and when Von +Whele went home and left it on my hands, I locked the canvas up in an +old chest. No, I can't suspect any of my friends, past or present. But +then who--By Jove! I have overlooked one point! The man who stole the +picture knew just where it was kept, and he went straight to it. +Otherwise he would have rummaged the studio, and disarranged things +badly before he found what he wanted." + +A light flashed on Jack--a light of inspiration, of certainty and +conviction. He remembered the visit of M. Felix Marchand, that he had +commented on the painting, and had seen it restored to its place in the +portfolio. Beyond doubt the mysterious Frenchman was the thief. Armed +with his craftily-won knowledge, provided with a duplicate key to the +studio, he had easily and safely accomplished his purpose. At what hour, +and on what night, it was impossible to say. Probably a day or two after +his first visit in the guise of a buyer. + +"Monsieur must not take his loss too much to heart," said Alphonse, with +well-meant sympathy. "If he informs the police--" + +"I prefer to have nothing to do with the police, thank you. You may go, +Alphonse. I shall dine in town, as usual." + +When Alphonse had departed, Jack threw a sheet over the canvas on his +easel, put on a smoking jacket, lighted his pipe, and stretched himself +in an easy chair, to think about the startling discovery he had made. + +The mystery presented many difficult points for his consideration. The +rogue's sole aim was to get that particular painting, and he had taken +nothing else, though he might have walked off with his pockets filled +with valuable articles. He probably expected that the robbery would not +be discovered for a long time. + +But what was his object in stealing the Rembrandt? What did he hope to +do with a copy of so well-known a work of art? Was there any connection +between this crime and the one committed last night on the premises of +the Pall Mall dealers? That was extremely unlikely. It was beyond +question that Lamb and Drummond had had the original painting in their +possession, and that daring burglars had taken it. + +"I could see light in the matter," Jack reflected, "if the fellow had +visited my place after hearing of the robbery at Lamb and Drummond's. +In that case, his scheme would have been to get the duplicate +canvas--granted that he knew of its existence and whereabouts--and trade +it off for the original. But he could not have known until early this +morning, and he did not come then. I was sleeping here, and would have +heard him. No, my picture must have been taken at least a week or ten +days ago." + +Jack smoked two more pipes, and the dark-brown Latakia tobacco from +Oriental shores, stealing insidiously to his brain, brought him an idea. + +"It is chimeric and improbable," he concluded, "but it is the most likely +theory I have struck yet. Was my Frenchman the same chap who robbed Lamb +and Drummond? Did he or his confederates steal both paintings, knowing +them to be as like as two peas, with the intention of disposing of each +as the original, and thus killing two birds with one stone? By Jove, I +believe I've hit it! But, no, it is unlikely. Can I be right? I'll +reserve my opinion, anyway, until I have written to Paris to ascertain +if there is such a person as M. Felix Marchand, of the Pare Monceaux. If +there is _not_, then I will interview Lamb and Drummond, and confide the +whole story to them." + +He decided to write the letter at once, but before he could reach his +desk there was a sharp rap on the door. He opened it, and saw a tall, +well-dressed gentleman, with a tawny beard and mustache, who bowed +coldly and silently, and held out a card. Jack took it and read the +name. His visitor was Stephen Foster. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A COWARDLY COMMUNICATION. + + +"You doubtless know why I have come," said Stephen Foster, as he stepped +into the room and closed the door. He looked penetratingly at the young +man through a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses. + +"I think I do, sir," Jack replied, "and I am very glad to see you. +I rather expected a visit from you. Take a seat, please." + +"Thank you--I prefer to stand. My business is very brief, Mr. Vernon. +It is quite unnecessary to enter into discussions or explanations. You +are aware, of course, that my daughter has told me everything. Do you +consider that you have acted honorably--that your conduct has been what +a gentleman's should be?" + +"It has, sir. Appearances are a little against me, I admit, but I have +a clear conscience, Mr. Foster. I love your daughter with all my heart, +and I have no higher aim in life than to make her my wife. I am heartily +glad of the opportunity to tell you this to your face. Believe me, it +was not from choice that I stooped to clandestine meetings." + +Stephen Foster laughed contemptuously. + +"You took an unfair advantage of an innocent and trustful girl," he +said. "My daughter is young, ignorant of the world, and she does not +know her own mind. You have cast a spell over her, as it were. She +defies me--she refuses to obey my orders. You have estranged us, Mr. +Vernon, and brought a cloud into what was a happy home. I appeal to you, +in a father's name, to release the girl from the ill-advised and foolish +promises she made you." + +"I cannot give her up, sir. I fear you do not understand how much +Madge--Miss Foster--is to me. If words could prove my sincerity, my +devotion to her--" + +"Her marriage to you is out of the question." + +"May I ask why?" + +"My reasons do not concern you." + +"But at least I am entitled to some explanation--it is no more than my +due," said Jack. "Why do you object to me as a son-in-law? I am not a +rake or an idler--you can easily satisfy yourself of my character, if +you like. I am not a rich man, but I can offer your daughter a +comfortable, even a luxurious, home. I have succeeded in my profession, +and in another year I shall doubtless be making an income of two or +three thousand pounds." + +"I am ready to admit all that," was Stephen Foster's curt reply. "It +does not alter the position, however." + +"I suppose you have higher views for your daughter!" Jack cried, +bitterly. + +"Yes, I have," Stephen Foster admitted, after a moment's hesitation. "I +don't mind saying as much. But this interview has already lasted longer +than I intended it should, Mr. Vernon. Have I appealed to you in vain?" + +"With all proper respect to you, sir, I can answer you in only one way," +Jack replied, firmly. "Your daughter returns my affection, and she is a +woman in ten thousand--a woman for whose love one might well count the +world well lost. I cannot, I will not, give her up." + +The young artist's declaration, strange to say, brought no angry +response from Stephen Foster. For an instant the hard lines on his +face melted away, and there was a gleam of something closely akin to +admiration in his eyes; he actually made a half-movement to hold out +his hand, but as quickly withdrew it. He turned and opened the door. + +"Is this your last word?" he asked from the threshold. + +"That rests with you. I cannot retreat from my position. Should I +renounce your daughter, after winning her heart, I would deserve to +be called--" + +"Very well, sir," interrupted Stephen Foster. "I shall know what +measures to take in the future. Forewarned is forearmed. And, by the +way, to save you the trouble of hanging about Strand-on-the-Green, I +may tell you that I have sent my daughter out of town on a visit." + +With that parting shot he went down the short flight of steps, and +passed into the street. Jack closed the door savagely, and began to +walk up and down the studio, as restless as a caged beast. + +"Here's a nice mess!" he reflected. "Angry parent, obdurate daughter, +and all that sort of thing. But I rather fancy I scored--he gained +nothing by his visit, and after he thinks the matter over he will +probably take a more sensible view of it. His appeal to me shows clearly +that he failed to make Madge yield." + +On the whole, after further consideration, Jack concluded that there was +no ground for despondency. His spirits rose as he recalled the girl's +earnest and loving promises, her assurances of eternal fidelity. + +"My darling will be true to me, come what may," he thought. "No amount +of persuasion or threats can induce her to give me up, and in the end, +when Stephen Foster is convinced of that, he will make the best of it +and withdraw his objections. If Madge has been sent out of town, she +went against her will. But, of course, she will manage to let me hear +from her." + +Jack sat down to his desk, intending to write a letter to a friend in +Paris, a well-to-do artist who lived in the neighborhood of the Pare +Monceaux. He held his pen undecidedly for a moment, and then leaned back +in his chair with a puzzled countenance. + +"By Jove, it's queer," he muttered; "but Stephen Foster's voice was +awfully familiar. We never met before, and I never laid eyes on the man, +so far as I can remember. I am mistaken. It is only a fancy. No--I have +it! He suggests M. Felix Marchand--there is something in common in their +speech, though it is very slight. What an odd coincidence!" + +That it could possibly be more than a coincidence did not occur to Jack, +and he would have laughed the idea to scorn. He dismissed the matter +from his mind, wrote and posted the letter, and then went off to dine by +appointment with Victor Nevill. + +There was no word from Madge the next day, and it is to be feared that +Jack's work suffered in consequence, and that Alphonse found him +slightly irritable. But on the following morning a letter came in the +well-known handwriting. It was very brief. The girl was _not_ out of +town, but was stopping near Regent's Park with an elderly maternal aunt +who lived in Portland Terrace, and was addicted to the companionship of +cockatoos and cats, not to speak of a brace of overfed, half-blind pugs. + +"I am in exile," the letter concluded, "and the dragon is a watchful +jailer. But she sleeps in the afternoon, and at three o'clock to-morrow +I will be inside the Charles street gate." + +"To-morrow" meant to-day, and until lunch time Jack's brush flew +energetically over the canvas. He was at the trysting-place at the +appointed hour, and Madge was there waiting for him, so ravishingly +dressed that he could scarcely resist the temptation to gather her in +his arms. As they strolled through the park he rather gloomily described +his visit from Stephen Foster, but the girl's half-smiling, half-tearful +look of affection reassured him. + +"You foolish boy!" she said, chidingly. "As if there were any danger of +your losing me. Why, I wouldn't give you up if you wanted me to! I think +you got the best of father, dear. He understands now, and by and by he +will relent. He is a good sort, really, and you will like him when you +know him better." + +"We made a bad beginning," Jack said, ruefully. + +They had reached the lake by this time, and they went on to a bench in +a shady and sequestered spot. Madge's high spirits seemed suddenly to +desert her, and she looked pensively across the glimmering water to the +tall mansions of Hanover Terrace. + +"Madge, something troubles you," her lover said, anxiously. + +"Yes, Jack. I--I received an anonymous letter at noon. Mrs. Sedgewick +forwarded it to me. Oh, it is shameful to speak of it--" + +"An anonymous letter? There is nothing more vile or cowardly! Did it +concern me?" + +"Yes." + +"And spoke badly of me?" + +"It didn't say anything good." + +"I wish I had the scoundrel by the throat! You have no idea who sent +it?" + +"None, dear. It was in a strange, scrawly hand, and was postmarked +Paddington." + +"It is a mystery I am powerless to explain," Jack said dismally. "To +the best of my knowledge I have not an enemy in the world. I can recall +no one who would wish to do me an ill turn. And the writer lied foully +if he gave me a bad character, Madge. Where is the letter?" + +"I destroyed it at once. I hated to see it, to touch it." + +"I am sorry you did that. It might have contained some clew. Tell me +all, Madge. Surely, darling, you don't believe--" + +"Jack, how can you think so?" She glanced up at him with a tender, +trustful, and yet half-distressed look in her eyes. "Forgive me, dear. +It is not that I doubt you, but--but I must ask you one question. You +are a free man? There is no tie that could forbid you to marry me?" + +"I am a free man," Jack answered her solemnly. "Put such evil thoughts +out of your mind, my darling. By the passionate love I feel for you, by +my own honor, I swear that I have an honest man's right to make you +mine. But, as I told you before, I had a reckless past--" + +"I don't want to hear about it," Madge interrupted. + +No one was within sight or sound, so she put her arms about his neck and +lifted her lips to his. + +"Jack, you have made me so happy," she whispered. "I will forget that +false, wicked letter. I love you, love you, dear. And I will be your +wife whenever you wish--" + +Her voice broke, and he kissed a tear from her burning cheek. + +"My Madge!" he said, softly. "Do you care so much for me?" + +Half an hour later they parted at the Hanover Gate. As he turned his +steps homeward, the cowardly anonymous letter lay heavily on his mind. +Who could have written it, and what did it contain? He more than +suspected that it referred to his youthful marriage with Diane Merode. + +When he reached the studio he found on his desk a letter bearing a +French stamp. He opened it curiously. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE TEMPTER. + + +"Just as I suspected!" Jack exclaimed. "I knew I couldn't be mistaken. +I have spotted the thief. The queer chap who bought my water-color +sketches is the same who carried off the Rembrandt. How cleverly he +worked his little game! But there my information stops, and I doubt +if the police could make much out of it." + +The letter, which he had crumpled excitedly in his hand after reading +it, was written in French; freely translated it ran as follows: + +"No. 15, BOULEVARD DE COURCELLES, PARIS. + +"My Dear Jack--I was rejoiced to hear from you, after so long a silence, +and it gave me sincere pleasure to look into the matter of which you +spoke. But I fear that my answers must be in the negative. It is certain +that no such individual as M. Felix Marchand lives in or near the Pare +Monceaux, where I have numerous acquaintances; nor do I find the name in +the directory of Paris. Moreover, he is unknown to the dealer, Cambon, on +the Quai Voltaire, of whom I made inquiries. So the matter rests. I am +pleased to learn of your prosperity. When shall I see you once more in +Lutetia? + +"With amiable sentiments I inscribe myself, + +"Your old friend, + +"CHARLES JACQUIN." + +"I'll take the earliest opportunity of seeing Lamb and Drummond," Jack +resolved. "The affair will interest them, and it may lead to something. +But I shan't bother about it--I didn't value the picture very highly, +and the thief almost deserves to keep it for his cleverness." + +During the next three days, however, Jack was too busy to carry out his +plan--at least in the mornings. Not for any consideration would he have +sacrificed his afternoons, for then he met Madge in Regent's Park, and +spent an hour or more with her, reckless of extortionate cab fares from +Ravenscourt Park to the neighborhood of Portland Terrace. On the second +night, dining in town, he met Victor Nevill, and had a long chat with +him, the two going to a music-hall afterward. Jack was discreetly silent +about his love affair, nor did he or Nevill refer to the little incident +near Richmond Hill. + +At the end of the week Jack's opportunity came. He had finished some +work on which he had been employed for several days, and soon after +breakfast, putting on a frock coat and a top hat he went off to town. He +presented a card at Lamb and Drummond's, and the senior partner of the +firm, who knew him well by reputation, invited him into his private +office. On learning his visitor's errand, Mr. Lamb evinced a keen +interest in the subject. He listened attentively to the story, and asked +various questions. + +"Here is the letter from my friend in Paris," Jack concluded. "You will +understand its import. It shows conclusively that M. Marchand came to my +studio under a false name, and leaves no room for doubt that it was he +who stole my duplicate Rembrandt." + +"I agree with you, Mr. Vernon. It is a puzzling affair, and I confess I +don't know what to make of it. But it is exceedingly interesting, and I +am very glad that you have confided in me. I think it will be best if +we keep our knowledge strictly to ourselves for the present." + +"By all means." + +"I except the detectives who are working on the case." + +"Yes, of course. They are the proper persons to utilize the +information," assented Jack. "It should not be made public." + +"I never knew that a copy of Von Whele's picture was in existence," said +Mr. Lamb. "I need hardly ask if it is a faithful one." + +"I am afraid it is," Jack replied, smiling. "I worked slowly and +carefully, and though I was a bit of an amateur in those days, I was +more than satisfied with the result. The pictures were of the same size; +and I really don't think many persons could have distinguished the one +from the other." + +"Could _you_ do that now, supposing that both were before you, framed +alike, and that the duplicate was cunningly toned to look as old as the +original?" + +"I should not hesitate an instant," Jack replied, "because it happens +that I took the precaution of making a slight mark in one corner of my +canvas." + +"Ah, that was a clever idea--very shrewd of you! It may be of the +greatest importance in the future." + +"You have not yet given me your opinion of the mysterious Frenchman," +Jack went on. "Do you believe that he was concerned in both robberies?" + +"Circumstances seem to point that way, Mr. Vernon, do they not? Your +picture was certainly taken before mine?" + +"It was, without doubt." + +"Then, what object could the Frenchman have had in stealing the +comparatively worthless duplicate, unless he counted on subsequently +getting possession of the original?" + +"It sounds plausible," said Jack. "That's just my way of looking at it. +The advantage would be--" + +"That the thieves would have two pictures, equally valuable to them, to +dispose of secretly," put in Mr. Lamb. "We may safely assume, then, that +our enterprising burglars are in possession of a brace of Rembrandts. +What they will do with them it is difficult to say. They will likely +make no move at present, but it is possible that they will try to +dispose of them in the Continental market or in America, in which case +I have hopes that they will blunder into the hands of the police. Proper +precautions have been taken both at home and abroad." + +"Is there any clew yet?" + +Mr. Lamb shook his head sadly. + +"Not a ray of light has been thrown on the mystery," he replied, "though +the best Scotland Yard men are at work. You may depend upon it that the +insurance people, who stand to lose ten thousand pounds, will leave no +stone unturned. As for Raper, our watchman, he has been discharged. Mr. +Drummond and I are convinced that his story was true, but it was +impossible to overlook his gross carelessness. We never knew that he +was in the habit of going nightly to the public house in Crown Court." + +"It's a wonder you were not robbed before," said Jack. "You have my +address--will you let me know if anything occurs?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Vernon. Must you be off? Good morning!" + +Jack sauntered along Pall Mall, and turned up Regent street. At +Piccadilly Circus he saw two men standing before the cigar shop on the +corner. One was young and boyish looking. The other, a few years older, +was of medium height and stout beyond proportion; he wore a tweed suit +of a rather big check pattern, and the coat was buttoned over a scarlet +waistcoat; the straw hat, gaudily beribboned, shaded a fat, jolly, +half-comical face, of the type that readily inspires confidence. He was +talking to his companion animatedly when he saw Jack approaching. With a +boisterous exclamation of delight he rushed up to him and clapped him on +the shoulder. + +"Clare, old boy!" he cried. + +"Jimmie Drexell!" Jack gasped in amazement. "Dear old chap, how awfully +glad I am to see you!" + +With genuine and heartfelt emotion they shook hands and looked into +each other's eyes--these two who had not met for long years, since the +rollicksome days of student life in Paris when they had been as intimate +as brothers. + +"You're fit as a king, my boy--not much changed," spluttered Drexell, +with a strong American accent to his kindly, mellow voice. "I was going +to look you up to-day--only landed at Southampton yesterday--got beastly +tired of New York--yearned for London and Paris--shan't go back for six +months or a year, hanged if I do." + +"I'm jolly glad to hear it, Jimmie." + +"We'll see a lot of each other--eh, old man? So, you've stuck to the +name of Vernon? I called you Clare, didn't I? Yes, I forgot. You told me +you had taken the other name when you wrote a couple of years ago. I +haven't heard from you since, except through the papers. You've made +a hit, I understand. Doing well?" + +"Rather! I've no cause to complain. And you, Jimmie? What's become of +the art?" + +"Chucked it, Jack--it was no go. I painted like a blooming Turk--hired a +studio--filled it with jimcrackery--got the best-looking models--wore a +velvet coat and grew long hair. But it was all useless. I earned +twenty-five dollars in three years. I had a picture in a dealer's +shop--his place burnt down--I made him fork over. Then a deceased +relative left me $150,000--said I deserved it for working so hard in +Paris. A good one, eh? I leased the studio to the Salvation Army, and +here I am, a poor devil of an artist out of work." + +Jack laughed heartily. + +"Art never _was_ much in your line," he said, "though I remember how you +kept pegging away at it. And no one can be more pleased than myself to +learn that you've dropped into a fortune. Stick to it, Jimmie." + +"There will be another one some day, Jack--when this is gone. By the +way, I met old Nevill last night--dined with him. And that reminds me--" + +He turned to his companion, the fresh-faced boy, and introduced him to +Jack as the Honorable Bertie Raven. The two shook hands cordially, and +exchanged a few commonplace words. + +"Come on; we've held up this corner long enough," exclaimed Drexell. +"Let's go and lunch together somewhere. I'll leave it to you, Raven. +Name your place." + +"Prince's, then," was the prompt rejoinder. + +As they walked along Piccadilly the Honorable Bertie was forced ahead by +the narrowness of the pavement and the jostling crowds, and Drexell +whispered at Jack's ear: + +"A good sort, that young chap. I met him in New York a year ago. His +next eldest brother, the Honorable George, is over there now. I believe +he is going to marry a cousin of mine--a girl who will come into a pot +of money when her governor dies." + + * * * * * + +Nine o'clock at night, and a room in Beak street, Regent street; a back +apartment looking into a dingy court, furnished with a sort of tawdry, +depressing luxury, and lighted by a pair of candles. A richly dressed +woman who had once been extremely handsome, and still retained more than +a trace of her charms, half reclined on a couch; a fluffy mass of +coppery-red hair had escaped from under her hat, and shaded her large +eyes; shame and confusion, mingled with angry defiance, deepened the +artificial blush on her cheeks. + +Victor Nevill stood in the middle of the floor, confronting her with a +faint, mocking smile at his lips. He had not taken the trouble to remove +his hat. He wore evening dress, with a light cloak over it, and he +twirled a stick carelessly between his gloved fingers. + +"So it is really you!" he said. + +"If you came to sneer at me, go!" the woman answered spitefully. "You +have your revenge. How did you find me?" + +"It was not easy, but I persevered--" + +"Why?" + +"For a purpose. I will tell you presently. And do not think that I came +to sneer. I am sorry for you--grieved to find you struggling in the +vortex of London." He looked about the room, which, indeed, told a plain +story. "You were intended for better things," he added. "Where is Count +Nordhoff?" + +"He left me--three years ago." + +"I wouldn't mind betting that you cleaned him out, and then heartlessly +turned him adrift." + +"You are insolent!" + +"And I dare say you have had plenty of others since. What has become of +the Jew?" + +The woman's eyes flashed like a tiger's. + +"I wish I had him here now!" she cried. "He deserted me--broke a hundred +promises. I have not seen him for a week." + +"You are suffering heavily for the past." + +"For the past!" the woman echoed dully. "Victor," she said with a sudden +change of voice, "_you_ loved me once--" + +"Yes, once. But you crushed that love--killed it forever. No stage +sentiment, please. Understand that, plainly." + +The brief hope died out of the woman's eyes, and was replaced by a gleam +of hatred. She looked at the man furiously. + +"There is no need to fly into a passion," said Nevill. "We can at least +be friends. I cherish no ill-feeling--I pity you sincerely. And yet you +are still beautiful enough to turn some men's heads. How are you off for +money?" + +The woman opened a purse and dashed a handful of silver to the floor. + +"That is my all!" she cried, hoarsely. + +"Then you must find a way out of your difficulties. I am going to have +a serious talk with you." + +Nevill drew a chair up to the couch, and his first words roused the +woman's interest. He spoke for ten minutes or more, now in whispers, now +with a rising inflection; now persuasively, now with well-feigned +indignation and scorn. The effect which his argument had on his +companion was shown by the swift changes that passed over her face; she +interrupted him frequently, asking questions and making comments. At the +end the woman rustled her silken skirts disdainfully, and rose to her +feet. + +"Why do you suggest this, Victor?" she demanded. "Where do _you_ come +in?" + +Nevill seemed slightly disconcerted. + +"I am foolish enough to feel an interest in a person I once cared for," +he replied. "I want to save you from ruin that is inevitable if you +continue in your present course." + +"It is kind of you, Victor Nevill," the woman answered sneeringly. "He +has a personal motive," she thought. "What can it be?" + +"The thing is so simple, so natural," said Nevill, "that I wonder you +hesitate. Of course you will fall in with it." + +"Suppose I refuse?" + +"I can't credit you with such madness." + +"But what if--" She leaned toward him and whispered a short sentence in +his ear. His face turned the color of ashes, and he clutched her wrist +so tightly that she winced with pain. + +"It is a lie!" he cried, brutally. "By heavens, if I believed--" + +The woman laughed--a laugh that was not pleasant to hear. + +"Fool! do you think I would tell you if it was true?" she said. "I was +only jesting." + +"It is not a subject to jest about," Nevill answered stiffly. "I came +here to do you a good turn, and--" + +"You had better have kept away. You are a fiend--you are a Satan +himself! Why do you tempt me? Do you think that I have no conscience, +no shame left? I am bad enough, Victor Nevill, but by the memory of the +past--of what I threw away--I can't stoop so low as to--" + +"Your heroics are out of place," he interrupted. "Go to the devil your +own way, if you like." + +"You shall have an answer to-morrow--to-morrow! Give me time to think +about it." + +The woman sank down on the couch again; her over-wrought nerves gave +way, and burying her face in the cushions she sobbed hysterically. +Nevill looked at her for a moment. Then he put a couple of sovereigns on +the table and quietly left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE DINNER AT RICHMOND. + + +Three days later, at the unusually early hour of nine in the morning, +Victor Nevill was enjoying his sponge bath. There appeared to be +something of a pleasing nature on his mind, for as he dressed he smiled +complacently at his own reflection in the glass. Having finished his +toilet, he did not ring immediately for his breakfast. He sat down to +his desk, and drew pen, ink and paper before him. + +"My Dear Jack" he wrote, "will you dine with me at the Roebuck to-morrow +night? Jimmie Drexell is coming, and I am going to drive him down. We +will stop and pick you up on the way. An answer will oblige, if not too +much trouble." + +He put the invitation in an envelope and addressed it. Then he pulled +the bell-cord, and a boy shortly entered the room with a tray containing +breakfast and a little heap of letters. Nevill glanced over his +correspondence carelessly--they were mostly cards for receptions and +tradesmen's accounts--until he reached a letter bearing a foreign stamp. +It was a long communication, and the reading of it caused him anything +but satisfaction, to judge from the frown that gathered on his features. + +"I wouldn't have credited Sir Lucius with such weakness," he muttered +angrily. "What has possessed him?--and after all these years! He says +his conscience troubles him! He fears he was too cruel and hard-hearted! +Humph! it's pleasant for me, I must say. Fancy him putting _me_ on the +scent--asking _me_ to turn private detective! I suppose I'll have to +humor him, or pretend to. It will be the safest course. Can there be any +truth in his theory, I wonder? No, I don't think so. And after such a +lapse of time the task would be next to impossible. I will be a fool if +I let the thing worry me." + +Victor Nevill locked the offending letter in his desk, vowing that he +would forget it. But that was easier said than done, and his gloomy +countenance and preoccupied air showed how greatly he was disturbed. His +breakfast was quite spoiled, and he barely tasted his coffee and rolls. +With a savage oath he put on his hat, and went down into Jermyn street. +He walked slowly in the direction of the Albany, where Jimmie Drexell +had been fortunate enough to secure a couple of chambers. + +The afternoon post brought Jack the invitation to dinner for the +following night, and he answered it at once. He accepted with pleasure, +but told Nevill not to stop for him on the way to Richmond. He would not +be at home after lunch, he wrote, but would turn up at the Roebuck on +time. Having thus disposed of the matter, he went to town, and he and +Drexell dined together and spent the evening at the Palace, where the +newest attraction was an American dancer with whom the susceptible +Jimmie had more than a nodding acquaintance, a fact that possibly had +something to do with his hasty visit to London. + +Jack worked hard the next day--he had a lot of lucrative commissions on +hand, and could not afford to waste much time. It was three o'clock when +he left the studio, and half an hour later he was crossing Kew Bridge. +He turned up the river, along the towing-path, and near the old palace +he joined Madge. She had written to him a couple of days before, +announcing her immediate return from Portland Terrace, and arranged +for a meeting. + +It was a perfect afternoon of early summer, with a cloudless sky and a +refreshing breeze. It cast a spell over the lovers, and for a time they +were silent as they trod the grassy path, with the rippling Thames, +dotted with pleasure-craft, flowing on their right. Jack stole many a +glance at the lovely, pensive face by his side. He was supremely happy, +in a dreamy mood, and not a shadow of the gathering storm marred his +content. + +"It was always a beautiful world, Madge," he said, "but since you came +into my life it has been a sort of a paradise. Work is a keener pleasure +now--work for your sake. Existence is a dreary thing, if men only knew +it, without a good, pure woman's love." + +The girl's face was rapturous as she looked up at him; she clung +caressingly to his arm. + +"You regret nothing, dearest?" he asked. + +"Nothing, Jack. How could I?" + +"You have been very silent." + +"You can't read a woman's heart, dear. If I was silent, it was because I +was so happy--because the future, our future, seemed so bright. There is +only the one little cloud--" + +"Your father?" he interrupted. "Is he still relentless, Madge?" + +"I think he is softening. He has been much kinder to me since I came +home. He does not mention your name, and he has not forbidden me to see +you or write to you. I should not have hesitated to tell him that I was +going to meet you to-day. He knows that I won't give you up." + +"And, knowing that, he will make the best of it," Jack said, gladly. +"He will come round all right, I feel sure. And now I want to ask you +something, Madge, dear. You won't make me wait long, will you?" + +She averted her eyes and blushed. Jack drew her to a lonely bench near +the moat, and they sat down. + +"I will tell you why I ask," he went on. "I got a letter this morning +from a man who wants to buy my Academy pictures. He offers a splendid +price--more than I hoped for--and I will put it aside for our honeymoon. +Life is short enough, and we ought to make the most of it. Madge, what +do you say? Will you marry me early in September? That is a glorious +month to be abroad, roaming on the Continent--" + +"It is so soon, Jack." + +"To me it seems an age. You will consent if your father does?" + +"Yes, I will." + +"And if he refuses?" + +The girl nestled closer to him, and looked into his face with laughing +eyes. + +"Then, I am afraid I shall have to disobey him, dear. If you wish it I +will be your wife in September." + +"My own sweet Madge!" he cried. + +All his passionate love was poured out in those four little words. He +forgot the past, and saw only the rich promise of the future. There was +a lump in his throat as he added softly: + +"You shall never repent your choice, darling!" + +For an hour they sat on the bench, talking as they had never talked +before, and many a whispered confidence of the girl's, many a phrase and +sentence, burnt into Jack's memory to haunt him afterward. Then they +parted, there by the riverside, and Madge tripped homeward. + +Happy were Jack's reflections as he picked up a cab that rattled him +swiftly into Richmond and up the famous Hill to the Roebuck. Nevill and +Jimmie Drexell, who had arrived a short time before, greeted him +hilariously. + +The table was laid for Nevill and his guests in the coffee-room of the +Roebuck, as cheerful and snug a place as can be found anywhere, with its +snowy linen and shining silver and cut-glass, its buffet temptingly +spread, and on the walls a collection of paintings that any collector +might envy. + +The Roebuck's _chef_ was one of the best, and the viands served were +excellent; the rare old wines gurgled and sparkled from cobwebbed +bottles that had lain long in bin. The dinner went merrily, the evening +wore on, and the sun dipped beneath the far-off Surrey Hills. + +"This is a little bit of all right, my boys," said Jimmie, quoting +London slang, as he stirred his _creme de menthe frappe_ with a straw. +"I'm jolly glad I crossed the pond. Many's the time I longed for a +glimpse of Richmond and the river while I sweltered in the heat on the +Casino roof-garden. Here's to 'Dear Old London Town,' in the words +of--who _did_ write that song?" + +Nevill drained his chartreuse. + +"Come, let's go and have a turn on the Terrace," he said. "It's too +early to drive back to town." + +They lighted their cigars and filed down stairs, laughing gaily, and +crossed the road. Jack was the merriest of the three. Little did he +dream that he was going to meet his fate. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +FROM THE DEAD. + + +There were not many people about town. The strollers had gone back to +town, or down the hill to their dinners. The Terrace, and the gardens +that dropped below it to the Thames, were bathed in the purplish +opalescent shades of evening. From the windows of the Roebuck streamed a +shaft of light, playing on the trunks of the great trees, and gleaming +the breadth of the graveled walk. It shone full on Nevill and his +companions, and it revealed a woman coming along the Terrace from the +direction of the Star and Garter; she was smartly dressed, and stepped +with a graceful, easy carriage. + +"Look!" whispered Jimmie. "The Lass of Richmond Hill! There's something +nice for you." + +"Not for me," Jack laughed. + +The woman, coming opposite to the three young men, shot a bold glance at +them. She stopped with a little scream, and pressed one hand agitatedly +to her heart. + +"Jack!" she cried in an eager whisper. "My Jack!" + +That once familiar voice woke the chords of his memory, bridged the gulf +of years. His blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. He stared at the +handsome face, with its expression of mingled insolence and terror--met +the scrutiny of the large, flashing eyes. Then doubt fled. His brain +throbbed, and the world grew black. + +"Diane! My God!" fell from his lips. + +"Fancy _her_ turning up!" Nevill whispered to Drexell. + +"It's a bad business," Jimmie replied; he, as well as Nevill, had known +Diane Merode while she was Jack's wife. + +The woman came closer; she shrugged her shoulders mockingly. + +"Jack--my husband," she said. "Have you no welcome for me?" + +With a bitter oath he caught her arm. His face indicated intense +emotion, which he vainly tried to control. + +"Yes, it is you!" he said, hoarsely. "You have come back from the grave +to wreck my life. I heard you were dead, and I believed it--" + +"You read it in a Paris paper," interrupted Diane, speaking English with +a French accent. "It was a lie--a mistake. It was not I who was dragged +from the river and taken to the Morgue. It would have been better so, +perhaps. Jack, why do you glare at me? Listen, I am not as wicked as you +think. There were circumstances--I was not to blame. I can explain +all--" + +"Hush, or I will kill you!" he said, fiercely. He snatched at a chain +that encircled her white throat, and as it broke in his grasp a +sparkling jewel fell to the ground. The most stinging name that a man +can call a woman hissed from his clenched teeth. She shrank back, +terrified, into the shadow, and he followed her. "Are you dead to all +shame, that you dare to make yourself known to me?" he cried. "The life +you lead is blazoned on your painted cheeks! You are no wife of mine! +Begone! Out of my sight! Merciful God, what have I done to deserve this?" + +"For Heaven's sake, don't make a scene!" urged Jimmie. "Control yourself, +old man." He looked anxiously about, but as yet the altercation had not +been observed by the few persons in the vicinity. "Nevill, we must stop +this," he added. + +"I _won't_ go away," Diane vowed, obstinately. "You are my husband, +Jack, and you know it. Let your friends, who knew us in the old days, +deny it if they can! I have a wife's claim on you." + +"Take her away!" Jack begged. + +Nevill drew the woman to one side, and though she made a show of +resistance at first, she quickly grew calm and listened quietly to his +whispered words. He whistled for a passing hansom, and it stopped at the +edge of the street. He helped Diane into it, and rejoined his companions. + +"It's all right--she is reasonable now," he said in a low voice. "Brace +up, Jack; I'll see you through this. Jimmie, go over and pay the account, +will you? Here is the money. And say that I will send for the trap +to-morrow." + +Nevill entered the cab, and it rattled swiftly down the hill. As the +echo of the wheels died away, Jack dropped on a bench and hid his face +in his hands. + +"I'll be back in a moment, old chap," said Jimmie. "Wait here." + +He had scarcely crossed the street when Jack rose. His agony seemed too +intense to bear, and even yet he did not realize all that the blow +meant. For the moment he was hardly responsible for his actions, and +a glimpse of the river, shining far below, lured him on blindly and +aimlessly. A little farther along the Terrace, just beyond the upper +side of the gardens, was a footway leading down to the lower road and +the Thames. He followed this, swaying like a drunken man, and he had +reached the iron stile at the bottom when Jimmie, who had sighted him +in the distance, overtook him and caught his arm. Jack shook him roughly +off. + +"What do you want?" he said, hoarsely. + +"Don't take it so hard," pleaded Jimmie. "I'm awfully sorry for you, +old man. I know it's a knock-down blow, but--" + +"You don't know half. It's worse than you think. I am the most miserable +wretch on earth! And an hour ago I was the happiest--" + +"Come with me," said Jimmie. "That's a good fellow." + +Jack did not resist. Linked arm in arm with his friend, he stumbled +along the narrow pavement of the lower road. At The Pigeons they found a +cab that had just set down a fare. They got into it, and Jimmie gave the +driver his orders. + +It seemed a short ride to Jack, and while it lasted not a word passed +his lips. He sat in a stupor, with dull, burning eyes and a throbbing +head. In all his thoughts he recalled the lovely, smiling face of Madge. +And now she was lost to him forever--there was a barrier between them +that severed their lives. In his heart he bitterly cursed the day when +he had yielded to the wiles of Diane Merode, the popular dancer of the +Folies Bergere. + +The cab stopped, and he reeled up a dark flight of steps. He was sitting +in a big chair in his studio, with the gas burning overhead, and Jimmie +staring at him with an expression of heartfelt sympathy on his honest +face. + +"This was the best place to bring you," he said. + +Jack rose, and paced to and fro. He looked haggard and dazed; his hair +and clothing were disheveled. + +"Tell me, Jimmie," he cried, "is it all a dream, or is it true?" + +"I wish it wasn't true, old man. But you're taking it too hard--you're +as white as a ghost. It can be kept out of the papers, you know. And you +won't have to live with her--you can pension her off and send her +abroad. I dare say she's after money. Women are the very devil, Jack, +ain't they? I could tell you about a little scrape of my own, with +Totsy Footlights, of the Casino--" + +"You don't understand," said Jack, in a dull, hard voice. "I believed +that Diane was dead." + +"Of course you did--you showed me the paragraph in the _Petit Journal_." + +"I considered myself a free man--free to marry again." + +"Whew! Go on!" + +Jack was strangely calm as he took out his keys and unlocked a cabinet +over his desk. He silently handed his friend a photograph. + +"By Jove, what a lovely face!" muttered Jimmie. + +"That is the best and dearest girl in the world," said Jack. "I thought +I was done with women until I met her, a short time ago. We love each +other, and we were to be married in September. And now--My God, this +will break her heart! It has broken mine already, Jimmie! Curse the day +I first put foot in Paris!" + +"My poor old chap, this _is_--" + +That was all Jimmie could say. He vaguely realized that he was in the +presence of a grief beyond the power of words to comfort. There was a +suspicious moisture in his eyes as he turned abruptly to the table and +mixed himself a mild stimulant. He drank it slowly to give himself time +to think. + +Jack thrust the photograph into the breast pocket of his coat. He rubbed +one hand through his hair, and kicked an easel over. He burst into a +harsh, unnatural laugh. + +"This is a rotten world!" he cried. "A rotten world! It's a stage +full of actors, and they play d---- little but tragedy! I've found +my long-lost wife again, Jimmie! Rejoice with me!" + +He poured three fingers of neat brandy into a glass and drank it at a +gulp. Then the mocking laughter died on his lips, and he threw himself +into a chair. He buried his face in his hands, and his body shook with +the violence of the sobs he was powerless to stifle. + +"It will do him good," thought Jimmie. + +The clock ticked on, and at intervals there was the rumble of trains +passing to and from Ravenscourt Park station, and the clang of distant +tram-bells. The voice of mighty London mocked at Jack's misery, and he +conquered his emotions. He lifted a defiant face, much flushed. + +"I've made a beastly fool of myself, Jimmie." + +"Not a bit of it, old chap. Brace up; some one is coming." He had heard +a cab stop in the street. + +There were rapid steps on the stairs, and Nevill entered the studio. His +face was eloquent with sympathy, and he silently held out a hand. Jack +gripped it tightly. + +"Thanks, Vic," he said, gratefully. "Where did--did you take her?" + +"To her lodgings, off Regent street. And then I came straight on here. +I thought she was dead, Jack. I don't wonder you're upset." + +"Upset? It's worse than that. If I were the only one to suffer--" + +"Then there's another woman?" + +"Yes!" + +"That's bad! I didn't dream of such a thing. I can't tell you how sorry +I feel." + +Nevill sat down and lighted a cigar; he thoughtfully watched the smoke +curl up. + +"I suppose I could get a divorce?" Jack asked, savagely. + +"No doubt of it, but--" + +"But you wouldn't advise me to do it. No, you're right. I couldn't +stand the publicity and disgrace." + +"I would like to choke her," muttered Jimmie. + +"I had a talk with her on the way to town," said Nevill. "She has been +in London for a month, and knew your address all the time, but did not +wish to see you. Now she is hard up, and that is why she made herself +known to you to-night." + +"What became of the scoundrel she ran away with? Did he desert her?" + +"Yes," Nevill answered, after a brief hesitation. + +"Do you know who he was?" + +"She intimated that he was a French Count. I believe she has had several +others since, and the last one left her stranded." + +"She wants money, then?" + +"Rather. That's her game. She knows she has no legal claim on you, and +for a fixed sum I think she will agree to return to Paris and not molest +you in future." + +"I don't care what becomes of her," Jack replied, bitterly, "but I am +determined not to see her again. Let her understand that, and tell her +that I will give her three hundred pounds on condition that she goes +abroad and never shows her face in England again. And another thing, +there must be no further appeals to me." + +"Bind her tight, in writing," suggested Jimmie. + +"It's asking a lot of you, Nevill," said Jack, "but if you don't mind--" + +"My dear fellow, it is a mere trifle. I will gladly help you in the +matter to my utmost power, and I only wish I could do more." + +"That's the way to talk," put in Jimmie. "Can I be of any assistance, +Nevill? I've a persuasive sort of way with women--" + +"Thanks, but I can manage much better alone, I think." Nevill took a +memorandum book from his pocket, and turned over the pages. "Trust all +to me, Jack," he added. "I am free to-morrow after four o'clock. I will +see Diane--your wife--fix the terms with her, and come down in the +evening to report to you." + +"What time?" + +"That is uncertain. But you will be here?" + +"Yes; I shall expect you," said Jack. "I can't thank you enough. It's a +blessing for a chap to have a couple of friends like you and Jimmie." + +"You would do as much for me," replied Nevill. "I'm going to see you +through your trouble." + +Jack walked abruptly to the open window, and looked out into the starry +night. + +"What does it matter," he thought, "whether I am rid of Diane or not? I +have lost my darling. Madge is dead to me. I can't grasp it yet. How can +I tell her?--how can I live without her?" + +"Are you going up to town, Jimmie?" Nevill asked. "My cab is waiting, +and you can share it." + +"No; I shall stop with poor old Jack," Jimmie replied. "I don't like to +leave him alone." + +"That's good of you. It's a terrible blow, isn't it?" + +Nevill went away, and Jimmie remained to comfort his friend. But there +was no consolation for Jack, whose bitter mood had turned to dull +despair and grief that would be more poignant in the morning, when he +would be better able to comprehend the fell blow that had shattered his +happiness and crushed his ambitions and dreams. He refused pipe and +cigars. Until three o'clock he sat staring vacantly at the floor, +seemingly oblivious of Jimmie's presence, and occasionally helping +himself to brandy. At last he fell asleep in the chair, and Jimmie, who +had with difficulty kept his eyes open, dozed away on the couch. + +Meanwhile, Victor Nevill had driven straight to his rooms in Jermyn +street and had gone to bed. He rose about ten o'clock, and after a light +breakfast he sat down and wrote a short letter, cleverly disguising his +own hand, and imitating the scrawly penmanship and bad spelling of an +illiterate woman. + +"The last card in the game," he reflected, as he addressed and stamped +the envelope. "It may be superfluous, in case he sees or writes to her +to-day. But he won't do that--he will put off the ordeal as long as +possible. My beautiful Madge, for your sake I am steeping myself in +infamy! It is not the first time a man has sold himself to the devil for +a woman. Yet why should I feel any scruples? It would have been far +worse to let them go on living in their fool's paradise." + +An hour later, as he walked down Regent street, he posted the letter he +had written in the morning. + +"It will be delivered at just about the right time," he thought. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE LAST CARD. + + +It was nine o'clock in the evening, and darkness had fallen rather +earlier than usual, owing to a black, cloudy sky that threatened rain. +Jimmie Drexell had gone during the afternoon, and Jack was alone in the +big studio--alone with his misery and his anguish. He had scarcely +tasted food since morning, much to the distress of Alphonse. He looked +a mere wreck of his former self--haggard and unshaven, with hard lines +around his weary eyes. He had not changed his clothes, and they were +wrinkled and untidy. Across the polished floor was a perceptible track, +worn by hours of restless striding to and fro. Now, after waiting +impatiently for Victor Nevill, and wondering why he did not come, Jack +had tried to nerve himself to the task that he dreaded, that preyed +incessantly on his mind. He knew that the sooner it was over the better. +He must write to Madge and tell her the truth--deal her the terrible +blow that might break her innocent, loving heart. + +"It's no use--I can't do it," he said hoarsely, when he had been sitting +at his desk for five minutes. "The words won't come. My brain is dry. +Would it be better to try to see her, and tell her all face to face? +No--anything but that!" + +Thrusting pen and paper from him, he rose and went to the liquor-stand. +The cut-glass bottle containing brandy dropped from his shaking hand and +was shattered to fragments. The crash drowned the opening of the studio +door, and as he surveyed the wreck he heard footsteps, and turned +sharply around, expecting to see Nevill. Diane stood before him, in a +costume that would have better suited a court presentation; the shaded +gas-lamps softened the rouge and pearl-powder on her cheeks, and lent +her a beauty that could never have survived the test of daylight. Her +expression was one of half defiance, half mute entreaty. + +The audacity of the woman staggered Jack, and for an instant he was +speechless with indignation. His dull, bloodshot eyes woke to a fiery +wrath. + +"You!" he cried. "How dare you come here? Go at once!" + +"Not until I am ready," she replied, looking at him unflinchingly. "One +would think that my presence was pollution." + +"It is--you know that. Did Nevill permit you to come? Have you seen +him?" + +"No; I kept out of his way. He is searching for me in town now, I +suppose. It was you I wanted to see." + +"You are dead to all shame, or you would never have come to London. I +don't know what you want, and I don't care. I won't listen to you, and +unless you leave, by heavens, I will call the police and have you +dragged out!" + +"I hardly think you will do that," said Diane. "I am going presently, if +you will be a little patient. I am your wife, Jack--" + +He laughed bitterly. + +"You were once--you are not now. If I thought it would be any punishment +to you, that disgrace could soil _you_, I would take advantage of the +law and procure a divorce." + +"I am your wife," she repeated, "but I do not intend to claim my +rights. We were both to blame in the past--" + +"That is false!" he cried. "You only were to blame--I have nothing to +reproach myself with, except that I was a mad fool when I married you +for your pretty face. You tried to pull me down to your own level--the +level of the Parisian kennels. You squandered my money, tempted me to +reckless extravagances, and when the shower of gold drew near its end, +you ran off with some scoundrel who no doubt proved as simple a victim +as myself. I trusted you, and my honor was betrayed. But you did me a +greater wrong when you allowed me to believe that you were dead. By +heavens, when I think of it all--" + +"You forget that we drifted apart toward the last," Diane interrupted. +"Was that entirely my fault? I believed that you no longer cared for me, +and it made me reckless." There was a sudden ring of sincerity in her +voice, and the insolent look in her eyes was replaced by a softer +expression. "I did wrong," she added. "I am all that you say I am. I +have sinned and suffered. But is there no pity or mercy in your heart? +Remember the past--that first year when we loved each other and were +happy. Wait; I have nearly finished. I am going out of your life +forever--it is the only atonement I can make. But will you let me go +without a sign of forgiveness?--without a soft word?" + +For a moment there was silence. Diane waited with rigid face. She had +forgotten the purpose that brought her to the studio--a womanly impulse, +started to life by the memories of the past, had softened her heart. But +Jack, blinded by passion and his great wrongs, little dreamed of the +chance that he was throwing away. + +"You talk of forgiveness!" he cried. "Why, I only wonder that I can +keep my hands off your throat. I hate the sight of you--I curse the day +I first saw your face! Do you know what you have done, by letting me +believe that you were dead? You have probably broken the heart of one +who is as good and pure as you are vile and treacherous--the woman whom +I love and would have married." + +Diane's features hardened, and a sudden rage flashed in her half-veiled +eyes; her repentant impulse died as quickly. + +"So that is your answer!" she exclaimed, harshly. "And there is another +woman! You shall never marry her--never!" + +"You fiend!" + +The threat goaded Jack to fury, and he might have lost his self-control. +But just then quick footsteps fell timely on his ear. + +"Get behind that screen, or go into the next room," he muttered. "No; it +won't matter--it must be Nevill." + +Diane held her ground. + +"I don't care who it is," she said, shrilly. "I will tell the world that +I am your wife." + +The next instant the door was thrown open, and a woman entered the +studio and came hesitatingly forward under the glare of the gas-jets. +With a rapid movement she partly tore off her long, hooded cloak, which +was dripping with rain. Jack quivered as though he had been struck a +blow. + +"Madge!" he gasped, recognizing the lovely, agitated face. + +The girl caught her breath, and looked from one to the other--from the +painted and powdered woman to the man who had won her love. Her bosom +heaved, and her flushed cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble. + +"Jack, tell me--is it true?" she pleaded, struggling with each word. "I +should not have come, but--but I received this an hour ago." She flung a +crumpled letter at his feet, and he picked it up mechanically. "It said +that I would find you here with your--your--" She could not utter the +word. "I had to come," she added. "I could not rest. And now--who is +that woman? Speak!" + +No answer. Jack's lips and throat were dry, and a red mist was before +his eyes. + +"Is she your wife?" + +"God help me, yes!" Jack cried, hoarsely. "I can explain. Believe me, +Madge, I was not false--I told you only the truth. If you will listen +to me for a moment--" + +She shrank from him with horror, and the color surged back to her cheeks. + +"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Let me go--this is no place for me! I pray +heaven to forgive you, Jack!" + +The look that she gave him, so full of unspeakable agony and reproach, +cut him like a knife. She pressed one hand to her heart, and with the +other tried to draw her cloak around her. She swayed weakly, but +recovered herself in time. Jack, watching her as a man might watch the +gates of paradise close upon him, had failed to hear a cab stop in the +street. He suddenly saw Stephen Foster in the room. + +"Is my daughter here?" he excitedly demanded. + +Madge turned at the sound of her father's voice, and sank, half-fainting, +into his arms. Tears came to her relief, and she shook with the violence +of her sobs. + +Stephen Foster looked from Diane to Jack. Madge had shown him the +anonymous letter, and he needed not to ask if the charge was true. + +"You blackguard!" he cried, furiously. "You dastardly scoundrel!" + +"I do not deserve those words!" Jack said, hoarsely, "but I cannot +resent them. From any other man, under other circumstances--" + +"Coward and liar!" + +With that Stephen Foster turned to the door, with Madge leaning heavily +on him. They passed down the stairs, and the rattle of wheels told that +they had gone. Jack was left alone with Diane. + +"Are you satisfied with your devil's work?" he demanded, glaring at her +with burning, bloodshot eyes. + +"It was not my fault." + +"Not your fault? By heavens--" + +He looked at the crumpled letter he held, and saw that it was apparently +written by a woman. A suspicion that as quickly became a certainty +flashed into his mind. + +"_You_ sent this, and the other one as well," he exclaimed. "Don't deny +it! You planned the meeting here--" + +"It is false, Jack! I swear to you that I know nothing of it--" + +"Perjurer!" he snarled. + +His face was like a madman's as he caught her arm in a cruel grip. She +cowered before him, dropping to her knees. She was pale with fear. + +"Go, or I will kill you!" he cried, disregarding her protestations of +innocence. "I can't trust myself! Out of my sight--let me never see you +or hear of you again. I will give you money to leave London--to return +to Paris. Nevill will arrange it. Do you understand?" + +He lifted her to her feet and pushed her from him. She staggered against +an easel on which was a completed picture in oils, and it fell with a +crash. Jack trampled over it ruthlessly, driving his feet through the +canvas. + +"Go!" he cried. + +And Diane, trembling with terror, went swiftly out into the black and +rainy night. + +An hour later, when Victor Nevill came to say that his search had been +fruitless, he found Jack stretched full length on the couch, with his +face buried in a soft cushion. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +TWO PASSENGERS FROM CALAIS. + + +It was the 9th of November, Lord Mayor's Day, and in London the usual +clammy compound of fog and mist--was there ever a Lord Mayor's Day +without it?--hung like a shroud in the city streets, though it was +powerless to chill the ardor of the vast crowds who waited for the +procession to come by in all its pomp and pageantry. + +At Dover the weather was as bad, but in a different way. Leaden clouds +went scudding from horizon to horizon, accentuating the chalky whiteness +of the cliffs, and reflecting their sombre hue on the gray waters. A +cold, raw wind swept through the old town, lashing the sea to +milk-crested waves. It was an ugly day for cross-Channel passages, but +the expectant onlookers sighted the black smoke of the _Calais-Douvres_ +fully twenty minutes before she was due. The steamer's outline grew more +distinct. On she came, pitching and rolling, until knots of people could +be seen on the fore-deck. + +The majority of the passengers, excepting a few Frenchmen and other +foreigners, were heartily glad to be at home again, after sojourns of +various lengths on the Continent. Two, in particular, could scarcely +restrain their impatience as they looked eagerly landward, though the +social gulf that separated them was as wide as the Channel itself. On +the upper deck, exposed to the buffeting of the wind, stood a short, +portly gentleman in a dark-blue suit and cape-coat; he had a soldierly +carriage, a ruddy complexion, and an iron-gray mustache. Sir Lucius +Chesney was in robust health again, and his liver had ceased to trouble +him. Norway had pulled him together, and a few months of aimless roaming +on the Continent had done the rest. He was anxious to get back to Priory +Court, among his pictures and hot-houses, his horses and cattle, and he +intended to go there after a brief stop in London. + +Down below, among the second-class passengers, Mr. Noah Hawker paced to +and fro, gazing meditatively toward the Shakespeare Cliff. Mr. Hawker, +to give him the name by which he was known in Scotland Yard circles, was +a man of fifty, five feet nine in height, and rather stockily built. He +was lantern-jawed and dark-haired, with a coarse, black mustache curled +up at the ends like a pair of buffalo horns, and so strong a beard that +his cheeks were the color of blue ink, though he had shaved only three +hours before. His long frieze overcoat, swinging open, disclosed beneath +a German-made suit of a bad cut and very loud pattern. His soft hat, +crushed in, was perched to one side; a big horseshoe pin and a scarlet +cravat reposed on a limited space of pink shirt-front. + +There was about one chance in ten of guessing his calling. He looked +equally like a successful sporting man, an ex-prize fighter, a barman, +a racing tout, a book-maker, or a public house thrower-out. But the most +unprejudiced observer would never have taken him for a gentleman. + +It was a thrilling moment when the _Calais-Douvres_, slipping between +the waves, ran close in to the granite pier. She accomplished the feat +safely, and was quickly made fast. The gangway was thrown across, and +there was a mad rush of passengers hurrying to get ashore. A babel of +shouting voices broke loose: "London train ready!" "Here you are, sir!" +"Luggage, sir?" "Extry! extry!" + +Sir Lucius Chesney, who was rarely disturbed by anything, showed on +this occasion a fussy solicitude about his trunks and boxes; nor was +he appeased until he had seen them all on a truck, waiting for the +inspection of the customs officers. Mr. Hawker, slouching along the pier +with his ulster collar turned up and his hat well down over his eyes, +observed the military-looking gentleman and then the prominent +white-lettered name on the luggage. He passed on after an instant's +hesitation. + +"Sir Lucius Chesney!" he muttered. "It's queer, but I'll swear I've +heard that name before. Now, where could it have been? The bloke's face +ain't familiar--I never ran across him. But the name? Ah, hang me if I +don't think I've got it!" + +Mr. Hawker did not get into the London train, though his goal was +the metropolis. He left the pier, and as he walked with apparent +carelessness through the town--he had no luggage--he took an occasional +crafty survey over his shoulder, as a man might do who feared that he +was being shadowed. When the train rattled out of Dover he was in the +public bar of a tavern not far from the Lord Warden Hotel, fortifying +himself with a brandy-and-soda after the rough passage across the +Channel. Meanwhile, Sir Lucius Chesney, seated in a first-class +carriage, was regarding with an ecstatic expression the one piece of +luggage that he had refused to trust to the van. This was a flat leather +case, and it contained something of much greater importance than the +dress-suit for which it was intended. + +Dover was honored by Mr. Hawker's presence until three o'clock in the +afternoon, and he took advantage of the intervening couple of hours to +eat a hearty meal and to count his scanty store of money, after which he +dozed on a bench in the restaurant until roused by a waiter. There are +two railway stations in the town, and he chose the inner one. He found +an empty third-class compartment, and his relief was manifest when the +train pulled out. He produced a short briar-root pipe, and stuffed it +with the last shreds of French Caporal tobacco that remained in his +pouch. + +"Give me the shag of old England," he said to himself, as he puffed away +with a poor relish and watched the flying sides of the deep railway +cutting. "This is no class--it's cabbage leaf soaked in juice. I wonder +if I ain't a fool to come back! But it can't be helped--there was +nothing to be picked up abroad, after that double stroke of hard luck. +And there's no place like London! I'll be all right if I dodge the +ferrets at Victoria. For the last ten years they've only known me +clean-shaven or with a heavy beard, and this mustache and the rig will +puzzle them a bit. Yes, I ought to pass for a foreign gent come across +to back horses." + +The truth about Mr. Noah Hawkins, though it may shock the reader, must +be told in plain words. He was a professional burglar; none of your +petty, clumsy craftsmen that get lagged for smashing a shopkeeper's +till, but a follower to some extent in the footsteps of the masterful +Charles Peace. During the previous February he had come out of +Dartmoor--it was his third term of penal servitude--with a period of +police supervision to undergo. For the space of four months he regularly +reported himself, and then, in company with a pal of even higher +professional standing than himself, he suddenly disappeared from London. + +A well-planned piece of work, cleverly performed, made it advantageous +to the couple to go abroad. It was a question of money, not dread of +discovery and arrest; they had covered their tracks well, and they +believed that no suspicion could fall upon them. They were not prepared +for the ill-luck that awaited them on the Continent. Their fruit of hope +turned to ashes of despair, or very nearly so. They realized but a +fraction of the sum they had expected, and Hawker lost his share of even +that through the treachery of his pal, who departed by night from the +German town where they were stopping. So Hawker started for home, and +he had landed at Dover with, two sovereigns and a few silver coins. He +still believed that the police were ignorant of the business that had +taken him abroad; the worst that he feared was getting into trouble for +failing to report himself. + +"There isn't much danger if I'm sharp," he thought, as the Kentish +landscape, the Garden of England, sped by him in the gathering dusk; +"and I won't touch a crib of any sort till I've tried those other two +lays. It's more than doubtful about the papers--I forget what was in +them. And they may be gone by this time. But, leaving that out, I've got +a pretty sure thing up my sleeve. What happened in Germany put me on the +track--but for that I wouldn't have suspected. I'll make somebody fork +over to a stiff tune, and serve him d---- right. It's the first time I +was caught napping." + +The endless chimney-pots and glowing lights of the great city gladdened +Hawker's heart, and a whiff from the murky Thames bade him welcome home. +He gave up his ticket at Grosvenor road, and when the train pulled into +Victoria he walked boldly through the immense station. He loved London +with a thoroughbred cockney's passion, and he exulted in the sights and +sounds around him. + +Hawker spent his last coppers for a packet of tobacco, and broke one of +his sovereigns to get a drink. He speedily lost himself in the crowds of +Victoria street, satisfied that he had not been recognized or followed. +He went on foot to Charing Cross, and climbed to the top of a brown and +yellow bus. Three-quarters of an hour later he got off in Kentish Town +and made his way to a squalid and narrow thoroughfare in the vicinity of +Peckwater street. He stopped before a house in the middle of a dirty and +monotonous row, and looked at it reminiscently. He had lodged there five +years back, previous to his third conviction, and here he had been +arrested. He had not returned since, for on his release from Dartmoor he +went to live near his pal, who was then planning the lay that had ended +so disastrously. + +He pulled the bell and waited anxiously. A stout, slatternly woman +appeared, and uttered a sharp exclamation at sight of her visitor. She +would have closed the door in his face, but Hawker quickly thrust a leg +inside. + +"None o' that," he growled. "Don't you know me, missus?" + +"It ain't likely I'd furgit _you_, Noah Hawker! What d'ye want?" + +"A lodging, Mrs. Miggs," he replied. "Is my old room to let?" he added +eagerly. + +"It's been empty a week, but what's that to you? I won't 'ave no +jail-bird in my 'ouse. I'm a respectable woman, an' I won't be disgraced +again by the likes of you." + +"Come, stow that! Can't you see I'm a foreign gent from abroad? The +police ain't after me--take my word for it. I've come back here because +you always made me snug and comfortable. I'll have the room, and if you +want to see the color of my money--" + +He produced a half-sovereign, and a relenting effect was immediately +visible. A brief parley ensued, which ended in Mrs. Miggs pocketing the +money and inviting Mr. Hawker to enter. A moment after the door had +closed a rather shabby man strolled by the house and made a mental note +of the number. + +Presently a light gleamed from the window of the first floor back, which +overlooked, at a distance of six feet, a high, blank wall. Noah Hawker +put the candle on a shelf, locked the door noiselessly, and glanced +about the well-remembered room, with its dirty paper, frayed carpet and +scanty furniture. A little later, after listening to make sure that he +was not being spied upon, he blew out the candle and opened the window. +He fumbled for a minute, then closed the window and drew down the blind. +When he relighted the candle he held in one hand a packet wrapped in a +piece of mildewed leather. + +Seating himself in a rickety chair he lighted his pipe and opened the +packet, which contained several papers in a good state of preservation. +He read them carefully and thoughtfully, and the task occupied him for +half an hour or more. + +"Whew! It's a heap better than I counted on--I didn't have the time to +examine them right before," he muttered. "There may be a tidy little +fortune in it. I'll make something out of this, or my name ain't Noah +Hawker. The old chap is out of the running, to start with, so I must +hunt up the others. And that won't be easy, perhaps." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +HOME AGAIN. + + +By an odd coincidence, on the same day that Sir Lucius Chesney and Noah +Hawker crossed over from Calais, a P. and O. steamship, Calcutta for +London, landed Jack Vernon at the Royal Albert Docks. He had expected to +be met there by Mr. Hunston, the editor of the _Illustrated Universe_, +or by one of the staff; yet he seemed rather relieved than otherwise +when he failed to pick out a single familiar face in the crowd. He was +fortunate in having his luggage attended to quickly, and, that formality +done with, he walked to the dock station. + +The four or five intervening months, commencing with that tragic night +in the Ravenscourt Park studio, had wrought a great change in Jack; +though it was more internal, perhaps, than external. His old friends +would promptly have recognized the returned war-artist, laden with +honors that he did not care a jot for. He looked fit, and his step was +firm and elastic. His cheeks were deeply bronzed and well filled out. A +severe bullet wound and a sharp attack of fever had led to his being +peremptorily ordered home as soon as he was convalescent, and the sea +voyage had worked wonders and built up his weakened constitution. But he +was altered, none the less. There were hard lines about his mouth and +forehead, and in his eyes was a listless, weary, cynical look--the look +of a man who finds life a care and a burden almost beyond endurance. + +The train was waiting, and Jack settled himself in a second-class +compartment. He tossed his traveling-bag on the opposite seat, lighted +a cigar, and let his thoughts wander at will. At the beginning of his +great grief, when nothing could console him for the loss of Madge, the +_Illustrated Universe_, a weekly journal, had asked him to go out to +India and represent them pictorially in the Afridi campaign on the +Northwest frontier. He accepted readily, with a desperate hope in his +heart that he did not confide to his friends. He wasted no time in +leaving London, which had become intensely hateful to him. He joined the +British forces, and performed his duty faithfully, sending home sketches +that immensely increased the circulation of the _Universe_. And he did +more. At every opportunity he was in the thick of the fighting. Time and +again, when he found himself with some little detachment that was cut +off from the main column and harassed by the enemy, he distinguished +himself for valor. He risked his life recklessly, with an unconcern that +surprised his soldier comrades. But the Afridis could not kill him. He +recovered from a bullet wound in the shoulder and from fever, and now he +was back in England again. + +It was a dreary home-coming, without pleasure or anticipation. The sense +of his loss--the hopeless yearning for Madge--was but little dulled. He +felt that he could never take up the threads of his old life again; he +wished to avoid all who knew him. He had no plans for the future. His +studio was let, and the new tenant had engaged Alphonse--Nevill had +arranged this for him. He had received several letters from Jimmie, and +had answered them; but neither referred to Madge in the correspondence. +She was dead to him forever, he reflected with savage resentment of his +cruel fate. As for Diane, she had taken his three hundred pounds--it was +arranged through Nevill--and returned to the Continent. She had vowed +solemnly that he should never see or hear of her again. + +The train rolled into Fenchurch street. Jack took his bag and got out, a +little dazed by the unaccustomed hubbub and din, by the jostling throng +on the platform. Here, again, there was no one to meet him. He passed +out of the station--it was just four o'clock--into the clammy November +mist. He shivered, and pulled up his coat collar. He was standing on the +pavement, undecided where to go, when a cab drew alongside the curb. A +corpulent young gentleman jumped out, and immediately uttered an eager +shout. + +"Jack!" he cried. "So glad to see you! Welcome home!" + +"Dear old Jimmie! This is like you!" Jack exclaimed. As he spoke he +gripped his friend's hand, and for a brief instant his face lighted up +with something of its old winning expression, then lost all animation. +"How did you know I was coming?" he added. + +"Heard it at the office of the _Universe_. Did you miss Hunston?" + +"I didn't see him." + +"Then he got there too late--he said he was going to drive to the docks. +I'm not surprised. It's Lord Mayor's Day, you know, and the streets are +still badly blocked. I had a jolly close shave of it myself. How does it +feel to be back in dear old London?" + +"I think I prefer Calcutta," Jack replied, stolidly. "I'm not used to +fogs." + +Jimmie regarded him with a critical glance, with a stifled sigh of +disappointment. He saw clearly that strange scenes and stirring +adventures had failed to work a cure. He expected better things--quite +a different result. + +"Yes, it's beastly weather," he said; "but you'll stand it all right. +You are in uncommonly good condition for a chap who has just pulled +through fever and a bullet hole. By Jove! I wish I could have seen you +tackling the Afridis--you were mentioned in the papers after that last +scrimmage, and they gave you a rousing send-off. You deserve the +Victoria Cross, and you would get it if you were a soldier." + +"I didn't fight for glory," Jack muttered, bitterly. "I'm the most +unlucky beggar alive." + +Jimmie looked at him curiously. + +"You don't mean to say," he asked, "that you were hankering for an +Afridi bullet or spear in your heart?" + +"It's the best thing that could have happened. They tell me I bear a +charmed life, and I believe it's true. I never expected to come back, +if you want to know." + +"I'm sorry to hear you say that, old man. You need cheering up. Have you +any luggage besides that bag?" + +"I sent the rest on to the _Universe_ office." + +"Then come to my rooms--you know you left a lot of clothes and other +stuff there. You can fix up a bit, and then we'll go out and have a good +feed." + +"As you like," Jack assented, indifferently. "But I must see Hunston +first--he will go from the docks to the office, and expect to find me +there." + +They entered a cab and drove westward, through the decorated streets and +surging crowds of the city, down Ludgate Hill and up the slope of Fleet +street. Jack left his friend in the Strand, before the _Illustrated +Universe_ building, with its windows placarded with the paper's original +sketches and sheets from the current issue, and it was more than an +hour later when he turned up at Jimmie's luxurious chambers in the +Albany. He was in slightly better spirits, and he exhaled an odor of +brandy. He had a check for five hundred pounds in his pocket, and there +was more money due him. + +"Where's my war-paint?" he demanded. + +That meant, in plain English, Jack's dress clothes, and they were soon +produced from a trunk he had left in Jimmie's care. He made a careful +toilet, and then the two sallied forth into the blazing streets and +pleasure-seeking throngs. + +They went to the Continental, above Waterloo Place, and Jack ordered +the dinner lavishly--he insisted on playing the host. He chatted in +his old light-hearted manner during the courses, occasionally laughing +boisterously, but with an artificial ring that was perceptible to his +companion. His eyes sparkled, and his brown cheeks flushed under the +glow of the red-shaded lamps. + +"This is a rotten world, Jimmie," he said. "You know that, don't you? +But I've come home to have a good time, and I'm going to have it--I +don't care how." + +"I wouldn't drink any more," Jimmie urged. + +"Another bottle, old chap," Jack cried, thickly, as he lighted a fresh +cigar; "and then we'll wind up at the Empire." + +"None for me, thank you." + +"Then I'll drink it myself," vowed Jack. "Do you hear, _garcon_--'nother +bottle!'" + +Jimmie looked at him gravely. He had serious misgivings about the +future. + + * * * * * + +Many of London's spacious suburbs have the advantage of lying beyond the +scope of the fog-breeding smoke which hangs over the great city, and at +Strand-on-the-Green, on that 9th of November, the weather was less +disagreeable. + +A man and a woman came slowly from the direction of Kew Bridge, +sauntering along the wet flagstones of the winding old quay, which +was almost as lonely as a rustic lane. Victor Nevill looked very +aristocratic and handsome in his long Chesterfield coat and top hat; in +one gray-gloved hand he swung a silver-headed stick. Madge Foster walked +quietly by his side, a dainty picture in furs. She was as lovely as +ever, if not more so, but it was a pale, fragile sort of beauty. She had +spent the summer in Scotland and the month of September in Devonshire, +and had returned to town at the beginning of October. Change of air and +scenery had worked a partial cure, but had not brought back her merry, +light-hearted disposition. She secretly nursed her grief--the sorrow +that had fallen on her happy young life--and tried hard not to show it. +There was a wistful, far-away expression in her eyes, and she seemed +unconscious of the presence of her companion. + +"It's a beastly day," remarked Nevill. "I shouldn't like to live by the +river in winter. You need cheering up. What do you say to a box at the +Savoy to-night? There is plenty of time to arrange--" + +"I don't care to go, thank you," was the indifferent reply. + +The girl drew her furs closer about her throat, and watched a grimy +barge that was creeping up stream. She had become resigned to seeing a +good deal of Victor Nevill lately, but her treatment of him was little +altered. She knew his real name now, and that he was the heir of Sir +Lucius Chesney. She had accepted his excuses--listened to him with +resentment and indignation when he explained that he had assumed the +name of Royle because he wanted to win her for himself alone, and not +for the sake of his prospects. She realized whither she was trending, +but she felt powerless to resist her fate. + +They paused a short distance beyond the Black Bull, where the quay +jutted out a little like a pier. It was guarded by a railing, and Madge +leaned on this and looked down at the black, incoming tide lapping below +her. No other person was in sight, and the white mist seemed suddenly to +close around the couple. The paddles of a receding steamer churned and +splashed monotonously. From Kew Bridge floated a faint murmur of +rumbling traffic. It was four o'clock, and the sun was hidden. + +"You are shivering," said Nevill. + +"It is very cold. Will you take me home, please?" + +As she spoke, the girl turned toward him, and he moved impulsively +nearer. + +"I will take you home," he said; "but first I want to ask you a +question--you _must_ hear me. Madge, are you utterly heartless? Twice, +when I told you of my love, you rejected it. But I persevered--I did not +lose hope. And now I ask you again, for the third time, will you be my +wife? Do I not deserve my reward?" + +The girl did not answer. Her eyes were downcast, and one little foot +tapped the flagstone nervously. + +"I love you with all my heart, Madge," he went on, with deep and sincere +passion in his voice. "You cannot doubt that, whatever you may think of +me. You are the best and sweetest of women--the only one in the world +for me. I will make your life happy. You shall want for nothing." + +"Mr. Nevill, you know that I do not love you." + +"But you will learn to in time." + +"I fear not. No, I am sure of it." + +"I will take the risk. I will hope that love will come." + +"And you would marry me, knowing that I do not care for you in that way?" + +"Yes, gladly. I cannot live without you. Say yes, Madge, and make me the +happiest of men." + +"I suppose I must," she replied. She did not look him in the face. "My +father wishes it, and has urged me to consent. It will please him." + +"Then you will be my wife, Madge?" + +"Some day, if you still desire it." + +"I will never change," he said, fervently. + +It was a strange, ill-omened promise of marriage, and a bitter +realization of how little it meant was suddenly borne home to Nevill. +He touched the girl's hand--more he dared not do, though he longed to +take her in his arms and kiss her red lips. The coldness of her manner +repelled him. They turned and walked slowly along the river, while the +shadows deepened around them. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +A SHOCK FOR SIR LUCIUS. + + +They lingered but a moment at the house, standing irresolutely by the +steps. Madge did not invite Nevill to stop, which suited him in his +present mood. He pressed the girl's cold hand and strode away into the +darkness. His thoughts were not pleasant, and there was a sneering smile +on his face. + +"I have won her," he reflected. "Won her at last! She will be my wife. +But it is not a victory to be proud of--not worth the infamy I've waded +through. She consented because she has been hard driven--because I +compelled her father to put the screws on. How calmly she told me that +she did not love me! I can read her like a book. I hoped she had +forgotten Jack, but I see now that she cares for him as much as ever. +Oh, how I hate him! Is his influence to ruin my life? I ought to be +satisfied with the blow I have dealt him, but if I get a chance to +strike another--" + +A harsh laugh finished the sentence, and he hit out viciously with his +stick at a cat perched on a garden wall. + +A Waterloo train conveyed him cityward, and, avoiding the haunts of his +associates, he dined at a restaurant in the Strand. It was eight o'clock +when he went to his rooms in Jermyn street, intending to change his +clothes and go to a theatre. A card lay inside the door. It bore Sir +Lucius Chesney's name, and Morley's Hotel was scribbled on the corner of +it. Nevill scowled, and a look that was closely akin to fear came into +his eyes. + +"So my uncle is back!" he muttered. "I knew he would be turning up some +time, but it's rather a surprise all the same. He wants to see me, of +course, and I don't fancy the interview will be a very pleasant one. +Well, the sooner it is over the better. It will spoil my sleep to-night +if I put it off till to-morrow." + +He dressed hurriedly and went down to Trafalgar Square. Sir Lucius had +just finished dinner, and uncle and nephew met near the hotel office. +They greeted each other heartily, and Sir Lucius invited the young man +upstairs to his room. He was in a good humor, and expressed his +gratification that Nevill had come so promptly. + +"I want a long chat with you, my boy," he said. "Have you dined?" + +"Yes." + +Sir Lucius lighted a cigar, and handed his case to Nevill. + +"Been out of town this summer?" he asked. + +"The usual thing, that's all--an occasional run down to Brighton, a +month at country houses, and a week's shooting on the Earl of Runnymede's +Scotch moor." + +"London agrees with you. I believe you are a little stouter." + +"And you are looking half a dozen years younger, my dear uncle. How is +the liver?" + +"It ought to be pretty well shaken to pieces, from the way I've trotted +it about. It hasn't troubled me for months, I am glad to say. I've had +a most enjoyable holiday, and a longer one than I intended to take. I +stopped in Norway seven weeks, and then went to the Continent. I did the +German baths, Vienna and a lot of other big cities, and came to Paris. +There I met an old Anglo-Indian friend, and he dragged me down to the +Riviera for a month. But there is no place like home. I've been in town +only a couple of hours--crossed this morning. And to-morrow I'm off to +Priory Court." + +"So soon?" + +"Yes; I can't endure your fogs." + +There was an awkward pause. Nevill struck a match and put it to his +cigar, though it did not need relighting. Sir Lucius coughed, and +stirred nervously in his chair. + +"You remember that little matter I wrote you about," he began. "Have you +done anything?" + +"My dear uncle, I have left nothing undone that I could think of," +Nevill replied; "but I am sorry to say that I have met with no success +whatever. It was a most difficult undertaking, after so many years." + +"I feared it would be. You didn't advertise?" + +"No; you told me not to do that." + +"Quite right. I wished to avoid all publicity. But what steps did you +take?" + +"I made careful inquiries, interviewed some of the older school of +artists, and searched London and provincial directories for some years +back. Then I consulted a private detective. I put the matter in his +hands. He worked on it for a couple of months, and finally said that +it was too much for him. He could not discover a trace of either your +sister or her husband, and he suggested that they probably emigrated +to America or Australia years ago." + +"That is more than possible," assented Sir Lucius; "and it is likely +that they are both dead. But they may have left children, and for their +sakes--". He broke off abruptly, and sighed. "I should like to have a +talk with your private detective, if he is a clever fellow," he added. + +"He is clever enough," Nevill replied slowly, "but I am afraid you +would have to go a long distance to find him. He went to America a week +ago to collect evidence for a divorce case in one of the Western States." + +"Then he will hardly be back for months," said Sir Lucius. "No matter. +I think sometimes that it is foolish of me to take the thing up. But when +a man gets to my age, my boy, he is apt to regret many episodes in his +past life that seemed proper and well-advised at the time. I am convinced +that I was too harsh with your aunt. Poor Mary, she was my favorite +sister until--" + +He stopped, and his face hardened a little at the recollection. + +"I wish I could find her," said Nevill. + +"I am sure you do, my boy. I am undecided what steps to take next. It +would be a good idea to stop in town for a couple of days and consult +a private inquiry bureau. But no, not in this weather. I will let the +matter rest for the present, and run up later on, when we get a spell +of sunshine and cold." + +"I think that is wise. Meanwhile I am at your service." + +"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Victor, you must have incurred some +considerable expense in my behalf. Let me write you a check." + +"There is no hurry--I don't need the money," Nevill answered, +carelessly. "I will look up the account and send it to you." + +"Or bring it with you when you come down to Priory Court for Christmas, +if I can induce you to leave town." + +"I shall be delighted to come, I assure you." + +"Then we'll consider it settled." + +Sir Lucius lighted a fresh cigar and rose. His whole manner had changed; +he chuckled softly, and his smile was pleasant to see. + +"I have something to show you, my boy," he said. "It is the richest +find that ever came my way. Ha, ha! not many collectors have ever been +so fortunate. I know where to pry about on the Continent, and I have +made good use of my holidays. I sent home a couple of boxes filled with +rare bargains; but this one--" + +"You will be rousing the envy of the South Kensington Museum if you +keep on," Nevill interrupted, gaily; he was in high spirits because the +recent disagreeable topic had been shelved indefinitely. "What is it?" +he added. + +"I'll show you in a moment, my boy. It will open your eyes when you see +it. You will agree that I am a lucky dog. By gad, what a stir it will +cause in art circles!" + +Sir Lucius crossed the room, and from behind a trunk he took a flat +leather case. He unlocked and opened it, his back screening the +operation, and when he turned around he held in one hand a canvas, +unframed, about twenty inches square; the rich coloring and the outlines +of a massive head were brought out by the gaslight. + +"What do you think of that?" he cried. + +Nevill approached and stared at it. His eyes were dilated, his lips +parted, and the color was half-driven from his cheeks, as if by a sudden +shock. He had expected to see a bit of Saracenic armor, made in +Birmingham, or a cleverly forged Corot. But this-- + +"I don't wonder you are surprised," exclaimed Sir Lucius. "Congratulate +me, my dear boy." + +"Where did you get it?" Nevill asked, sharply. + +"In Munich--in a wretched, squalid by-street of the town, with as many +smells as Cologne. I found the place when I was poking about one +afternoon--a dingy little shop kept by a Jew who marvelously resembled +Cruikshank's Fagin. He resurrected this picture from a rusty old safe, +and I saw its value at once. It had been in his possession for several +years, he told me; he had taken it in payment of a debt. The Jew was +pretty keen on it--he knew whose work it was--but in the end I got it +for eleven hundred pounds. You know what it is?" + +"An undoubted Rembrandt!" + +"Yes, the finest Rembrandt in existence. No others can compare with it. +Look at the brilliancy of the pigments. Observe the masterful drawing. +See how well it is preserved. It is a prize, indeed, my boy, and worth +double what I paid for it. It will make a sensation, and the National +Gallery will want to buy it. But I wouldn't accept five thousand pounds +for it. I shall give it the place of honor in my collection." + +Sir Lucius paused to get his breath. + +"You don't seem to appreciate it," he added. "Remember, it is absolutely +unknown. Victor, what is the matter with you? Your actions are very +strange, and the expression of your face is almost insulting. Do you +dare to insinuate--" + +"My dear uncle, will you listen to me for a moment?" said Nevill. +"Prepare yourself for a shock. I fear that the picture is far better +known than you think. Indeed, it is notorious." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that this Rembrandt, which you purchased in Munich, is the +identical one that was stolen some months ago from Lamb and Drummond, +the Pall Mall dealers. The affair made a big stir." + +"Impossible!" + +"It is only too true. Did you read the papers while you were away?" + +"No; I scarcely glanced at them. But I can't believe--" + +"Wait," said Nevill. From a pocket-book he produced a newspaper +clipping, which he handed silently to his uncle. It contained an account +of the robbery. + +Sir Lucius read to the end. Then his cheeks swelled out, and turned from +red to purple; his eyes blazed with a hot anger. + +"Good God!" he exclaimed, "was ever a man so cruelly imposed upon? It is +a d--nable shame! You are right, Victor. This is the stolen Rembrandt!" + +"Undoubtedly. I can't tell you how sorry I feel for you." Nevill's +expression was most peculiar as he spoke, and the semblance of a smile +hovered about his lips. + +"What is to be done?" gasped his uncle, who had flung the canvas on +a chair, and was stamping savagely about the room. "It is clear as +daylight. The thieves disposed of the painting in Munich, to my lying +rascal of a Jew. Damn him, I wish I had him here!" + +"Under the peculiar circumstances, my dear uncle, I should venture to +suggest--" + +"There is only one course open. This very night--no, the first thing +to-morrow morning--I will take the picture to Lamb and Drummond's and +tell them the whole story. I can't honorably do less." + +"Certainly not," assented Nevill; it was not exactly what he had been +on the point of proposing, but he was glad that he had not spoken. + +"I won't feel easy until it is out of my hands," cried Sir Lucius. "Good +heavens, suppose I should be suspected of the theft! Ah, that infamous +scoundrel of a Jew! The law shall punish him as he deserves!" + +Rage overpowered him, and he seemed in danger of apoplexy. There was +brandy on the table, and he poured out a glass with a shaking hand. +Nevill watched him anxiously. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +AT A NIGHT CLUB. + + +Victor Nevill called for his uncle at nine o'clock the next morning--it +was not often he rose so early--and after breakfasting together the two +went on to Lamb and Drummond's. Sir Lucius carried the unlucky picture +under his arm, and he thumped the Pall Mall flagstones viciously with +his stick; he walked like a reluctant martyr going to the stake. + +Mr. Lamb had just arrived, and he led his visitors to his private +office. He listened with amazement and rapt interest to the story they +had come to tell him, which he did not once interrupt. When the canvas +was unrolled and spread on the table he bent over it eagerly, then drew +back and shook his head slightly. + +"I was not aware of the robbery until my nephew informed me last night," +explained Sir Lucius. "I have lost no time in restoring what I believe +to be your property. It is an unfortunate affair, and a most +disagreeable one to me, apart from any money considerations. But +it affords me much gratification, sir, to be the means of--" + +"I am by no means certain, Sir Lucius," Mr. Lamb interrupted, "that this +_is_ my picture." + +"There could not be two of them!" gasped Sir Lucius. + +"As a matter of fact, there _are_ two," was the reply. "It is a curious +affair, Sir Lucius, but I can speedily make it clear to you." + +Very concisely and briefly Mr. Lamb told all that he knew about the +duplicate Rembrandt, giving the gist of his interview months before with +Jack Vernon. + +"Then you mean to say that this is the duplicate?" asked Nevill. + +"No; I can't say that." + +Sir Lucius brightened suddenly. The loss of his prize was a heavy blow, +but it would be far worse, he told himself, if he had been tricked into +buying a false copy. He hated to think of such a thing--it was a wound +to his pride, an insult to his judgment. + +"I have reason to believe that the duplicate was a splendid replica of +the original, otherwise it would not have been worth the trouble of +stealing," Mr. Lamb went on. "Mr. Vernon assured me of that. So, under +the circumstances, I cannot be positive which picture lies here before +us. My eyesight is a little bad, and I prefer not to trust to it. Mr. +Drummond might recognize the canvas, but he is out of town. I am +disposed to doubt, however, that this is the original Rembrandt." + +"You think it is more likely to be the duplicate?" inquired Sir Lucius. + +"I do." + +Sir Lucius swelled out with indignation, and his cheerfulness vanished. + +"I am sorry to hear that" he said. "I can scarcely believe that I have +been imposed upon. I am somewhat of an authority on old masters, Mr. +Lamb." + +The dealer smiled faintly; he had known Sir Lucius in a business way for +a number of years. + +"The price you paid--eleven hundred pounds--favors my theory," he +replied. "Your Munich Jew, whom I happen to know by repute, is a very +clever scoundrel. It is most unlikely that he would have parted with a +real Rembrandt for such a sum. But I will gladly refund you the amount +if this proves to be the original." + +"I don't want the money," growled Sir Lucius. "I dare say you are right, +sir; and if so, it is not to my discredit that I have been taken in by +such a perfect copy. Gad, it would have deceived Rembrandt himself! But +the question still remains to be settled. How can that be done, and as +quickly as possible?" + +"Mr. Vernon, the artist, is the only person who can do that. He put a +private mark on the duplicate--" + +"Vernon--John Vernon?" interrupted Sir Lucius. "Surely, Victor, I have +heard you mention that name?" + +"Quite right, uncle," said Nevill. He made the admission promptly, +foreseeing that a denial might have awkward consequences in the future. +"I know Jack Vernon well," he added. "He is an old friend. But I am +sorry to inform you that he is not in England at present." + +This was false, for Nevill had noted in the morning paper that Jack was +one of the passengers by the P. and O. steamship _Ismaila_, which had +docked on the previous day. Mr. Lamb, it appeared, was not aware of the +fact. + +"Your nephew is correct, Sir Lucius," he said. "Mr. Vernon has been in +India for some months, acting as special war artist for the _Universe_. +But he is expected home very shortly--in the course of a week, I +believe." + +"I shall not be here then," said Sir Lucius. "I am to leave London +to-day. What would you suggest?" + +"Allow the canvas to remain in my hands--I will take the best of care +of it," replied Mr. Lamb. "I will write to you as soon as Mr. Vernon +returns, and will arrange that you shall meet him here." + +"Very well, sir," assented Sir Lucius. "Let the matter rest at that. +When I hear from you I will run up to town." + +He still hoped to learn that he had bought the original picture, and he +would have preferred an immediate solution of the question. He was in a +dejected mood when he left the shop with his nephew, but he cheered up +under the influence of a good lunch and a pint of port, and he was in +fairly good spirits when he took an afternoon train from Victoria to his +stately Sussex home. + +"Hang the Rembrandt!" he said at parting. "I don't care how it turns +out. Run down for a few days at the end of the month, Victor--I can give +you some good shooting." + +Glancing over a paper that evening, Mr. Lamb read of Jack Vernon's +return. But to find him proved to be a different matter, and at the end +of a week he was still unsuccessful. Then, meeting Victor Nevill on +Regent street, he induced him to join in the search for the missing +artist. The commission by no means pleased Nevill, but he did not see +his way to refuse. + + * * * * * + +For thirteen days Sir Lucius Chesney had been back at Priory Court, +happy among his horses and dogs, his short-horns and orchids; his +pictures rested temporarily under a cloud, and he was rarely to be found +in the spacious gallery. In London, Victor Nevill enjoyed life with as +much zest as his conscience would permit; Madge Foster dragged through +weary days and duller evenings at Strand-on-the-Green; and the editor of +the _Illustrated Universe_ wondered what had become of his bright young +war-artist since the one brief visit to the office. + +At two o'clock on a drizzling, foggy morning a policeman, walking up +the Charing Cross Road, paused for a moment to listen to some remote +strains of music that came indistinctly from a distance; then he +shrugged his shoulders and went on--it was no business of his. The +sounds that attracted the policeman's attention had their source in a +cross street to the left--in one of those evil institutions known as a +"night club," which it seems impossible to eradicate from the fast life +of West End London. + +It was a typical scene; there were many like it that night. The house +had two street doors, and behind the inner one, which was fitted with a +small grating and kept locked, squatted a vigilant keeper, equally ready +to open to a member or deny admittance to any one who had no business +there. On the first floor, up the dingy stairs, were two apartments. The +outer and smaller room had a bar at one side, presided over by a bright, +golden-haired young lady in _very_ conspicuous evening dress, whose +powers of _repartee_ afforded much amusement to her customers. These +were, many of them, in more or less advanced stages of intoxication, and +they comprised sporting men, persons from various unfashionable walks of +life, clerks who wanted to soar like eagles, and a few swell young men +who had dropped in to be amused. A sprinkling of women must be added. + +Both apartments were hung with engravings and French prints and +decorated with tawdry curtains, and in the larger of the two dancing was +going on. Here the crowd was denser and of the same heterogeneous kind. +It was a festival of high jinks--a sway of riotous, unbridled merriment. +A performer at the piano, with a bottle of beer within easy reach, +rapped out the inspiriting chords of a popular melody. Couples glided +over the polished floor, some lightly, some galloping, and all reckless +of colliding with the onlookers. There was a touch of the _risque_ in +the dancing, suggesting the Moulin Rouge of a Casino de Paris carnival. +Occasionally, during a lull, songs were sung by music-hall _artistes_ of +past celebrity, who were now glad of the chance to earn a few shillings +before an uncritical audience. The atmosphere was charged with the scent +of rouge and powder, brandy and stale sherry. Coarse jest and laughter, +ringing on the night, mocked at go-to-bed London. + +Two young men leaned against the wall of the dancing-room, close to +the door, both smoking cigars. They wore evening dress, considerably +rumpled, and their attitudes were careless. The elder of the two was +Tony Mostyn, a clever but dissipated artist of the decadent school, who +steered his life by the rule of indulgence and worked as little as +possible. + +"It's rather dull," he said; "eh, old chap?" + +"It gives one a bad taste," his companion replied. "I don't see why you +brought me here." + +The second speaker was Jack Vernon. He looked bored and weary, but his +cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled; the women who glanced pertly +at him as they swung by inspired him merely with disgust. He had come to +the club with Mostyn, after a dozen turns at the Alhambra, followed by a +prolonged theater supper. He had drunk more than was good for him during +the course of the evening, but the effects had about worn off. + +The story of the past two weeks--since Jack's return from India--was a +sad one. He tried his best to drown the bitter memories of Madge, of +what he had lost. He cut loose from Jimmie and other old friends, took +lodgings in an out-of-the-way quarter, and turned night into day. He had +plenty of money, and he had not been near the office of the _Universe_. +He found boon companions among the wildest acquaintances of his Paris +days, including Tony Mostyn and his set. But a fortnight had dispelled +the glamour, and life looked blacker to him than it had ever looked +before. Courage and manhood were at a low ebb. He laughed recklessly +as he wondered what the end would be. + +"Let us go and get a drink," he said to his companion. + +As he spoke a tumult broke out at the far end of the room. Scuffling +feet and men's angry voices mingled with cries of protest and women's +shrill screams. Then followed a heavy fall, a groan, and a rush of +people. The music had stopped and the dancers were still. + +"There's been a row," exclaimed Mostyn. "It's bad for the club." + +Idle curiosity led Jack to the spot, and Mostyn accompanied him. +They elbowed their way through, and saw a flashily-dressed man with +blue-black cheeks and a curling black mustache lying on the floor. He +was bleeding from an ugly wound on the forehead, where he had been +struck by a bottle. His assailant had slipped away, scared, and was +being smuggled out of the room and down stairs by his friends. + +"What a shame!" ejaculated a terrified woman. + +"It's no fair fighting," added another. + +"Shut up, all of you!" angrily cried a harsh-voiced man--clearly one in +authority--as he elbowed his way to the front. "Do you want to bring the +police down on us?" + +The warning had a prompt effect, and comparative silence ensued. The +injured man tried to rise, but his potations had weakened him more than +the loss of blood. + +"Where's the bloke what hit me?" he feebly demanded. + +His maudlin speech and woe-begone manner roused Jack's sympathy. He +knelt down beside him, and made a brief examination. + +"It's nothing serious--the bottle glanced off," he said. "Fetch water +and a sponge, and I'll soon stop the bleeding. Who has a bit of +plaster?" + +No sponge was to be had, but a basin of water was quickly produced. Jack +tore his handkerchief in two and wet part of it. He was about to begin +operations when a hand tapped him on the shoulder and a familiar voice +pronounced his name. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A QUICK DECISION. + + +Jack turned around, and when he saw Victor Nevill bending over him he +looked first confused and then pleasurably surprised. + +"Hello, old chap," he said. "Wait a bit, will you?" + +"You've led me a chase," Nevill whispered in a low voice. "I want to +talk to you. Important!" + +"All right," Jack replied. "I'll be through in a couple of minutes." + +He wondered if it could have anything to do with Diane, as he set to +work on the injured man. With deft fingers he bathed the cut, staunched +the blood, and applied a piece of plaster handed to him by a bystander; +over it he placed the dry half of his handkerchief. + +"You'll do now," he said. "It's not a deep cut." + +With assistance the man got to his feet. The shock had sobered him, and +he was pretty steady. He pulled his cap on his head, and winced with +pain as it stirred the bandage. + +"Where's the cowardly rat what hit me?" he demanded. + +"Never you mind about 'im," put in the proprietor of the club--a very +fat man with a ponderous watch-chain. "While the excitement was on 'e +'ooked it. You be off, too--I don't want any more rowing." Sinking his +voice to a faint whisper, he added: "You'd be worse off than the rest +of us, 'Awker, should the police 'appen to come." + +"Yes, go home, my good fellow," urged Jack. "You look ill; and what you +need is rest. You'll be all right in the morning." + +He pressed half a sovereign into the man's hand--so cleverly that none +observed the action--and then slipped back and joined Nevill and Mostyn, +who had a slight acquaintance with each other. The three had left the +room, and were going downstairs, before Mr. Noah Hawker recovered from +his surprise on learning that his gift was gold instead of a silver +sixpence. It chanced that he was reduced to his last coppers, and so the +half sovereign was a boon indeed. He nudged the elbow of a supercilious +looking young gentleman in evening dress who was passing. + +"That swell cove who fixed me up--he's just gone," he said. "He's a real +gent, he is! Could you tell me his name, sir?" + +"Aw, yes, I think I can," was the drawling reply. "He's an artist chap, +don't you know! Name of Vernon." + +"Might it be John Vernon?" + +"That's it, my man." + +The name rang in Noah Hawker's ears, and he repeated it to himself as he +stumbled downstairs. He was in such a brown study that he forgot to tip +the door-keeper who let him into the street. He pulled his cap lower to +hide his bandaged head, and struck off in the direction of Tottenham +Court road. + +"Funny how I run across that chap!" he reflected. "Vernon--John +Vernon--yes, it's the same, no doubt about it. But he's only an artist, +and I know what artists are. There's many on 'em, with claw-hammer coats +and diamonds in their shirt-fronts, as hasn't got two quid to knock +together. You won't suit my book, Mr. Vernon--you're not in the running +against the others. It's a pity, though, for he was a real swell, what I +_call_ a gent. But I'll keep him in mind, and it sort of strikes me I'll +be able to do him a good turn some day." + +Meanwhile, as Noah Hawker walked northward in the direction of Kentish +Town, Jack and his companions had reached Piccadilly Circus. Here Mostyn +left them, while Jack and Nevill went down Regent street. + +"A bit of a rounder, that chap," said Nevill. "He's not your sort. What +have you been doing with yourself for the last two weeks? I've not seen +you since you sailed for India, early in the summer." + +"How did you find me to-night?" asked Jack, in a tone which suggested +that he did not want to be found. + +"I met a Johnny who told me where you were. I vowed he was mistaken at +first, but he stuck to it so positively--" + +"You said you wanted to talk to me," Jack interrupted. "I suppose it is +about--" + +"No; you're wrong. _She_ is in Paris, and she won't trouble you again. +The fact is, I have a message for you from Lamb and Drummond. They've +been trying to find you for a fortnight." + +"Lamb and Drummond looking for me? Ah, yes, I think I know what they +want." + +"It's a queer business, isn't it? My uncle is mixed up in it--Sir Lucius +Chesney, you know." + +"Then he has told you--" + +"Only a little. It's not my affair, and I would rather not speak about +it. Can I tell Mr. Lamb that you will call upon him at five o'clock +to-morrow afternoon--or this afternoon, to be correct? They will want +to get my uncle from the country." + +"I will be there at that hour," Jack assented, and with a hasty +"Good-night" he was gone, striding rapidly away. Nevill looked after +him for a moment, and then sauntered home. The street lights showed +a sneering smile of satisfaction on his face. + +Jack could easily have picked up a cab, but he preferred to walk. He +went along the Strand, now waking up to the life and traffic of early +morning. Turning into Wellington street, he crossed Waterloo Bridge, and +the gray dawn was breaking when he let himself into a big, dingy house +not far from the river. Here, remote from his friends, he had chosen to +live, in two rooms which he had fitted up more than comfortably with +recent purchases. Even Jimmie did not know where he was--never dreamed +of looking for him on the Surrey side. His brain was too active for +sleep, and he sat up smoking another hour. + +It was two o'clock in the afternoon when Jack awoke from an unrefreshing +slumber; his head was heavy, and he would have liked to remain in bed +for the rest of the day. He remembered that he had two engagements; he +had promised to attend a "do" at a studio in Joubert Mansions, Chelsea, +where he would meet a lot of Tony Mostyn's set, and make night noisy +until the wee hours of the morning. At four o'clock he started to dress +for the evening. At five a cab put him down in Pall Mall, opposite the +premises of Lamb and Drummond. A clerk conducted him to the private +office, which was well lighted. Mr. Lamb was present, and with him a +soldierly, aristocratic-looking gentleman who had been summoned by wire +from Sussex. Victor Nevill would have been there also, but he had +pleaded a previous engagement. + +The military gentleman was formally introduced as Sir Lucius Chesney. +Jack shook hands with him nonchalantly, and wondered what was coming +next; he did not much care. Sir Lucius regarded Jack carelessly at +first, then with a stare that was almost impertinent. He adjusted a pair +of gold-rimmed eye-glasses, and looked again. He leaned forward in his +chair, under the influence of some strong agitation. + +"Bless my soul!" he muttered, half audibly. "Very remarkable!" + +"I beg your pardon, sir," said Jack. + +"Nothing! nothing!" replied Sir Lucius, in some confusion. "So you are +Mr. Vernon?" + +"That is my name, sir." + +Sir Lucius pulled himself together, and thoughtfully stroked his +mustache. An awkward pause was broken by Mr. Lamb, who proceeded to +state at some length the business that had rendered Jack's presence +imperative. Sir Lucius listened with rising indignation, as the story +poignantly recalled to him his bitter experience with the Munich Jew. +Jack, seeing the ludicrous side, with difficulty repressed an +inclination to smile. + +"Let me have the picture," he said. "I can settle the question at once." + +Sir Lucius rose eagerly from his seat. Mr. Lamb took the canvas from +an open safe and spread it on the table. Jack bent over it, standing +between the two. He laughed as he pointed to a peculiar +brush-stroke--insignificant in the general effect--down in the lower +right-hand corner. + +"There is my mark," he said, "and this is the duplicate I painted for +Martin Von Whele, nearly six years ago." + +"I thought as much," exclaimed Mr. Lamb. + +"Are you sure of what you are saying, young man?" asked Sir Lucius. + +"Quite positive, sir," declared Jack. "I assure you that--" + +"Yes, there can be no doubt about it," interrupted Mr. Lamb. "I was +pretty well satisfied from the first, but I would not trust my own +judgment, considering the poorness of my eyesight. This is the copy, and +the person who stole it from Mr. Vernon's studio disposed of it later to +the Jew in Munich, who succeeded--very naturally, I admit--in selling it +to you as the real thing, Sir Lucius." + +There was a _double entendre_ about the "very naturally" which Sir +Lucius chose, rightly or wrongly, to interpret to his own disadvantage. + +"Do you mean to insinuate--" he began, bridling up. + +"As for the genuine Rembrandt--_my_ picture," resumed Mr. Lamb, "its +disappearance is still shrouded in mystery. It can be only a matter of +time, however, until the affair is cleared up. But that is poor +consolation for the insurance people, who owe me L10,000." + +"It is well you safeguard yourself in that way," observed Jack. "I +shouldn't be surprised if your picture turned up as unexpectedly as mine +has done, and perhaps before long. But I can hardly call this my +property. Sir Lucius Chesney is out of pocket to the tune of eleven +hundred pounds--" + +"D--n the money, sir!" blurted out Sir Lucius. "I can afford to lose it. +And pray accept the Rembrandt from me as a gift, if you think you are +not entitled to it legally." + +"You are very kind, but I prefer that you should keep it." + +"I don't want it--won't have it! Take it out of my sight!--it is only a +worthless copy!" Sir Lucius, purple in the face, plumped himself down in +his chair. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Vernon," he added. "As a copy it is +truly magnificent--it does the greatest credit to your artistic skill. +It deceived _me_, sir! Whom would it not have deceived? There is an end +of the matter! I shall forget it. But I will go to Munich some day, and +beat that rascally Jew within an inch of his life!" + +"If you can catch him," thought Jack. "I had better leave the painting +with you for the present, Mr. Lamb," he said. "It may be of some use in +your search for the original." + +"Quite so," assented the dealer. "I will gladly retain it for the +present." + +"If that is all," Jack continued, "I will wish you good afternoon." + +"One moment, Mr. Vernon," said Sir Lucius, whose choleric indications +had completely vanished. "I--I should like to have an interview with +you, if you will consent to humor an old man. Your face interests me--I +admire your work. I propose to remain in town for a brief time, though +I am off to Oxford to-night, to visit an old friend, and will not be back +until to-morrow afternoon. Would you find it convenient to give me a +call to-morrow night at eight o'clock, at Morley's Hotel?" + +Jack was silent; his face expressed the surprise he felt. + +"I should like you to come down to Sussex and do some landscapes of +Priory Court," Sir Lucius further explained. + +"I am not working at present," Jack said, curtly. + +"But there is something else--a--a private matter," Sir Lucius replied, +confusedly. "I beg that you will oblige me, Mr. Vernon." + +"Very well, sir, since you wish it so much," Jack consented. "I will +come to Morley's Hotel at eight to-morrow evening." + +"Thank you, Mr. Vernon." + +Jack shook hands with both gentlemen, picked up his hat and stick, and +went off to an early dinner. Sir Lucius looked after him wistfully. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +ANOTHER CHANCE. + + +Sir Lucius Chesney remained for an hour to further discuss the affair +of the two Rembrandts with Mr. Lamb, and the conversation became so +interesting that he almost forgot that he had arranged to leave +Paddington for Oxford at eight o'clock; when he suddenly remembered the +fact he hurried off, fearful of losing his dinner, and St. Martin's in +the Fields indicated a quarter to seven as he entered Morley's Hotel. + +At that time a little party of three persons were sitting down to a +table in one of the luxurious dining-rooms of the Trocadero. Victor +Nevill was the host, and his guests were Stephen Foster and his +daughter; later they were all going to see the production of a new +musical comedy. + +Madge, as lovely as a dream in her lustrous, shimmering evening gown, +fell under the sway of the lights and the music, and was more like her +old self than she had been for months; the papers had been kept out of +her way, and she did not know that Jack had returned from India. Stephen +Foster was absorbed in the _menu_ and the wine-card, and Nevill, in the +highest of spirits, laughed and chatted incessantly. He was ignorant of +something that had occurred that very day, else his evening's pleasure +would surely have been spoiled. + +To understand the incident, the reader must go back to the previous +night, or rather an early hour of the morning. For the last of the West +End restaurants were putting out their lights and closing their doors +when Jimmie Drexell, coming home from a "smoker" at the Langham Sketch +Club, ran across Bertie Raven in Piccadilly. It was a fortunate meeting. +The Honorable Bertie was with a couple of questionable companions, and +he was intoxicated and very noisy; so much so that he had attracted the +attention of a policeman, who was moving toward the group. + +Jimmie, like a good Samaritan, promptly rescued his friend and took +him to his own chambers in the Albany, as he was obviously unfit to go +elsewhere. Bertie demurred at first, but his mood soon changed, and he +became pliant and sullen. He roused a little when he found himself +indoors, and demanded a drink. That being firmly refused, he muttered +some incoherent words, flung himself down on a big couch in Jimmie's +sitting-room, and lapsed into a drunken sleep. + +Jimmie threw a rug over him, locked up the whisky, and went off to bed. +His first thought, when he woke about nine the next morning, was of +his guest. Hearing footsteps in the outer room, he hurriedly got into +dressing-gown and slippers and opened the communicating door. He was not +prepared for what he saw. Bertie stood by the window, with the dull gray +light on his haggard face and disordered hair, his crushed shirt-front +and collar. A revolver, taken from a nearby cabinet, was in his hand. He +was about to raise it to his forehead. + +Jimmie was across the room at a bound, and, striking his friend's arm +down, he sent the weapon clattering to the floor. + +"Good God!" he cried. "What were you going to do?" + +"End it all," gasped Bertie. He dropped into a chair and gave way to a +burst of tears, which he tried hard to repress. + +"What does it mean?" exclaimed Jimmie, breathing quick and deep. "Are +you mad?" + +Bertie lifted a ghastly, distorted face. + +"It means ruin, old chap," he replied. "That's the plain truth. I wish +you had let me alone." + +"Come, this won't do, you know," said Jimmie. "You are not yourself +this morning, and I don't wonder, after the condition I found you in +last night. Things always look black after a spree. You exaggerate, of +course, when you talk about ruin. You are all unstrung, Bertie. Tell me +your troubles, and I'll do what I can to help you out of them." + +Bertie shuddered as his eyes fell on the pistol at his feet. + +"It's awfully good of you, old fellow," he answered huskily, "but you +can't help me." + +"How do you know that? Come, out with your story. Make a clean breast of +it!" + +Moved by his friend's kind appeal, the wretched young man confessed his +troubles, speaking in dull, hopeless tones. It was the old story--a +brief career on the road to ruin, from start to finish. A woman was at +the bottom of it--when is it otherwise? Bertie had not reformed when he +had the chance; Flora, the chorus-girl of the Frivolity, had exercised +too strong an influence over him. His income would scarcely have kept +her in flowers, and to supply her with jewels and dinners and a hundred +other luxuries, as well as to repay money lost at cards, he had plunged +deeper into the books of Benjamin and Company, hoping each time that some +windfall would stave off disaster. Disregarding the advice of a few +sincere friends, he had continued his mad course of dissipation. And +now the blow had fallen--sooner than he had reason to expect. A bill for +a large amount was due that very day, and Benjamin and Company refused +to renew it; they demanded both interest and principal, and would give +no easier terms. + +"You'd better let me have that," Bertie concluded, desperately, pointing +to the pistol. + +Jimmie kicked the weapon under the table, put his hands deep into the +pockets of his dressing gown, and whistled thoughtfully. + +"Yes, it's bad," he said. "So you've gone to the Jews! You ought to have +known better--but that's the way with you chaps who are fed with silver +spoons. I'm not a saint myself--" + +"Are you going to preach?" put in Bertie, sullenly. + +"No; my little lecture is over. Cheer up and face the music, my boy. +It's not as bad as you think. Surely your father will get you out of +the scrape." + +"Do you suppose I would tell him?" Bertie cried, savagely. "That would +be worse than--well, you know what I was going to do. It's just because +of the governor that I can't bear to face the thing. He has paid my +debts three times before, and he vowed that if I ran up any more bills +he would ship me off to one of his ranches in Western America. He will +keep his word, too." + +"Ranch life isn't bad," said Jimmie. + +"Don't talk about it! I would rather kill myself than go out there, away +from England and all that one cares for. You know how it is, old man, +don't you? London is the breath of life to me, with its clubs and +theaters, and suppers, and jolly good fellows, and--" + +"And Flora!" Jimmie supplemented drily. + +"D--n Flora! She threw up the Friv yesterday and slipped off to the +Continent with Dozy Molyneaux. I'm done with _her_, anyway! But what +does it all matter? I'm ruined, and I must go under. Give me a drink, +old chap--a stiff one." + +"You can't have it, Bertie. Now, don't get riled--listen to me. Where +was your father while you were going the pace so heavily?" + +"In Scotland--at Runnymede Castle. He's there still, and knows nothing +of what I've been doing. I dare say he thinks I've been living +comfortably on my income--a beggarly five hundred a year!" + +"What amount is the bill that falls due to-day?" + +"Seven hundred and fifty pounds, with interest." + +"And there are others?" + +"Yes; three more--all renewals." + +"And the total sum? Can you give it to me?" + +"What's the use?" Bertie muttered. "But if you want to know--" He took a +bit of paper from his pocket. "I counted it up yesterday," he added. "I +can't get clear of the Jews for less than twenty-five hundred pounds." + +"It's a heavy sum!" + +"I can't raise a fraction of it. And the worst of it is that Victor +Nevill is on--By Jove, I shouldn't have let that out!" + +"You mean that Nevill indorsed the paper--all of it?" + +"Only the first bill, and the next one Benjamin and Company took without +an indorsement, as they did with the later ones. Nevill warned me what +would happen if I kept on. I wish I had listened to him!" + +Jimmie looked very grave. + +"So Nevill steered you to the Jews!" he said, in a troubled tone. "It +was hardly the act of a friend. Have you spoken to him in regard to this +matter?" + +"Yes, but he was short of money, and couldn't help me," Bertie replied. +"He was awfully cut up about it, and went to see the Jews. It was no +good--they refused to renew the bill on his indorsement." + +"And heretofore they have accepted paper bearing your own signature +only! Of course they knew that you had future expectations, or that your +father would protect them from loss. It's the old game!" + +"My expectations are not what they were," Bertie said sullenly, "and +that's about what has brought things to a crisis. I can see through a +millstone when there is a hole in it. I have a bachelor uncle on my +mother's side--a woman-hater--who always said that he would remain +single and make me his heir. But he changed his mind a couple of months +ago, and married." + +"Be assured that Benjamin and Company know that," Jimmie answered; "it's +their reason for refusing to renew the bill." + +"Yes; Nevill told me the same. He advised me to own up to the governor." + +"How about your eldest brother--Lord Charters?" + +"No good," the Honorable Bertie replied, gloomily; "we are on bad terms. +And George is in New York." + +"Then I must put you on your feet again." + +"You!" + +"Yes; I will lift your paper--the whole of it." + +"Impossible! I can't accept money from a friend!" + +"I'm more than that, my boy--or will be. Isn't your brother going to +marry my cousin? And, anyway, we'll call it a loan. I'll take your I O U +for the amount, and you can have twenty years to repay it--a hundred if +you like. I can easily spare the money." + +"I tell you I won't--" + +"Don't tell me anything. It's settled. I mean to do it." + +Bertie broke down; his scruples yielded before his friend's persistence. + +"I'll pay it back," he cried, half sobbingly. "I'll be able to some day. +God bless you, Jimmie--you don't know what you've saved me from. Another +chance! I will make the most of it! I'll cut the old life and run +straight--I mean it this time. I'm done with cards and evil companions, +and all the rest of it!" + +"Glad to hear it," said Jimmie. "I want your word of honor that you +won't exceed your income hereafter, and that you will leave London for +six months and go home." + +"I will; I swear it!" + +"And you will have nothing more to do with Flora and her kind?" + +"Never again!" + +"I believe you," said Jimmie, patting the young man on the shoulder. +"Cheer up now and we'll breakfast together presently, and meanwhile I'll +send a man round to your rooms for some morning togs. Then I'll leave +you here while I go down to the city to see my bankers. I'll be back +before noon, and bring a solicitor with me; I want the thing done +ship-shape." + +With that, Jimmie retired to the bedroom, where he was soon heard +splashing in his tub. An hour later, when breakfast was over, he hurried +away. He returned at half-past twelve, accompanied by an elderly +gentleman of legal aspect, Mr. Grimsby by name. Bertie was ready, +dressed in a suit of brown tweeds, and the three went on foot to Duke +street, St. James'. They passed through the narrow court, and, without +knocking, entered the office of Benjamin and Company. No one was there, +but two persons were talking in a rear apartment, the door of which +stood open an inch or so. And one of the voices sounded strangely +familiar to Jimmie. + +"Listen!" he whispered to Bertie. "Do you hear that?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +ON THE TRACK. + + +In answer to Jimmie's question, Bertie gave him a puzzled look; he +clearly did not understand. At the same instant the conversation in the +next room was brought to a close. Some person said "Good-morning, +Benjamin," and there was a sound of a door closing and of retreating +footsteps; one of the speakers had gone, probably by another exit. The +house, as Jimmie suspected, fronted on Duke street, and it was the rear +portion that was connected with the court. + +The elderly Jew, who was Mr. Benjamin himself, promptly entered the +office, adjusting a black skull-cap to his head. He gave a barely +perceptible start of surprise at sight of his visitors; he could not +have known that they were there. He apologized extravagantly, and +inquired what he could have the pleasure of doing for them. Mr. Grimsby +stated their business, and the Jew listened with an inscrutable face; +his deep-sunken eyes blinked uneasily. + +"Do I understand," he said, addressing himself to the Honorable Bertie, +"that you wish to take up not only the bill which is due to-day--" + +"No; all of them, Benjamin," Bertie interrupted. "My friend wants to pay +you to the last penny." + +"I shall be happy to oblige," said the Jew, rubbing his hands. "I always +knew that you were an honest young gentleman, Mr. Raven. I am sorry that +I had to insist on payment, but my partner--" + +"Will you let me have the paper, sir," Jimmie put in, curtly. + +The Jew at once bestirred himself. He opened a safe in which little +bundles of documents were neatly arranged, and in a couple of minutes he +produced the sheaf of bills that had so nearly been the ruin of his +aristocratic young client. The first one was among the number; it had +been renewed several times, on Nevill's indorsement. + +The affair was quickly settled. The solicitor went carefully over Mr. +Benjamin's figures, representing principal and interest up to date, and +expressed himself as satisfied; it was extortionate but legal, he +declared. The sum total was a little over twenty-five hundred +pounds--Bertie had received less than two-thirds of it in cash--and +Jimmie promptly hauled out a fat roll of Bank of England notes and paid +down the amount. He took the canceled paper, nodded coldly to the Jew, +and left the money-lender's office with his companions. + +Mr. Grimsby, declining an invitation to lunch, hailed a cab and went off +to the city to keep an appointment with a client. The other two walked +on to Piccadilly, and Bertie remembered that morning, months before, +when Victor Nevill had helped him out of his difficulties, only to get +him into a tighter hole. + +"No person but myself was to blame," he thought. "Nevill meant it as a +kindness, and he advised me to pull up when he found what I was drifting +into--I never mentioned the last bill to him. Dear old Jimmie, he's +given me another chance! How jolly to feel that one is rid of such a +burden! I haven't drawn an easy breath for weeks." + +"We'll go to my place first," said Jimmie. "I want a wash after the +atmosphere of that Jew's den. And then we'll lunch together." + +It was a dull and cheerless day, but the sitting-room in the Albany +looked quite different to Bertie as he entered it. Was it only a few +hours before, he wondered, that he had stood there by the window in the +act of taking that life which had become too great a burden to bear? And +in the blackness of his despair, when he saw no glimmer of hope, the +clouds had rolled away. He glanced at the pistol, harmlessly resting on +a shelf, and a rush of gratitude filled his heart and brought tears to +his eyes. He clasped his friend's hand and tried incoherently to thank +him. + +"Come, none of that," Jimmie said, brusquely. "Let us talk of something +more interesting. I have a pot of money; and this stuff," pulling out +the packet of bills, "don't even make a hole in it. It was a jolly +little thing to do--" + +"It wasn't a little thing for me, old chap. I shall never forget, and +be assured that you will get your money back some day, with interest." + +"Oh, hang the money!" exclaimed Jimmie. "If I'm ever hard up I'll ask +for it. If you want to show your gratitude, my boy, see that you stick +to your promise and run straight as a die hereafter." + +"I swear I will, Jimmie. I would be worse than a blackguard if I didn't. +Don't worry--I've had my lesson!" + +"Then let it be a lasting one. There are plenty of fellows who _never_ +get clear of the Jews." + +Jimmie vanished into the next room, and in a few moments reappeared, +rubbing his face vigorously with a towel. + +"Do you remember in the Jew's den," he said abruptly, "my calling your +attention to the men talking in the back office?" + +"Yes, but I didn't know what you meant." + +"Didn't one of the voices sound familiar to you?" + +"By Jove, you're right, come to think of it. It reminded me of--" + +"Of Victor Nevill," said Jimmie. "Benjamin's companion talked exactly +like him, it struck me." + +"That's it. Queer, wasn't it? But, of course, it was only a coincidence. +Nevill couldn't have been there." + +"No; I hardly think so," Jimmie answered, slowly and seriously. + +"I'm positive about it," exclaimed Bertie. "Surely you wouldn't +insinuate that Nevill is a--" + +"No, I can't believe him to be that--a tout for money-lenders. But it +was wonderfully like his voice." + +"Don't get such an idea into your head," protested Bertie. "Nevill was +only in the place twice, and then he went to oblige me. He hates the +Jews, and won't have anything to do with them himself. And he don't +need to. He has a settled income of two or three thousand a year." + +"Yet he refused to help you, and pleaded that he was hard up?" + +"Yes," assented Bertie, "but he didn't put it exactly in that way. He +explained how he was fixed, and I quite understand it. He must save all +his spare cash just now. He is going to be married soon." + +"That's news," said Jimmie. "I hadn't an inkling of it." + +"Nor I," declared Bertie, "until a week ago. I was dining with Nevill, +and he had taken half a bottle too much, you know. That's when he let +it out." + +"Who is the girl?" + +"A Miss Foster, I believe. She lives somewhere near Kew Bridge, in a +big, old-fashioned house on the river. I suppose her father has money. +From what Nevill said--" + +A sharp exclamation fell from Jimmie's lips, and his face expressed +blank astonishment. + +"By Jove! Nevill engaged to Madge Foster?" he cried. + +"That's the girl, and he's going to marry her!" + +Jimmie turned away to hide his feelings. This was a most astounding +piece of news, but under the circumstances he was satisfied that it +must be true. So Nevill knew Miss Foster! That in itself was a strange +revelation! And suddenly a vague suspicion came into his mind--a +chilling doubt--as he recalled Nevill's demeanor, and certain little +actions of his, on the night when Jack Vernon's French wife confronted +him under the trees of Richmond Terrace. Had a jealous rival planned +that Diane should be there?--that she should come to life again to blast +the happiness of the man who believed her dead? He tried to put away the +suspicion, but it would not be stifled; it grew stronger. + +"I say, old man, what's gone wrong?" asked Bertie. "You're acting +queerly. I hope _you've_ not been hit in that quarter." + +Jimmie faced around and laughed. + +"No fear, Bertie," he said. "I'm not a marrying man. I wouldn't know +Miss Foster from your precious Flora, for I've never seen either of +them." He suddenly remembered the photograph Jack had shown him, and his +cheeks flushed. "It gave me a bit of a start to hear that Nevill was +going to be married," he added, hastily. "I thought he was too fond of +a bachelor's existence to tie himself to a wife." + +"It's funny what a woman can do with a chap," Bertie sagely observed. + +"_You_ ought to know," Jimmie replied, pointedly, as he pulled on his +coat. "Come along! It's past my lunch hour, and I'm hungry." + +On their way to a noted restaurant in the vicinity Jimmy engaged in deep +reflection. + +"I'll do it," he vowed, mentally. "I'll keep an eye on Mr. Victor +Nevill, and get to the bottom of this thing. I remember that I took a +dislike to him in Paris from the first. I hate a traitor, and if Nevill +has been playing the part of a false friend, I'll block his little game. +He seemed rather too anxious to take Diane away that night. And he'll +bear watching for another reason--I'm almost certain that it was his +voice I heard in the Jew's back room. Benjamin and Company, like charity, +may cover a multitude of sins. Nevill was going a rapid pace when he was +abroad, and he couldn't well have kept it up all these years on his +legacy." + + * * * * * + +It was eleven o'clock at night, and the theatres were pouring their +audiences from pit and stalls, galleries and boxes, into the crowded, +tumultuous, clamoring Strand, blazing and flashing like a vast, long +furnace, echoing to the roar of raucous throats, and throbbing to +the rumble of an endless invasion of cabs and private carriages. A +fascinating scene, and one of the most interesting that London can show. + +The uniformed commissionaire of the Ambiguity, reading the wishes of a +lady and gentleman who pressed across the pavement to the curb, promptly +claimed a hansom and opened the door. Stephen Foster helped his daughter +into it and followed her. Madge looked fragile and tired, but her sweet +beauty attracted the attention of the bystanders; she drew her fluffy +opera-cloak about her white throat and shoulders as she nestled in a +corner of the seat. Nevill, who had been separated from them by the +crush, came forward just then. + +"I'm sorry you won't have some supper," he said. "It is not late." + +"It will be midnight before we get home," Stephen Foster replied. "We +are indebted to you for a delightful evening." + +"Yes, we enjoyed it _so_ much," Madge added, politely. + +"I hope you will let me repeat it soon," Nevill said. + +The girl did not answer. She held out her hand, and it was cold to +Nevill's touch. He bade them both good-night, and stepped aside to give +the cabby his directions. He watched the vehicle roll away, and then +scowled at the commissionaire, who waited expectantly for a tip. + +"As beautiful as a dream," he thought, savagely, "but with a heart of +ice--at least to me. Will I never be able to melt her?" + +It is no easy matter to cross the Strand when the theaters are dismissing +their audiences, and five minutes were required for Nevill to accomplish +that operation; even then he had to avail himself of a stoppage of the +traffic by a policeman. He bent his steps to the grill-room of the Grand, +and enjoyed a chop and a small bottle of wine. Lighting a cigar, he +sauntered slowly to Jermyn street, and as he reached his lodgings a man +started up suddenly before him. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he said humbly, "but ain't you Mr. Victor Nevill?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +A FATEFUL DECISION. + + +Nevill paused, latch-key in hand; a cautious impulse checked the +admission of his identity. The individual who had accosted him, seen by +the glow of a distant street-lamp, was thickset and rakish-looking, with +a heavy mustache. He repeated his question uneasily. + +"If I've made a mistake--" he went on. + +"No, you are not mistaken," said Nevill. "But how did you learn my name, +and what do you want with me?" + +On a natural impulse, fancying he recognized a racing tipster who had +been of service to him in the past, he reached for his pocket; the +jingling of coin was heard. + +"Stow that--I'm not a beggar!" the man said, sharply. + +"I beg your pardon! I thought I recalled--" + +"We never met before, Mr. Nevill." + +"Then it's a queer time of night for a stranger to hunt me up. If you +have business with me, come in the morning; or, better still, write to +me." + +"I've got to talk to you to-night, sir, and I ain't to be put off. For +two blessed hours I've been hanging around this house, watching an' +waiting--" + +"A sad waste of time! You are an impudent fellow, whoever you are. I +refuse to have anything to do with you." + +"I think you'll change your mind, sir. If you don't you'll be sorry till +your dying day." + +"You scoundrel, do you dare to threaten me?" cried Nevill. "There is +only one remedy for ruffians of your kind--" He looked up and down the +street in search of a policeman. + +"You can call an officer if you like," the man said, scornfully; "or, if +you choose to order me away, I'll go. But in that case," he bent nearer +and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I'll take my secret straight to Sir +Lucius Chesney. And I'll warrant _he_ won't refuse to hear it." + +Nevill's countenance changed, and he seemed to wilt instantly. + +"Your secret?" he muttered. "Are you telling the truth? What is it?" + +"Do you suppose I'm going to give that away here in the street? It's a +private matter, and can only be told under shelter, where there ain't no +danger of eavesdroppers." + +"I'll trust you," replied Nevill, after a brief hesitation. "Come, you +shall go to my rooms. But I warn you in advance that if you are playing +a game of blackmail I'll have no mercy on you." + +"I won't ask none. Don't you fear." + +Nevill opened the house door, and the two went softly up the dimly lit +staircase. The gas-lamps were turned on, revealing the luxuries of the +front apartment, and the visitor looked about him with bewildered +admiration; he seemed to feel his unfitness for the place, and +instinctively buttoned his coat over his shabby linen. But that was only +for a moment. With an insolent smile he took possession of a +basket-chair, helped himself to a cigar, and poured some brandy from a +_carafe_ into a glass. Meanwhile Nevill had drawn the window curtains, +and when he turned around he had hard work to restrain his anger. + +"What the devil--," he began, and broke off. "You are the cheekiest +fellow I ever came across," he added. + +"It ain't often," replied the man, puffing away contentedly, "that I get +a chance to try a swell's tobacco and liquor. That's prime stuff, sir. I +feel more like talking now." + +"Then be quick about it. What is your business? And as you have the +advantage of me at present, it would be better if you began by stating +your name." + +"My name," the man paused half a second, "is Timmins--Joe Timmins. It +ain't likely that you--" + +"No; I never heard it," Nevill interrupted. He sat down at the other +side of the table, and endeavored to hide his anxiety and impatience. +"I can't spare you much time," he added. + +"Sure there ain't nobody within earshot?" + +"Quite sure. Make your mind easy." + +Mr. Joe Timmins--_alias_ Noah Hawker--expressed his satisfaction by +a nod. He produced a paper from his pocket, and slowly unfolded it. + +"If you will kindly read that," he said. + +Nevill took the document curiously. It consisted of half a dozen pages +of writing, well-worded and grammatical, but done by a wretched, +scrawling hand, and embellished with numerous blots and smudges. From +the first he grasped its import, and as he read on to the end his face +grew pale and his hands shook. With a curse he started to his feet and +made a step toward the grate, where the embers of a coal fire lingered. +Then, dropping down again, he laughed bitterly. + +"Of course this is only a copy?" he exclaimed. + +"That's all, sir," replied Mr. Timmins, with a grim smile. "It ain't +likely I'd been fool enough to bring the original here. I did the copy +myself, an' though I ain't much of a scholar, I do say as it reads for +what it's meant to be, word for word." + +"I want better proof than this, my man." + +"Ain't you satisfied? Look at the date of the letter, an' where it was +written, an' what it says. Could I invent such a thing?" + +"No; you couldn't," Nevill admitted. "You have the original letter, you +say?" + +"I've had that and other papers for years, hid away in a safe place, +which is where they lie now. It's only lately I looked into them deep, +so to speak, and saw what they might be worth to me. I studied them, +sir, and by putting things together I found there were three persons +concerned--three chances for me to try." + +"You are a cunning fellow," said Nevill. "Why did you bring the letter +to me?" + +"Because it pointed that way. I knew you were the biggest bird, and the +one most likely to pay me for my secret. It was quite a different matter +with the others--" + +"You haven't seen them?" + +"No fear!" Mr. Timmins answered, emphatically. "I spotted you as my man +from the first, and I'm glad you've got the sense to look at it right. +I hope we understand each other." + +"I don't think there can be much doubt about that," replied Nevill, +whose quick mind had grasped the situation in all its bearings; he +realized that there was no alternative--save ruin--but to submit to the +scoundrel's terms. But the bargain must be made as easy as possible. + +"I must know more than you have told me," he went on. "How did the +letter come into your possession? And why have you waited more than five +years to make use of it?" + +Mr. Timmins was not averse to answering the questions. He pulled his +chair closer, and in low tones spoke for some minutes, revealing all +that Nevill wished to know, and much besides that was of interest. + +"You'll find me a square-dealing customer," he concluded, "and I expect +the same of a gent like you." + +Nevill shrank from him with ill-concealed disgust and repulsion; contact +with the lower depths of crime affected his aristocratic sensibilities. + +"You swear that you have all the papers?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"And they are in a safe place?" + +"If I was to drop over dead, sir, they wouldn't be found in a hundred +years." + +"We'll proceed to the next question," Nevill said, abruptly. "To speak +with brutal frankness, Mr. Timmins, what is your price?" + +"One thousand pounds in cash, when the papers are handed over," was the +prompt reply, "and a signed agreement to pay me as much more when you +come into--" + +"Do you take me for a millionaire?" cried Nevill. "It's all right about +the agreement, but a thousand pounds is utterly beyond my means. Say two +hundred." + +Mr. Timmins shook his head, and glanced significantly about the room. + +"I can't take a shilling less," he firmly replied. "I know a good thing +when I have it, sir." + +Nevill temporized. He argued and entreated, but without avail. He had an +inflexible customer to deal with, who would not be put off with anything +but his pound of flesh. A decision that night was impossible, and +arrangements were made for another meeting within a few days. Then Mr. +Timmins filled his pocket with cigars and took his leave. + +Nevill let him out into Jermyn street, locked the door, and returned +to his sitting-room. His face was distorted with evil passions, and he +spilled the brandy on the table as he poured some into a glass. + +"Curse him!" he said, hoarsely. "_He_ again! Is he destined to blast my +life and ruin my prospects?" + + * * * * * + +The "do" at Joubert Mansions, Chelsea, by no means fell short of Jack's +forecast; on the contrary, it exceeded it. His memory failed him as to +what transpired after three in the morning; he woke at noon in a strange +bed, with a sense of overmastering languor, and a head that felt too big +for his body. Vance Dickens, with a palette on his thumb, was standing +over him. He laughed till the roof threatened to come off. + +"I wish you could see yourself," he howled. "It's not exactly the +awakening of Venus. You _wouldn't_ be undressed, so we had to tuck you +away as you were--some chaps helped to bring you here." + +"You beggar!" growled Jack. "You look as fresh as a new penny." + +"Two whiskies is my limit, old boy--I don't go beyond it. And I had +a page black-and-white to do to-day. Stir yourself, and we'll have +breakfast. The kettle is boiling. Wait--I'll bring you a pick-me-up." + +The pick-me-up, compounded on the principle that like cures like, did +not belie its name. It got Jack to his feet and soothed his head. The +two men were about of a size, and Dickens loaned his friend a shirt and +collar and a tweed suit, promising to send his dress clothes home by a +trusty messenger. + +"No; I'll attend to that," demurred Jack, who did not care to tell where +he lived. + +He nibbled at his breakfast, drank four cups of strong tea, and then +sauntered to the window. It was drizzling rain, and the streets between +the river and the King's road were wrapped in a white mist. + +"This sort of thing won't do," he reflected. "I must pull up short, or +I'll be a complete wreck." He remembered the brief, sad note--with more +love than bitterness in it--which he had received from Madge in reply to +his letter of explanation. "I owe something to her," he thought. "She +forgave me, and begged me to face the future bravely. And, by heavens, +I'll do it! I hope she doesn't know the life I've been leading since I +came back. Work is the thing, and I'll buckle down to it again." + +Fired by his new resolve, Jack settled himself in a cozy corner and +lighted a pipe. With a stimulating interest he watched Dickens, who had +finished his black-and-white, and was doing a water color from a sketch +made that summer at Walberswick, a quaint fishing village on the Suffolk +coast. He blobbed on the paint, working spasmodically, and occasionally +he refreshed himself at the piano with a verse of the latest popular +song. + +"By Jove, this is Friday!" he said suddenly; "and I'm due at the London +Sketch Club to-night. Will you come there and have supper with me at +nine?" + +"Sorry, but I can't," Jack replied, remembering his promise to Sir +Lucius Chesney. "I'm off now. I'll drop in to-morrow and get my +dress-suit--don't trouble to send it." + +Dickens vainly urged a change of mind. Jack was not to be coerced, and, +putting on a borrowed cap and overcoat, he left the studio. He walked to +Sloane square, and took a train to the Temple; but he was so absorbed +in a paper that he was carried past his station. He got out at +Blackfriars, and lingered doubtfully on the greasy pavement, staring at +the sea of traffic surging in the thick, yellow fog. He had reached +another turning-point in his life, but he did not know it. + +"I'll go to the 'Cheese,'" he decided, "and have some supper." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +A FRUITLESS ERRAND. + + +The merest trifles often have far-reaching results, and Jack's careless +decision, prompted by a hungry stomach, made him the puppet of fate. The +crossing at Blackfriars station is the most dangerous in London, and he +did not reach the other side without much delay and several narrow +escapes. It was a shoulder-and-elbow fight to the mouth of the dingy +little court in which is the noted hostelry he sought, and then +compensation and a haven of rest--the dining-room of the "Cheshire +Cheese!" Here there was no trace of the fog, and the rumble of wheels +was hushed to a soothing murmur. An old-world air pervaded the place, +with its low ceiling and sawdust-sprinkled floor, its well-worn benches +and tables and paneling. The engravings on the walls added to the charm, +and the head waiter might have stepped from a page of Dickens. Savory +smells abounded, and the kettle rested on the hob over the big +fireplace, to the right of which Doctor Johnson's favorite seat spoke +eloquently of the great lexicographer, who in time past was wont to +foregather here with his friends. + +Jack was too hungry to be sentimental. He sat down in one of the +high-backed compartments, and, glancing indifferently at a man sitting +opposite to him, he recognized the editor of the _Illustrated Universe_. + +"By Jove!" Hunston cried, in surprise, "you're the very chap I want to +see. Where have you been hiding yourself, Vernon? I searched for you +high and low." + +"I've not been out of town," said Jack. "I intended to look you up, or +to send my address, but one thing and another interfered--" + +"Yes, I understand," Hunston interrupted. "London is fresh to a man who +has just come back from India. I hope you've had your fling, and are +ready to do some work." + +"As soon as you like," Jack replied. + +"I'm glad to hear it--I was afraid you had given me the slip altogether. +I want some of your sketches enlarged to double-page drawings, and I am +thinking of issuing a photographic album of the snap-shots you took on +the frontier." + +"That's not a bad idea. I'll come in to-morrow." + +"I'll expect you, then. You haven't a studio at present?" + +"No." + +"Well, I can give you a room on the premises to work in. By the bye, +there is a letter for you at the office. It came this morning." + +"I'll get it to-morrow. I don't suppose it's important." + +"It is in a woman's handwriting," said Hunston, with a smile. + +"A woman?" exclaimed Jack. "Where does it come from--England or abroad?" + +"London postmark," was the reply. + +Jack changed color, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat. + +"It must be from Madge," he thought. "But why would she write to me?" + +"If you would like the letter to-night--" Hunston went on. + +"If it's no trouble," Jack replied, eagerly. + +"None whatever. I must go back to the office, anyway." + +Jack was impatient to start, and he no longer felt hungry. He ordered +a light supper, however, and ate it hurriedly. He finished at the same +time as Hunston, and they left the "Cheese" and plunged into the outer +fog and crowds. A short walk brought them to the _Universe_ building, +which was just closing its doors to the public. Hunston turned up the +gas in his office. + +"Here you are," he said, taking a letter from a pigeon-hole over the +desk. + +Jack looked at it sharply, and disappointment banished hope. He scowled +savagely, and an half-audible oath slipped from his lips. He had +recognized Diane's peculiar penmanship. She was in London, contrary +to promise, and had dared to write to him. + +"Sit down," said Hunston. "Have a cigar?" + +"No; I'm off," Jack answered dully, as he thrust the letter into his +pocket unopened. + +Hunston regarded him anxiously. + +"Ill see you to-morrow?" he asked. "You know it's rather important, and +I'll want one of the double pages by next Wednesday." + +"I'll turn up," Jack promised, in an absent tone. + +With that he hastened away, and as he trod the Strand his brain was in a +confused whirl, and he was oblivious of the frothing life about him. He +groped across Waterloo Bridge in the fog, and looked wistfully toward +the black river. He did not care to read the letter yet. It was enough +for the present to know that his wife had broken her word and returned +to London, doubtless with the intention of demanding more money. He +vowed that she should not have a penny. Fierce anger and resentment rose +in his heart as he remembered, with anguish as keen as it had ever been, +the blow Diane had dealt him. + +"I will show her no mercy," he resolved. + +In the privacy of his room, when he had locked the door and lighted the +gas, he took out the letter. His face was dark and scowling as he tore +it open, and read the few lines that it contained: + +"DEAR JACK:--You will fly into a passion when you find that I am in +London, but you won't blame me when you learn the reasons that have +brought me back. I knew that you had returned from India, and I want +to see you. Not having your address, I am sending the letter to the +_Universe_ office, and I hope it will be delivered to you promptly. Will +you come to 324 Beak street, at half-past eight to-morrow night? The +street door will be open. Go to the top of the stairs, and knock at the +first door on the left. Do not fear that I shall ask for money, or make +other demands. I have much to tell you, of the greatest importance to +your future happiness. If you do not come you will regret it all your +life. I will expect you. DIANE." + +With a bitter laugh Jack flung the letter on a table. It was not written +in French, for Diane was herself of English birth, though of her history +before she came to Paris her husband was ignorant; she had never spoken +to him of her earlier years, nor had he questioned her about them. + +"Does she think I am a fool, to be taken in so easily?" he said to +himself. "It is a lie--a trick! Money is her game, of course. She wants +to decoy me to her lodgings, and hopes to make me yield by threats of +exposure. And yet she writes with a ring of sincerity--something like +her old self in the first days of our marriage. Bah! it is only her +cunning." + +He read the letter again, and pondered it. + +"It was written yesterday," he muttered. "The appointment is for +to-night. What could she possibly have to tell me that concerns my +future happiness? Nothing! And yet, if she should really be +remorseful--By Jove! I _will_ go! It can do no harm. But if I find that +she has deceived me, and is playing the old game, by heavens! I'll--" + +Passion choked his utterance, and he concluded the sentence with a +mental threat. He suddenly remembered that he had promised to meet Sir +Lucius Chesney at eight o'clock that night. + +"I can't do it," he thought. "I'm not fit to talk to any man in this +mood. And he would probably detain me more than half an hour. No, I'll +write a short note to Sir Lucius, putting off the engagement, and leave +it at Morley's." + +Whether his decision was a wise one or not, was a question that Jack did +not attempt to analyze. He proceeded to carry his plans into effect. It +was then seven o'clock, and it took him twenty minutes to write the note +to Sir Lucius and exchange his borrowed clothes for a dark suit of his +own. He put Diane's letter into a side pocket, so that he might be sure +of the address, and then left the house. He did not take a cab, +preferring to walk. + +He handed the note in at Morley's Hotel, and steered across Trafalgar +square. At the top of the Haymarket, to his chagrin, he encountered +Jimmie Drexell, who urged him to have a drink at Scott's; he could not +well refuse, as it was nearly a fortnight since they had met. + +A quarter of an hour slipped by. Jimmie asked a great many questions, +but Jack was preoccupied and uneasy, and scarcely answered them. He +finally tore himself away on the plea of an urgent engagement, and +promised to call at the Albany the next day; he was reluctant to confide +in his friend. A distant clock was striking eight-thirty as he turned up +the Quadrant. + +Regent street was noisy and crowded, but Beak street was gloomy and +misty, depressing and lonely, in contrast. Jack found the right number, +and as he hesitated before the house--the door of which was partly +open--a man came abruptly out. He was tall and slim, dressed in dark +clothes, and with a soft hat that concealed all of his features except +an aquiline nose and a black beard and mustache. He stared hard at Jack +for an instant, then strode rapidly off to the eastward and was lost in +the fog. + +"A foreigner, from his actions," thought Jack. + +He pushed the door open, and mounted a steep and narrow staircase. +Reaching the first landing, he saw a door on his left. At the bottom +a faint streak of light was visible, but his low rapping brought no +response. He rapped again--three times, and each louder--but with the +same result. + +"No use to keep this up," he concluded, vexatiously. "I am a few minutes +late, and she has gone out, thinking that I would not come. There is no +mistake about the room. I won't wait--I'll write to her to-morrow, and +give her twenty-four hours to get out of London." + +He went slowly down the dark stairs, and as he stepped into the street +he brushed against a stout, elderly woman. With a muttered apology, he +moved aside. The woman turned and looked after him sharply for an +instant, then entered the house and closed the door. + +Jack thought nothing of the incident. How to put in the evening was +the question that concerned him. He was walking undecidedly down the +Quadrant when he saw approaching an artist friend whom he did not care +to meet. On the impulse of the moment he darted across the street, +narrowly missing the wheels of a hansom, and in front of the Cafe Royal +he ran into the arms of Victor Nevill. + +"Hello, old chap; you _are_ in a hurry!" cried Nevill. "What's up now? +Seen my uncle?" + +Jack was flushed and breathless. + +"No; I couldn't manage it," he panted. "I left a note at Morley's for +him. I had to make a call--party wasn't at home." + +"Where are you bound for? Morley's?" + +"No; it's too late. Shall we have some refreshment?" + +"Sorry, but I can't," replied Nevill. "I'm going to a reception. Will +you come to my rooms at eleven?" + +"Yes, if I'm not too far away. But don't count on me. Good-night, in +case I don't see you again." + +"Good-night," echoed Nevill. + +As he looked after Jack, the latter pulled out his handkerchief, +and a white object fluttered from it to the pavement. He walked on, +unconscious of its loss. Nevill hurried to the spot, and picked up +a letter. + +"A woman's!" he muttered, as he thrust it quickly into his pocket. "And +the writing seems familiar. I'll examine this when I get a chance. +Everything is fair in the game I am playing." + +Jack wandered irresolutely to Piccadilly Circus, seeking distraction. +In the American bar at the St. James' he met a man named Ingram, who +suggested that they should go to see a mutual friend--an artist--who +lived in Bedford Park. Jack agreed, and they drove in a cab. They found +a lot of other men they knew at the studio, and whisky and tobacco made +the hours fly. They left at two o'clock in the morning--a convivial +party of five--and they had to walk to Hammersmith before they picked up +a hansom. They dropped off one by one, and Jack was the only occupant +when he reached Sloane street. It was long past four when the cab put +him down at his lodgings on the Surrey side. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +A THUNDERBOLT FROM THE BLUE. + + +Another day dawned, as wet and gloomy as the preceding ones. It was the +middle of the morning when Jack got out of bed, and as he dressed he +heard the penetrating voices of newsboys ringing through the Waterloo +Bridge road. He could not distinguish what they were saying, though +he judged that the papers must contain some intelligence of unusual +importance. He rang for his breakfast, and his landlady, Mrs. Jones, +appeared in person, bringing coffee, rolls and bacon on a tray. Her face +was flushed with excitement. + +"Oh, Mr. Vernon, 'ave you 'eard?" she exclaimed. "There was a 'orrible +murder last night! I do pity the poor, dear creature--" + +"I don't want to be shocked," Jack curtly interrupted. "Murders are +common enough. But you might send me up a paper." + +"And you won't 'ear--" + +"Not now, my good woman." + +Mrs. Jones put down the tray, tossed her head, and departed in a huff. +The paper arrived five minutes later, and Jack glanced over it while he +sipped his coffee. One of the inside pages suddenly confronted him with +huge headlines: "The Beak Street Murder!" He read further down the +column, and his face turned as pale as ashes; he swayed in his chair. + +"My God!" he cried. "It is Diane!" + +The report of the affair was enlarged from a briefer account that had +appeared in a late edition on the previous night. It seemed that Mrs. +Rickett, the landlady and proprietress of 324 Beak street, had +discovered the crime at a quarter to ten in the evening. A red stain, +coming through the ceiling of her sitting-room, attracted her attention. +She went to the room overhead, which was occupied by a female lodger +calling herself Diane Merode. The door was locked, and her demands for +admittance brought no response. She promptly summoned the police, who +broke in the door and found the unfortunate woman, Merode, lying dead in +a pool of blood. She had been stabbed to the heart by a powerful blow +dealt from behind. + +"The murderer left no traces," the _Globe_ continued. "He carried off +the weapon, and, after locking the door, he took the key. According to +medical opinion, the deed was committed about half-past eight o'clock. +At that time there were several other lodgers in the top part of the +house, but they heard no noise whatever. Fortunately, however, there +is a clew. Mrs. Ricketts, who was out making purchases for breakfast, +returned about a quarter to nine. As she entered the doorway a man +slipped by her and hastened in the direction of Regent street. She had +a good look at him, and declares that she would be able to recognize him +again. The police are searching for the suspected person." + +Jack's breakfast was untasted and forgotten. His trembling hand had +upset the coffee, spilling it over the paper. He felt cold in every +vein, and his thoughts were in a state of wild chaos. It was hard to +grasp the truth--difficult to realize the import of those staring +headlines of black type! + +"Diane murdered! Diane dead!" he repeated, vacantly. "I can't believe +it!" + +After the first shock, when his brain began to throw off the numbing +stupor, he comprehended the terrible fact. The crime gave him no +satisfaction; it never occurred to him that he was a free man now. On +the contrary, a dull remorse stirred within him. He remembered his wife +as she had been five years before, when she had loved him with as much +sincerity as her shallow nature would permit, and her charms and beauty +had bound him captive by golden chains. There were tears in his eyes as +he paced the floor unsteadily. + +"Poor Diane!" he muttered. "She has paid a frightful penalty for the +sins of her wayward life--more than she deserved. She must have been +lying dead when I rapped on her door last night. Yes, and the fatal blow +had been struck but a short time before! The assassin was the +foreign-looking man who came down the stairs as I went up! There can be +no doubt of it! But who was he? And what was his motive? A discarded +lover, perhaps! What else could have prompted the deed?" + +He suddenly paused, and reeled against the wall; he clenched his hands, +and a look of sharp horror distorted his face. + +"By heavens, this is awful!" he gasped. "I never thought of it before! +The police are looking for me--I remember now that I met the landlady +when I left the house. I brushed against her and apologized, and she +stared straight at me! And the real murderer--the foreigner--appears to +have been seen by nobody except myself. What shall I do? It is on me +that suspicion has fallen!" + +The realization of his danger unnerved and stupefied Jack for an +instant. Dread phantoms of arrest and imprisonment, of trial and +sentence, rose before his eyes. One moment he determined to flee the +country; the next he resolved to surrender to the police and tell all +that he knew, so that the real murderer might be sought for without +loss of time. But the latter course was risky, fraught with terrible +possibilities. The evidence would be strong against him. He remembered +Diane's letter. He must destroy it! He hurriedly searched the pockets of +the clothing he had worn on the previous night, but in vain. + +"The letter is gone--I have lost it!" he concluded, with a sinking +heart. "But where and how? And if it is found--" + +There was a sharp rap at the door, and as quickly it opened, without +invitation. Two stern-looking men, dressed in plain clothes, stepped +into the room. Jack knew at once what the visit meant, and with a +supreme effort he braced himself to meet the ordeal. It was hard work +to stand erect and to keep his face from twitching. + +"You are John Vernon?" demanded one of the men. + +"Yes." + +"I will be very brief, sir. I am a Scotland Yard officer, and I am here +to arrest you on suspicion of having murdered your wife, known as Diane +Merode, at Number 324 Beak street, last night." + +"I expected this," Jack replied. "I have just seen the paper--I knew +nothing of the crime before. I am entirely innocent, though I admit that +the circumstances--" + +"I warn you not to say anything that may incriminate yourself. You must +come with me, sir!" + +"I understand that, and I will go quietly. I am quite ready. And at the +proper time I will speak." + +There was no delay. One of the officers remained to search the +apartments, and Jack accompanied the other downstairs. They got into +a cab and drove off, while Mrs. Jones shook her fist at them from the +doorway, loudly protesting that she was a disgraced and ruined woman +forever. + +The magistrate was sitting in the court at Great Marlborough street, and +Jack was taken there to undergo a brief preliminary formality. Contrary +to advice, he persisted in making a statement, after which he was +removed to the Holloway prison of detention to await the result of the +coroner's inquest. + +About the time that the cell-door closed on the unfortunate artist, +shutting him in to bitter reflections, Victor Nevill was in his rooms on +Jermyn street. Several of the latest papers were spread out before him, +and he brushed them savagely aside as he reached for a cigar-box. He +looked paler than usual--even haggard. + +"They have taken him by this time," he thought. "I was lucky to pick up +the letter, and it was a stroke of inspiration to send it to the police. +He is guilty, without doubt. I vowed to have a further revenge, my fine +fellow, if I ever got the chance, and I have kept my word. But there are +other troubles to meet. The clouds are gathering--I wonder if I shall +weather the storm!" + + * * * * * + +Enterprising reporters, aided by official leaking somewhere, obtained +possession of considerable facts, including the prisoner's arrest and +statement, before two o'clock, and the afternoon journals promptly +published them, not scrupling to add various imaginary embellishments. +The simple truth was enough to cause a wide-spread and profound +sensation, and it did so; for John Vernon's reputation as an artist, and +his Academy successes, were known alike to society and to the masses. It +was a rare morsel of scandal! + +Madge Foster's first knowledge of the murder was gleaned from a morning +paper, which, delayed for some reason, was not delivered until her +father had gone up to town. Toward evening she bought a late edition +from a newsboy who had penetrated to the isolated regions of Grove Park +and Strand-on-the-Green, and she saw Jack's name in big letters. When +she had read the whole account, the room seemed to swim around her, and +she dropped, half fainting, into a chair. + +"He is innocent--his story is true!" she cried, feebly. "I will never +believe him guilty! Oh, if I could only go to him and comfort him in his +great trouble!" + +Stephen Foster came home at seven o'clock, but he dined alone. Madge was +in her room, and would not come out or touch food. Her eyes were red and +swollen, and she had wept until the fountain of her tears was dried up. + +At four o'clock that same afternoon Mr. Tenby, the famous criminal +solicitor, was sitting in his private office in Bedford street, Strand, +when two prospective clients were announced simultaneously, and, by a +mistake on the part of the office-boy, shown in together. The visitors +were Jimmie Drexell and Sir Lucius Chesney, and, greatly to their mutual +amazement and the surprise of the solicitor, it appeared that they had +come on the same errand--to engage Mr. Tenby to look after the interests +of Jack Vernon. They were soon on the best of terms. + +"Mr. Vernon is an old friend of mine," Jimmie explained, "and I am going +to see him through this thing. I will stake my life on his innocence!" + +"I am glad to hear you say that," replied Sir Lucius. "I am convinced +myself that he is guiltless--that his story is true in every +particular. His face is a warranty of that. I am deeply interested in +the young man, Mr. Drexell. I have taken a fancy to him--and I insist on +aiding in his defense. Don't refuse, sir. Expense is no object to me!" + +"Nor to me," said Jimmie. "But it shall be as you wish." + +This understanding being reached, the matter was further gone into. +The solicitor, by adroit questioning, drew from Jimmie various bits of +information relating to the accused man's past life. His own opinion--he +had read all the papers--Mr. Tenby held in reserve behind a sphinx-like +countenance, nor did he vouchsafe it when it was finally settled that he +should defend the case. + +"The circumstantial evidence appears strong--very strong," he said +drily. "The situation looks black for Mr. Vernon. But I trust that the +police will find the foreign-looking individual whom the accused met +coming out of the house, if it is certain that--" He broke off sharply. + +"At all events, gentlemen," he added, "be assured that I shall do my +best." + +This promise from the great Mr. Tenby meant everything. He dismissed his +visitors, and they walked as far as Morley's Hotel together, discussing +the situation as hopefully as they could. It was evident to both, +however, that the solicitor was not disposed to credit Jack's innocence +or the truth of his statement. + +"I'll spend every dollar I have to get him free," Jimmie vowed, as he +went sadly on to the Albany. And much the same thing was in the mind of +Sir Lucius, though he wondered why it should be. He was the creature of +a whim that dominated him. + +The next day was Sunday, and on Monday the coroner held his inquest. +The accused was not present, but he was represented by Mr. Tenby, who +posed mainly as a listener, however, and asked very few questions. +Nothing fresh was solicited. Mrs. Rickett repeated her story, and the +letter from the murdered woman, which the prisoner admitted having lost, +was put in evidence. The proceedings being merely a prelude to a higher +court, the jurors rendered an undecisive verdict. They found that the +deceased had been murdered by a person or persons unknown, but that +suspicion strongly pointed to her husband, John Vernon. They advised, +moreover, that the police should try to find the stranger whom the +accused alleged to have seen coming from the house. + +On Tuesday the unfortunate woman was decently buried, at Jimmie +Drexell's expense, and on the following day a more formal inquiry was +held at Great Marlborough street. Jack was there, and he had a brief and +affecting interview with Sir Lucius and Jimmie; he had previously seen +his solicitor at Holloway. He repeated to the magistrate the story he +had told before, and he was compelled to admit, by the Crown lawyers, +that the murdered woman had been his wife, that they had lived apart for +nearly six years, and that she had recently prevented him from marrying +another woman. What prompted these damaging questions, or how the +prosecution got hold of the lost letter, did not appear. Mrs. Rickett +positively identified the prisoner, and medical evidence was taken. The +police stated that they had been unable as yet to find the missing man, +concerning whose existence they suggested some doubt, and that they had +discovered nothing bearing on the case in the apartments occupied by +either the accused or Diane Merode. Mr. Tenby, who was suffering from +a headache, did little but watch the proceedings. The inquiry was +adjourned, and John Vernon was remanded in custody for a week. + +But much was destined to occur in the interval. The solicitor had a +formidable rival in the person of Jimmie Drexell. The shrewd American, +keeping eyes and ears open, had formed suspicions in regard to the +principal witness for the Crown. And he lost no time in making the most +of his clew, wild and improbable as it seemed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE. + + +On the day of the inquiry at Great Marlborough street, about five +o'clock in the afternoon, Jimmie Drexell walked slowly and thoughtfully +up the Quadrant. The weather had turned cold, and his top hat and +fur-lined coat gave him the appearance of an actor in luck. He was bound +on a peculiar errand, and though he hoped to succeed, he was not blind +to the fact that the odds were very much against him. + +"I shall probably put my foot in it somehow," he reflected dolefully, +"and make a mess of the thing. But if I fail, it won't convince me that +I am wrong. I had my eye on that woman in court, and she was certainly +keeping something back. She seemed confused--in dread of some question +that was never asked. And once or twice I thought she was on the point +of making some startling revelation. I must play a cunning game, for +poor old Jack's sake. If Mrs. Rickett can't save him, and the police +don't find the mysterious stranger, I'm afraid he will be in a devilish +bad way." + +Jimmie turned into Beak street, and pulled the bell of Number 324. He +waited several minutes before the landlady came, and then she opened +the door but a couple of inches, and peered distrustfully out. Jimmie +craftily thrust a foot in, so that the door could not be closed. + +"You do not know me, madam," he said, "but I come as a friend. I wish to +have a short conversation with you." + +Mrs. Rickett's distrust turned to alarm. In her agitation she retreated +a little, and Jimmie carried the first outworks and entered the hall. + +"I must talk to you privately," he added. "We may be overheard here." + +In a tremulous voice the landlady invited him to follow her, and she led +the way to a cozy apartment on the ground floor that was half kitchen +and half sitting-room. A kettle was steaming merrily on the fire, and +overhead an ominous red stain was visible on the ceiling. + +Mrs. Rickett sank limply into a chair, and Jimmie, after closing the +door and removing his hat, seated himself opposite. He assumed an air +of grave importance. + +"My good woman, perhaps you can guess why I am here," he began. "I was +present to-day at Great Marlborough street police-court. I watched the +proceedings closely, and my experience in such cases, and my infallible +sense of discrimination, enabled me to make a discovery." He paused for +breath, and to note the effect of his peroration; he wondered if the +words were right. "I am satisfied," he went on, "that the evidence you +gave--" + +"Oh, Lor', it's come! it's come!" interrupted Mrs. Rickett. "I knew it +would! I've been in fear and tremblin'! Why didn't I speak at the right +time? Indeed, I tried to, but I sorter got choked up! Oh, sir, have pity +on a lone widow!" + +Her face grew white, and she gasped for breath; she threatened to go +into a fit of hysterics. + +"Come, come; there is nothing to be alarmed about," said Jimmie, who +could scarcely hide his delight. "Take comfort, my good woman. You may +have been foolish and thoughtless, but I am sure you have done nothing +criminal. I am here as a friend, and you can trust me. I wish to learn +the truth--that is all. From motives which I can understand, you kept +back some important evidence in connection with this sad tragedy--" + +"I did, sir--I don't deny it. I didn't tell what I should, though I +nearly got the words out a 'eap of times. Please don't carry me off to +prison, sir. I knowed you was a police officer in disguise the minute +I clapped eyes on you--" + +"I have nothing to do with the police," Jimmie assured her. + +"Really? Then perhaps you're a detective--a private one?" + +"Yes, it is something like that. I am making inquiries privately, in +behalf of my unfortunate friend." + +"Meaning Mr. Vernon." + +"That's right. I am convinced of his innocence, and I want to prove it. +You need have no fear. On the contrary, if you tell me freely all that +you know, you shall be well rewarded." + +Mrs. Rickett took comfort, and fervently declared that her visitor +was a real gentleman. She offered him a cup of tea, which he tactfully +accepted, and then fortified her inner self with one, preliminary to +making her statement. + +"I'm that flustered I 'ardly know what I'm doing," she began, wiping her +lips with a corner of her apron. "As to why I didn't speak before, it's +just this, sir. I liked that young man's face, 'im I met comin' out of +my 'ouse that night, and I thought afterward the woman might 'ave done +'im a bitter wrong, which, of course, ain't excusin' 'im for the +dreadful crime of murder, and I wouldn't 'ave you think it--" + +"Then you know something that might be harmful to Mr. Vernon?" Jimmie +interrupted. He began to suspect the situation. + +"That's it, sir!" + +"But, my good woman, Mr. Vernon is absolutely innocent. Take my word +for it. The other man, who left the house just before my friend, is the +guilty person." + +"I didn't believe in that other man at first," Mrs. Rickett replied; +"but it looks like the story might be true, after all. And if it is--" + +"Well?" + +"Then I can tell something about _him_; leastwise I think so." + +"Go on!" Jimmie said, eagerly. + +"I 'eard it from that French woman, Dinah Mer--I never _can_ pernounce +the name," continued Mrs. Rickett. "Pore creature, what a 'orrible end; +though it's a mercy it was so sudden like. But, as I was saying, sir, +she lodged in my 'ouse last spring, and she come back only three days +before the murder. She never 'ad much to say for 'erself, an' I judged +she was stiff and proud. You'll believe I was taken all aback, then, +when she walked into this 'ere very room one evening--it was last +Thursday, the day before the murder--an' takes off her cloak as cool as +you please. 'Mrs. Rickett,' she says, 'I'm feelin' badly. Can you give +me a cup of tea?' Of course I says yes. I was 'aving my own tea at the +time, and I asked 'er to join me, sociable like. By an' by she got to +tellin' me about 'erself. It appears she wasn't really French, but was +born at Dunwold, a village in Sussex, an' lived there till she was grown +up, after which she went abroad. Then she says to me, of a sudden: 'I +met a man to-day--'" + +"One moment!" Jimmie interrupted. He took a note-book and pencil from +his pocket, and jotted down a few lines. "Please resume now," he added. +"What did the deceased tell you?" + +"She told me that she'd met a man on Regent street from her native +English village, meaning Dunwold," Mrs. Rickett went on, "and that he +give her a bad fright. 'Is he an enemy of yours?' I asked. 'Yes, a +bitter one,' she says, 'an' I'm mortal afraid of him. An' the worst of +it is I'm sure he saw me, though I give 'im the slip by going into Swan +and Edgar's at one door and out at another. If he finds me, Mrs. Rickett, +'e'll kill me.' I told 'er not to worrit 'erself, an' I clean furgot the +matter till the next night, when the pore dear creature was stabbed to +the 'eart. I thought I should 'ave lost my 'ead, what with the crowds +that gathered, an' the police in the 'ouse, an' the doctors a viewin' +the departed corpse, an'--" + +Jimmie checked her by a gesture. + +"Are you sure you have told me everything?" he asked. + +"Every blessed word, sir. It's the first and only time the woman spoke +to me of 'erself." + +Jimmie jotted down a few more notes, and his hand shook like a leaf, so +greatly was he thrilled by the value of his discovery. Then he put Mrs. +Rickett through a cross-examination, in what he flattered himself was a +strictly legal style. Certainly Mr. Tenby could not have done it better, +for the landlady had nothing more to tell. + +"I 'ope you're satisfied," she said. "And you won't forget what you +promised--that I shouldn't get into trouble?" + +"I'll see to that," Jimmie replied. "It can be easily managed. I trust +that what you have told me will lead to the acquittal of my friend. Here +are ten pounds for you, and, if all goes well, I shall probably add to +it at another time." + +The landlady thrust the bank notes into her broad bosom. She was +overpowered by the munificence of the gift, and poured out her +gratitude copiously. + +"I've just recollected something," she went on. "There's a secret closet +in the room where the pore woman lodged, an' last spring I 'appened to +show it to 'er. It sort of took 'er fancy, and--" + +"Did the police find it or examine it?" cried Jimmie. + +"No, sir. I forgot to speak of it." + +"Let me see it, please! It may lead to something of importance." + +Mrs. Rickett willingly conducted her visitor through the hall and up the +staircase. A sense of the recent tragedy seemed to haunt the room, with +its drawn curtains and tawdry furnishings, and the dark stain on the +floor. The landlady shuddered, and glanced fearfully around. She made +haste to open a narrow closet, and to slide open a disguised panel at +the back of it, which disclosed a small recess. Jimmie, who was at her +shoulder, uttered a cry of surprise. He saw a gleam of white, and +reached for it quickly. He drew out an envelope, unaddressed and sealed, +with contents of a bulky nature. + +"Bless me! She _did_ 'ide something!" gasped Mrs. Rickett. "What can it +be?" + +"Writing, perhaps," replied Jimmie. "Will you permit me to have this, +Mrs. Rickett? I will examine it at my leisure, and tell you about it +later." + +"I've no objections, sir," the landlady replied, as another five-pound +note was slipped into her hand. "Take it and welcome!" + +Jimmie thanked her, and pocketed the envelope. + +"I will see you again," he said, "and tell you whether I succeed +or fail. And, meanwhile, I must ask you to keep my visit a strict +secret--to inform no one of what you have told me. And don't breathe a +whisper in regard to anything being found in the murdered woman's room. +Keep your own counsel." + +"I'll do that, sir, never fear. I'm a close-mouthed woman, and know how +to hold my tongue, which there ain't many females can say the same. And +I'm sure you'll do the right thing by me." + +"I will, indeed," Jimmie promised. "You shan't have cause to regret your +confidence. And if I can clear my friend through the assistance you have +given me, I will be more liberal than I have been on this occasion." + +"Thank you, sir, and I 'ope with all my 'eart you'll find the guilty +man," Mrs. Rickett declared, vehemently. "I never _did_ think Mr. Vernon +murdered that pore creature. Ah, but it's a wicked world!" + +She accompanied her visitor to the door, showered further effusive +gratitude upon him, and gazed after him till he had turned the corner. +Overjoyed by his unexpected success, hopeful of achieving great results, +Jimmie strode down Regent street, amid the lights and the crowds. The +crisp, cold air had dried the pavements, and the stars shone from a +clear sky. + +"What luck!" he thought, exultantly. "It was a happy inspiration to go +there to-night! Gad, I ought to be in Scotland Yard! There is no doubt +that the man who killed Diane was the same fellow she met the day +before. He hailed from her native village, and of course he was a +discarded lover. It is even possible that he was her husband, in the +days before she went to Paris, became a dancer, and married Jack. I must +utilize the information to the best advantage. The first thing is to run +down to Dunwold, find out all I can, and then put the police on the +track. For the present I will dispense with their services, though it +seems a bit risky to take matters into my own hands. But I rather fancy +the idea of playing detective, and I'll have a go at the business. I +won't tell the solicitor what I have discovered, but I think it will be +wise to confide in Sir Lucius Chesney. By the bye, he lives somewhere in +Sussex. He may be able to help me at the start." + +Jimmie remembered the mysterious envelope in his pocket, and it occurred +to him that the contents might alter the whole situation, and make a +trip to Dunwold unnecessary. He walked faster, impatient to reach the +Albany and investigate his prize in safety. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +A DISCOVERY. + + +Jimmie's first move, on entering his chambers, was to lock the door +behind him and turn up the gas. Then he produced the envelope, and tore +it open, wondering as he did so what penalty the law would exact for +such an offense. The enclosure consisted of a dozen closely-written +pages of note-paper, dated two days before the murder. It was in the +nature of a statement, or confession, which some whim had prompted Diane +to put down in writing. Her motive became clearer to Jimmie as he read +on. She had meant no treachery to Jack in her letter. She had come to +London, a repentant woman, to do him a real service--to open his eyes to +various things--and for that purpose she had made the appointment at +Beak street on the fatal night. In all likelihood the document hidden in +the closet was due to a premonition of impending evil--a haunting dread +of the danger that was creeping upon the unfortunate woman. + +The statement was in the form of a letter, addressed to Jack Vernon on +the first page, and signed "Diane Merode" on the last. It ended quite +abruptly, and did not refer directly to the mysterious stranger or to +Diane's early life, though it hinted at certain things of importance +which she was resolved to tell. But what she disclosed was astounding +in itself, and when Jimmie threw down the pages, after reading them +attentively, his face showed how deeply he was agitated. It took much to +rouse his placid nature to anger, but now his eyes blazed with rage and +indignation. + +"By heavens, this is awful!" he said, hoarsely. "It is far worse than I +dreamed of! The consummate scoundrel! The treacherous blackguard! There +is no need to keep further watch on Victor Nevill. His record is +exposed. How true were my suspicions about that money-lending business! +He dropped some letters in Diane's room last spring, which she declares +proved him to be a partner in the firm of Benjamin and Company. I believe +her--I don't doubt it. The cursed tout! For how many years has he made +use of his social advantages to ruin young men--to decoy them into the +clutches of the Jews? It makes my blood boil! And the worst of it all is +the part he has played toward poor Jack--a false, black-hearted friend +from beginning to end; from the early days in Paris up to the present +time. If I had him here now--" + +He finished the sentence by banging his clenched fist on the table with +a force that made it quiver. + +Little wonder that Jimmie was indignant and wrathful! For Diane, weary +of being made a cat's-paw for an unscrupulous villain, remorseful for +the misery she had brought on one who once loved her, had confessed in +writing all of Victor Nevill's dark deeds. She had not known at first, +she said, that his sole aim had been to injure his trusting friend, else +she would have refused to help him. She had learned the truth since, and +she did not spare her knowledge of Nevill's dark deeds and cunning +tricks. She told how he had tempted her to desert her husband and flee +from Paris with him; how he had met her five years later in London, and +planned the infamous scheme which brought Jack and Diane together on +Richmond Terrace; and she declared that it was Victor Nevill also who +sent the anonymous letters to Madge Foster, the second of which had led +to the painful _denouement_ in the Ravenscourt Park studio. It was all +there in black and white--a story bearing the unmistakable evidence of +truth and sincerity. + +"This is a private matter," thought Jimmie, when he had calmed down a +little, "and I'm bound to regard it as such. The statement can't affect +the case against Jack--it is useless to Mr. Tenby--and it would be +unwise to make it public for the purposes of denouncing Nevill--at least +at present. I will put it away carefully, and give it to Jack when his +innocence is proved, which I trust will be very soon. As for Nevill, +I'll reckon with the scoundrel at the proper time. I'll expose him in +every club in London, and drive him from the country. He shall not marry +Miss Foster--I'll nip that scheme in the bud and open her eyes--and I'll +let Sir Lucius Chesney know what sort of a man his nephew is. He'll cut +him off with a penny, I'll bet. But all these things must wait until I +find Diane's murderer, and meanwhile I will lock up the confession and +keep my own counsel." + +Taking the letter, he reread the closing lines, studying the +curiously-worded phrases. + +"I am not writing this to send to you," Diane concluded, "but to hide in +a secret place where it will be found if anything happens to me; life is +always uncertain. I have much more to tell, but I am too weary to put it +on paper. You will know all when me meet, and when you learn my secret, +happiness will come into your life again." + +"It's a pretty clear case," reflected Jimmie. "The secret refers, +without doubt, to the man who murdered her. And the motive for it must +be traced back to her early life at Dunwold. She left a discarded lover +behind when she went to Paris. Ah, but why not a husband? Suppose she +was never really Jack's wife! In that case it is easy to see what she +meant by saying that she would make him happy again. By Jove, I'm +anxious to ferret the thing out!" + +Jimmie looked at his watch; it was just seven o'clock. He put the letter +in his desk, safe under lock and key, and went straight to Morley's +Hotel. He dined with Sir Lucius Chesney, and told him what he had +learned from his visit to Mrs. Rickett. He made no mention of what he +had found in the secret closet, nor did he refer to Victor Nevill. + +Sir Lucius was amazed and delighted, hopeful of success. He thoroughly +approved Jimmie's plan, and gave him a brief note of introduction to the +Vicar of Dunwold. + +"I wish I could go with you," he said; "but, unfortunately, I have two +important engagements in town to-morrow." + +The interview was a long one, and it was eleven o'clock when Jimmie left +the hotel. He went straight home to bed, and an early hour the next +morning found him gliding out of Victoria station in a South Coast +train. + + * * * * * + +On the previous night, while Jimmie and Sir Lucius were dining at +Morley's, Victor Nevill emerged from his rooms in Jermyn street, and +walked briskly to Piccadilly Circus. He looked quite unlike the spruce +young man of fashion who was wont to disport himself in the West End at +this hour, for he wore tweeds, a soft hat, and a rather shabby overcoat. +He took a cab in Coventry street, and gave the driver a northern +address. As he rode through the Soho district he occasionally pressed +one hand to his breast, and a bundle of bank notes, tucked snugly away +there, gave forth a rustling sound. The thought of them aggravated him +sorely. + +"A thousand pounds to that black-mailing scoundrel!" he muttered. "It's +a steep price, and yet it means much more than that to me. There was no +other way out of it, and I can't blame the fellow for making a hard +bargain and sticking to it. If all goes smoothly, and I get possession +of the papers, it's ten to one I will be secure, with nothing more to +fear. It was fortunate that Timmins picked _me_ out. It would have meant +ruin to my prospects had he sold his knowledge elsewhere. He is a clever +rascal, and he knows that it will be to his interest to keep his mouth +shut hereafter. What risk there may be from other quarters is so slight +that I needn't worry about it." + +It had not been an easy matter to find the thousand pounds, and in the +interval he had twice seen Mr. Timmins, and vainly tried to beat down +his price. The money was finally squeezed out of Stephen Foster, with +extreme reluctance on his part, and by means which he resented bitterly +but was powerless to combat. He had angrily upbraided his unscrupulous +young confederate, who would not even tell him for what purpose he +wanted the sum. Nevill was indifferent to Stephen Foster's wrath and +reproaches. He had accomplished his object, and he was too hardened by +this time to feel any twinges of conscience. He was now going to meet +the man Timmins by appointment, and buy from him the valuable papers in +his possession. + +It was nine o'clock when the cab put him down in one of the noisy +thoroughfares of Kentish Town. He paid the driver, and entered a public +house on the corner. He ordered a light stimulant, and on the strength +of it he re-examined the rather vague written directions Mr. Timmins had +given him. He came out five minutes later, and turned eastward into a +gloomy and squalid neighborhood. He lost his bearings twice, and then +found himself at one end of Peckwater street. He took the first turn to +the left, and began to count the houses and scan their numbers. + +While Nevill was speeding along the Kentish Town road in a cab, Mr. +Timmins, _alias_ Noah Hawker, was at home in the dingy little room which +he had selected for his residence in London. With a short pipe between +his teeth, he reclined in a wooden chair, which was tipped back against +the wall. On a table, within easy reach of him, were a packet of tobacco +and a bottle of stout. A candle furnished light. + +"I wonder if the bloke'll turn up," he reflected, as he puffed rank +smoke from his mouth. "If he don't he knows what to expect--I ain't a +man to go back on my word. But I needn't fear. He'll come all right, and +he'll have the dust with him. Is it likely he'd throw away a fortune, +such as I'm offerin' him? Not a bit of it! I'll be glad when the thing +is done and over with. A thousand pounds ain't to be laughed at. I'll go +abroad and spend it, where the sun shines in winter and--" + +At this point Mr. Hawker's soliloquies were interrupted by footsteps +just outside the room. + +"That's my swell," he thought, "and he's a bit early. He must be in a +hurry to get hold of the documents." + +The door opened quickly and sharply, and two sinewy, plainly-dressed men +stepped into the room. Hawker knew his visitors to be detectives. + +His jaw dropped, his face turned livid with rage and fear, and he tried +to thrust one hand behind him. But the move was anticipated, and he +abandoned all thought of resistance when the muzzle of a revolver stared +him in the eyes. + +"None of that, Hawker," said the detective who held the weapon. "You'd +best come quietly. Didn't expect to catch us napping, did you?" + +"I ain't done nothin'," panted Hawker, who was breathing like a winded +beast. + +"I didn't say you had," was the reply, "but you've been missing for a +few months. Last spring you stopped reporting yourself and went abroad. +We want you for that--nothing else _at present_." + +The two final words were spoken with an emphasis and significance that +did not escape the prisoner, and brought a desperate look to his face. +He seemed about to show fight, but the next instant a pair of irons were +clapped on his wrists, and he was helpless. + +A brief time was required to search the room, but nothing was found, +for all that Hawker owned was on his person. The bedding was pulled +apart, and the strip of ragged carpet was lifted up. Then the detectives +went downstairs with their prisoner, followed by the indignant and +scandalized Mrs. Miggs. She angrily upbraided Mr. Hawker, who received +her reproaches in sullen silence. Her breath was spent when she slammed +the door shut. + +The affair had been managed quietly, without attracting public +attention, and the street was as lonely and dark as usual. One of the +detectives whistled for a cab, which he had in waiting around the +corner, and just then a man walked quickly by the house, glancing keenly +at the little group as he passed. He slouched carelessly on into the +gloom, but not until he had been recognized by Noah Hawker. + +The cab came up, and the prisoner was bundled into it. He was apparently +very submissive and unconcerned as he sat with manacled hands between +his captors, but when the vehicle rolled into a more populous +neighborhood, the street lamps revealed the expression of burning, +implacable hatred that distorted his face. + +"It was that swell who betrayed me to the police," he thought bitterly. +"I was a fool to trust him. I know his little game, but he'll be badly +mistaken if he expects to find the papers. They'll be safe enough till I +want them again. I'll get square in a way he don't dream of, curse him! +Yes, I'll do it! I'd rather have revenge than money. A few days yet, and +then--" + +"What's that?" asked one of the detectives. + +"Nothing," Mr. Hawker replied, in a tone of sarcasm. "I was thinkin' of +a friend of mine, what'll be sorry I was took." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +THE VICAR OF DUNWOLD. + + +At a safe distance Victor Nevill stopped and turned around. When the cab +rolled away, he walked slowly back, looking keenly at the house as he +passed it. His demeanor was calm, but it was only skin deep. He felt +like swearing loudly at everybody and everything. His brain was in a +whirl of rage and fear, sharp anxiety and keen disappointment. He had +recognized Noah Hawker and seen the gleam of steel at his wrists, which +explained the situation as clearly as words could have done. + +"The poor chap has been tracked and arrested," he thought; "possibly for +some past burglary. Our negotiations are ended for the present, confound +the luck! But the papers! By Jove, suppose Hawker had them on his +person! If so, they will be found when he is searched. They will be +opened and examined, and the whole truth will come out. I can't be +sure that Hawker won't give away my part in the affair. I shall be +ruined--nothing short of it! What a luckless devil I am!" + +The iron hand of Nemesis seemed reaching out to grasp Nevill, and he +shuddered as he realized his danger. The rustle of the bank notes in his +breast pocket afforded him a momentary relief as he remembered that they +would give him a fresh start in case he had to flee from England. Then a +sudden thought lightened the gloom still more, and he clutched eagerly +at the ray of hope thus thrown out. + +"Hawker was too shrewd a man to be caught unawares," he reasoned. "He +kept the papers in a secure hiding-place, and he certainly would not +have taken them from it until I came and he saw the color of the money. +Nor is it likely that the police found them, though they must have +searched the place. If they are still in the room, why should I not try +to get possession of them? I could square up with Hawker afterward, when +he recovers his liberty. By Jove, it's worth risking!" + +Nevill walked as far as Peckwater street, debating the question. He did +not hesitate long, for there was too much at stake. He quickly made up +his mind, and retraced his steps to the dingy house from which the +detectives had taken their prisoner. He had planned his course of +procedure when the door opened to his knock, and Mrs. Miggs revealed her +distrustful countenance. Nevill tendered her half a sovereign on the +spot, and asked to see the room lately occupied by Mr. Noah Hawker. + +"It's a private matter," he explained. "Yes, I know that Mr. Hawker has +just been arrested and taken away. District detectives did that--they +were onto him for some breach of the law. I was after him myself, with +a Scotland Yard warrant, but I arrived too late, unfortunately." + +"Then what do you want?" grumbled the woman. + +"I want to search Hawker's room for some papers which I believe he hid +there. If I find them you shall be rewarded." + +Mrs. Miggs relaxed visibly. She had a wholesome respect for the police, +and she did not doubt that Nevill was other than he purported to be--a +Scotland Yard officer. She let him into the hall and closed the door. + +"You can come up," she said ungraciously, "but I don't think there's +anything there." + +She lighted a candle and guided Nevill upstairs. He could scarcely +restrain his excitement as he entered the little room. He glanced keenly +about, noting the half-empty bottle of stout and the dirty glass. + +"Did the police search here?" he inquired. + +"Of course they did, but they didn't find nothin', 'cause there wasn't +anything to find. 'Awker was as poor as Job!" + +"They examined his person?--his clothes, I mean?" + +"Yes, an' all they got was a knife, and a pistol, and some loose silver +and coppers." + +"They didn't discover any papers?" + +"No; I'm sure o' that," asserted Mrs. Miggs. "I can't stand 'ere all +night," she impatiently added. + +Nevill took the hint, and set to work in good spirits. The landlady +watched him scornfully while he hauled the carpet and bedding about, and +examined all the joints of the few articles of furniture. He then +proceeded--there was no fireplace in the room--to tap every part of the +walls, and to try the flooring to see if any boards were loose. But the +walls were solid and untampered with, and the nails in the floor had +clearly not been disturbed for many years. He spent half an hour at his +task, and the result was a barren failure. He realized that it would be +useless to search further. He looked sharply at the landlady, and said, +on a sudden impulse: + +"You knew Mr. Hawker pretty well, I think. Perhaps he asked you to +oblige him by taking care of the papers I am looking for; they could not +possibly be of any advantage to you in the future, and if you have them +I should be glad to buy them from you. I would give as much as--" + +"I only wish I _did_ 'ave them!" interrupted Mrs. Miggs. "I wouldn't +'esitate a minute to turn 'em into money. But I don't know nothin' of +them, sir, an' you see yourself they ain't 'id in this room, an' Mr. +'Awker never put foot in any other part of the 'ouse." + +The woman's expression of disappointment, her manner, satisfied Nevill +that his suspicion was baseless. There was nothing more to be done, so +he gave Mrs. Miggs an additional half-sovereign, cautioned her not to +speak of his visit, and left the house. His last state of mind was worse +than his first, and dread of exposure, tormenting visions of a dreary +and perpetual exile from England, not to speak of more bitter things, +haunted him as he strode moodily toward the lights of the Kentish Town +road. + +"The papers may be in that room, hidden so securely as to baffle any +search," he said to himself, "and if that is the case there is still +hope. But it is more likely that Hawker had them concealed under his +clothing or in his boots. I will know in a day or two--if the police +find them, they will make the matter public. All I can do is to wait. +But the suspense is awful, and I wish it was over." + +The next day was cold, sunny and bracing--more like the end of February +than the end of November. At nine o'clock in the morning Victor Nevill +crawled out of bed after a troubled night; with haggard face and dull +eyes he looked down into Jermyn street, wondering, as he recalled the +events of the previous night, what another day would bring forth. + +At the same hour, or a little later, Jimmie Drexell was at Hastings. +Having to wait some time for another train, he walked through the pretty +town to the sea, and the sight of its glorious beauty--the embodiment of +untrammeled freedom--made him think sadly of poor Jack in a prison cell. + +"Never mind, I'll have him out soon!" he vowed. + +He returned to the station, and was whirled on through the flat, green +country to the charming Sussex village of Pevensey, with its ruined old +castle and rambling street, and the blue line of the Channel flashing in +the distance. His journey did not end here, and he was impatient to +continue it. He procured a horse and trap at the Railway Arms, gleaned +careful instructions from the landlord, and drove back a few miles along +the hedge-lined roads, while the sea faded behind him. + +It was eleven o'clock when he reached the retired little hamlet of +Dunwold. He put up his vehicle at a quaint old inn, and refreshed +himself with a simple lunch. Then he sought the vicarage, hard by the +ancient church with its Norman tower, and, on inquiring for Mr. +Chalfont, he was shown into a sunny library full of books and +Chippendale furniture, with flowers on the deep window-seats and +a litter of papers on the carved oak writing-desk. + +The vicar entered shortly--an elderly gentleman of benevolent aspect and +snowy beard, but sturdy and lithe-limbed for his years, clearly one of +those persons who seemed predestined for the placidity of clerical life. +After a penetrating glance he greeted his visitor most graciously, and +expressed pleasure at seeing him. + +"I am sure that you are a stranger to the neighborhood," he continued. +"Our fine old church draws many such hither. If you wish to go over it, +I can show you many things of interest--" + +"At another time," Jimmie interrupted, "I should be only too delighted. +I regret to say that it is quite a different matter that brings me +here--hardly a pleasant one. This will partly explain, Mr. Chalfont." + +He presented the letter Sir Lucius had given him, and when it had been +opened and read he poured out the whole story of Diane's life and end, +of the charge against Jack Vernon, and the clew that the murdered woman +had revealed to her landlady. + +The vicar rose from his chair, showing traces of deep agitation and +distress. + +"A friend of Sir Lucius Chesney is a friend of mine," he said, hoarsely. +"I shall be glad to help you--to do anything in my power to clear your +friend. I believe that he is innocent. Your sad story has awakened old +memories, Mr. Drexell. And it is a great shock to me, as you will +understand when I tell you all. I seldom read the London papers, and +it comes as a blow and a surprise to me that Diane Merode has been +murdered." + +"Then you know her by that name?" exclaimed Jimmie. "This is indeed +fortunate, Mr. Chalfont. I feared that you would find it difficult to +identify the woman--to recall her. And the man whom she proclaimed as +her enemy--do you know _him_?" + +"Judge for yourself," replied the vicar, as he sat down and settled back +in his chair. "I will state the facts, distinctly and briefly. That will +not be hard to do. To begin, I have been in this parish for thirty +years, and I am familiar with its history. I remember when Diane +Merode's father came home with his young bride. He was a doctor, with +some small means of his own, and he lived in the second house beyond the +church. His wife was a French girl, well educated and beautiful, and he +met and married her while on a visit to France; his name was George +Hammersley. They settled here in the village, but I do not think that +they lived very happily together. Their one child, christened Diane, +was born two years after the marriage. She inherited her mother's +vivacious disposition and love of the world, and I always felt +misgivings about her future. She spent five years at a school in Paris, +and returned at the age of sixteen. Within less than two years her +parents died within a week of each other, of a malignant fever that +attacked our village. A friend of George Hammersley's took Diane to his +home--it appeared that she had no relatives--and nine months later she +married a man, nearly twenty years her senior, who had fallen +passionately in love with her." + +"By Jove, so she was really married before!" cried Jimmie. "But I beg +your pardon, Mr. Chalfont, for interrupting you." + +"This man, Gilbert Morris, was comparatively well-to-do," resumed the +vicar. "He owned a couple of ships, and when at home he lived in +Dunwold; but he was away the greater part of his time, sailing one or +the other of his vessels to foreign ports. Six months after the marriage +he started on such a voyage, leaving his youthful bride with an old +housekeeper, and just three weeks later Diane disappeared. Every effort +was made to trace her, but in vain, and it was believed that she had +gone to London. Before the end of the winter our village squire returned +from abroad, and declared that he had recognized Diane in Paris, and +that she was a popular dancer under the name of Merode. About the same +time it was reported in the papers that the vessel on which Gilbert +Morris had set sail, the _Nautilus_, had been lost in a storm, with all +hands on board. There was every reason to credit the report--" + +"But it was not true," exclaimed Jimmie. "I can read as much in your +eyes, Mr. Chalfont. What became of Gilbert Morris?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +RUN TO EARTH. + + +The vicar hesitated for a moment, and then looked his companion straight +in the face. + +"That unhappy man, Gilbert Morris, was spared by the sea," he answered +in a low voice. "The ship was lost, as reported, but he and two of the +crew were picked up by a sailing vessel and carried to South America. +Months elapsed before they were heard of, and Diane had been gone for +a year when Gilbert Morris returned to Dunwold. The news was a terrible +shock to him, for he had loved his wife with all the depth of a fierce +and fiery nature. His affection seemed to turn to rage, and it was +thought best to keep him in ignorance of the fact that Diane had been +seen in Paris. Brain fever prostrated him, and when he recovered +physically from that his mind was affected--in other words, he was +a homicidal lunatic, with a fixed determination to find and kill his +wife." + +"By heavens!" exclaimed Jimmie. "The scent is getting warm! What was +done with the man?" + +"He was sent to a private madhouse in Surrey." + +"And is he there still?" + +"No, he is not," the vicar replied agitatedly. "He succeeded in making +his escape more than a week ago. The matter was hushed up, because it +was hoped that he would come back to Dunwold, and that he could be +quietly captured here. But, in spite of the utmost vigilance, he was +not found or traced; and this very morning I received a letter from +Doctor Bent, the proprietor of the madhouse, stating that he had +furnished the London police with a description of his missing patient." + +"That settles it!" cried Jimmie, jumping up in excitement. "Gilbert +Morris is the man!" + +"Yes, I fear he is the murderer," assented the vicar. "But, pray sit +down, Mr. Drexell, and we will talk further of the sad affair. Lunch +will be ready in a few minutes, and I shall be glad to have you--" + +"Thanks, but I can't stop," Jimmie interrupted, as he put on his hat. +"I'm off to town to help the police to find the guilty man." + +"But surely, my dear sir, this is a very hasty conclusion--" + +"Can you doubt for one moment, in your heart, that Gilbert Morris killed +that unfortunate woman?" + +"The circumstances all point that way," admitted Mr. Chalfont. "Yes, it +is a pretty clear case. It is distressing to think that the crime might +have been prevented, had the police been promptly informed of the +madman's escape. But only Doctor Bent and myself were aware of the +fact--excepting the attendants of the institution. As I told you, I knew +nothing of the murder until you informed me, and it was unlikely that +the doctor--though he must have read the papers--should have associated +the deed with Morris; he took charge of the place quite recently, and +could not have been well posted regarding the history of his patient." + +"He ought to be arrested for criminal neglect," Jimmie said, +indignantly. "He is in a measure responsible for the murder. Gilbert +Morris might have been retaken almost at once had the police been +informed at the time of the escape." + +"Just so!" the vicar agreed. + +"I'm off now," continued Jimmie. "I can't thank you enough, Mr. +Chalfont, for the information you have given me. I shall never forget +it, nor will my friend." + +"It was Providence that guided you here," replied the vicar. "His ways +are indeed marvelous. I wish you every success, Mr. Drexell. I trust +that your friend will speedily be at liberty, and if I can be of any +further service, count upon me." + +"I'll do that, sir," Jimmie assured him. + +The next minute he was striding away from the vicarage, and it was a +very perspiring and foam-flecked horse that pulled up outside the +Railway Arms at Pevensey half an hour later. Jimmie jumped out of the +trap, paid the account, and dashed over to the station. His arrival +was timely, for he learned that a through London train was due in ten +minutes. During the interval he found some vent for his impatience in +sending a wire to Sir Lucius Chesney, as follows: + +"Success! Back in town at three o'clock." + +Never had a railway journey seemed so long and tiresome to Jimmie as +that comparatively short one, in a fast train, from Pevensey to London. +He had a book and a newspaper, but he could not read; he smoked like a +furnace, and glared from the window at the flying landscape. He reached +Victoria station at five minutes past three, and just outside the gates +he met Sir Lucius. + +"I barely got here--I was afraid I'd miss you," the latter exclaimed +breathlessly; his face was a more ruddy color than usual. "I have +something to tell you," he went on; "something that happened--" + +"It's a jolly good thing, sir, that I went down to Pevensey," Jimmie +interrupted, as he drew his companion aside to a quieter spot. "You'll +scarcely believe what I have found out. The vicar told me a most amazing +story, and we spotted the murderer at once. He is Diane's real +husband--Jack was never legally married to her--and his name is Gilbert +Morris. He is an escaped lunatic--" + +"Gad, sir, the man is arrested!" gasped Sir Lucius. "He is in custody!" + +"Arrested?" cried Jimmie. + +"Yes; the afternoon papers are full of it. The police, furnished with +a description of the man and other information, apprehended him this +morning early in a Lambeth lodging-house. There were blood-spots on his +clothing, and in his pocket they found a bloodstained knife. He became +violent the moment he was arrested, and raved about his wife Diane, who +had deserted him, and how he had killed her to avenge his honor." + +"That's the man!" said Jimmie. "He's as mad as a March hare. Thank God, +they have got him!" + +"We'll soon have Mr. Vernon out," Sir Lucius replied, cheerfully. + +Jimmie told the rest of the story in the privacy of a cab, which drove +the two rapidly from Victoria station to Bedford street, Strand. They +found Mr. Tenby in his office, and had a long interview with him. The +solicitor had read the papers, and when he was put in possession of +the further important facts bearing on the case, he promised to secure +Jack's release as soon as the necessary legal formalities could be +complied with. Moreover, he promised to go to Holloway within the course +of an hour or two, and communicate the good news to the prisoner. Jimmie +was anxious to go with him, but he reluctantly abandoned the project +when the solicitor assured him that it would be most difficult to +arrange. + +"Be patient, gentlemen, and leave the matter in my hands," said Mr. +Tenby. "I think we shall have Mr. Vernon out of Holloway to-morrow, and +without a stain on his character." + +Sir Lucius and Jimmie walked to Morley's and separated. The former went +into the hotel, half resolved to pack up his luggage and take an early +train in the morning to Priory Court; he was tired of London and the +recent excitement he had passed through, and longed for his country +home. But, on second thought, he altered his mind, and concluded to wait +until Jack Vernon was a free man again; he was strangely interested in +the unfortunate young artist, and was as anxious as ever to have a talk +with him on matters of a private nature. + +Jimmie went to his chambers in the Albany, where he removed the dust of +travel and changed his clothes. He did not at once go out to dinner, +though he was exceedingly hungry. He was impulsive and impatient, and he +had conceived a plan whereby he might punish Victor Nevill's perfidy +without a public exposure, and at the same time, he fondly hoped, do +Jack a good turn. + +"It will hardly be safe to wait longer," he reflected, "for all I know +to the contrary, the girl may be married to-morrow. She will be glad to +have her eyes opened--I can't believe that she is in love with that +blackguard. As for Sir Lucius, I would rather face a battery of guns +than tell the dear old chap the shameful story to his face. But it must +be told somehow." + +Jimmie proceeded to carry out his plans. He took Diane's last letter +from its hiding-place, and sitting down to his desk he made two copies +of it, prefacing each with a brief explanation of how the statement had +come into his hands. It was a laborious task, and it kept him busy for +two hours. At nine o'clock he went out to dinner, and on the way to the +Cafe Royal he dropped two bulky letters into a street-box. One was +addressed to "Miss Madge Foster, Strand-on-the-Green, Chiswick, W." The +other to "Sir Lucius Chesney, Morley's Hotel." + + * * * * * + +It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the phenomenal November weather +showed no signs of breaking up. The sun shone brightly in Trafalgar +Square, and the people and busses, the hoary old Nelson Column and its +guardian lions, made a picture more Continental than English in its +coloring. + +But to Sir Lucius Chesney the world looked as black as midnight. He +paced the floor of his room, purple of countenance and savage of eye, +letting slip an occasional oath as he glanced at the sheets of Jimmie's +letter scattered over the table. The blow had hit him hard; it had +wounded him in his most tender spot--his family honor. His first +paroxysm of rage had passed, but he could not think calmly. His brain +was on fire with pent-up emotions--shame and indignation, bitter grief +and despair, a sense of everlasting disgrace. One moment he doubted; +the next the damning truth overwhelmed him and defied denial. + +"I can't believe it!" he muttered hoarsely. "It is too terrible! How +blindly I trusted that boy! I heard rumors about him, and turned a deaf +ear to them. I knew he was inclined to be dissolute and extravagant, but +I never dreamed of this! To drag the name of Chesney in the dirt! My +nephew a liar and a traitor, a scoundrel of the blackest dye to a +confiding friend, a seducer, a tout for money-lenders, a consort of +blood-sucking Jews! By heavens, I will confront him and hear the truth +from his own lips! How do I know that this letter is not a forgery? +Perhaps young Drexell never saw it." + +It was a slim ray of hope, but Sir Lucius took some comfort from it. He +put on his hat, took his stick, and marched down stairs. As he passed +through the office, a clerk handed him a letter that had just been +brought in. He waited until he was outside to open it, and with the +utmost amazement he read the contents: + +"Pentonville Prison. + +"My Dear Sir Lucius--I see by the papers that you are in town +temporarily, so I address you at Morley's instead of Priory Court. A very +curious thing has happened. A few days ago a prisoner who was arrested +for a breach of the police-supervision rules, but who was really wanted +for a much more serious affair, was put in my charge. This man, Noah +Hawker by name, sent for me and made a secret communication. He stated +that in his room in Kentish Town, where he was arrested, he had hidden +some papers of the greatest importance to yourself. He told me how to +find them, and yesterday I got them and brought them here. They are in a +sealed parcel, and the prisoner begs that they shall not be opened except +in your presence, as he wishes to tell you the whole story. So I thought +it best to send for you, and if convenient I should like to see you about +noon to-day. I am posting this early in the morning, and hope you will +receive it in good time. + +"Sincerely your old friend, + +"Major Hugh Wyatt." + +"I don't understand it," thought Sir Lucius. "It is certainly most +perplexing. What can it mean? I haven't seen Wyatt for years, but I +remember now that he was appointed Governor of Pentonville some time +ago. But who the deuce is the man Hawker? I never heard the name. Papers +of importance to me? What could they be, and how did the fellow get +them? There must be some mistake. And yet--" + +He read the letter a second time, and it turned his curiosity into a +desire to probe the mystery. He concluded to put off the interview with +his nephew, and see him later in the day. He hailed a cab, and told the +driver to take him to Pentonville. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +NOAH HAWKER'S DISCLOSURE. + + +True to his word, Mr. Tenby set the machinery of the law in motion as +speedily as possible. About the time when Sir Lucius entered the dreary +prison that lies Islington way, Gilbert Morris was brought to the court +in Great Marlborough street. Jack was present--a warder had driven him +from Holloway--and he promptly identified the prisoner as the man he had +seen coming out of the Beak street house on the night of the murder. +Other evidence was given by the police, and by Doctor Bent, the +proprietor of the Surrey madhouse, and the lunatic was remanded for a +week; he boasted of his crime while in the dock. Then a brief formality +ensued. Mr. Tenby applied for the discharge of his client, and the +magistrate granted it without delay. + +A free man again! The words seemed to ring in Jack's ears as he left the +court, but they meant little to him, so broken was he in spirit, so +ashamed of his unmerited disgrace. Jimmie was waiting for him, and +congratulated him fervently. The two shook hands with the solicitor, and +thanked him for what he had done, and they went quickly off in a cab. + +They drove to the Albany, and Jimmie ordered a lunch to be sent in from +a Piccadilly restaurant. Jack ate listlessly, but a bottle of prime +claret made him slightly more cheerful and brought some color to his +bleached features. He listened to all that Jimmie had to tell him--sat +with stern eyes and compressed lips while the black tale of Victor +Nevill's treachery was recounted. He could not doubt when he had read +the murdered woman's statement; it breathed truth in every word. He +crushed the letter in his hand, as though he wished it had been the +throat of his enemy. + +"Nevill, of all men!" he said, hoarsely. "A creeping serpent, masked as +a friend, who struck in the dark! And he was Diane's seducer! The night +he stole her from me we were drinking together in a _brasserie_ in the +Latin Quarter! And, as if that was not deep enough injury, he brought +her to England, years afterwards, to ruin my new-found happiness. There +was never such perfidy! I was not even aware that he knew Madge, much +less that he loved her. But she surely won't marry him now." + +"No fear!" replied Jimmie. "His retribution has come. I hope you will +pay him with interest, old chap." + +"I should like to confront him," Jack answered, "but it is wiser +not to; my passion would get the better of me. No, his punishment is +sufficient--you have avenged me, Jimmie. Think of what it means! Public +exposure, perhaps, exile from England, and the loss of his uncle's +fortune. He will suffer more keenly than any low-born criminal who goes +to the gallows. I will leave him to his conscience and his God." + +"You are too merciful--too kind-hearted," said Jimmie. "But it is +useless to argue with you. Come, we'll talk of something more cheerful +and forget the past. What are you going to do with yourself? Go back +to the art?" + +"I have no plans," Jack replied, bitterly, "except that I shall get away +from London as speedily as possible. I can't live down my disgrace here. +I shall probably return to India. I have lost faith in human nature, +Jimmie, and learned the mockery of friendship--no, by heavens, I +shouldn't say that! I have found out what true friendship is. I can +never forget what you did for me--how you worked to prove my innocence!" + +"It was a pleasure, old fellow. I would have done a hundred times as +much. But don't talk blooming nonsense about leaving London. Many an +innocent man falls under suspicion--there is not a shadow of disgrace +attached to it. Stay here and work! Go back to your studio! And marry +the woman you love. Why shouldn't you, now that you are free in every +sense? I'll bet anything you like that she cares for you as much as +ever--" + +"Stop; don't speak of _her_!" cried Jack. "I can't bear it!--the memory +of Madge brings torments! It is too late, too late! She can never be +mine!" + +"That's where you're wrong, old chap," said Jimmie. "I know how you feel +about it, but do listen to reason--" + +He broke off at the sound of a couple of sharp raps, and jumping up +he opened the door. Into the room strode Sir Lucius Chesney, with a +bewildered, agitated look on his face that had been there when he drove +away from Pentonville Prison an hour before, after a lengthy and most +startling interview with Major Wyatt and Noah Hawker. + +"I hope you will excuse my abrupt intrusion," he said quickly. "I went +to Tenby's office, and he told me where you had gone. I have something +very important to say--I will come to it presently. Mr. Vernon, I +congratulate you! No one can rejoice more sincerely than myself that +this black cloud has passed away from your life. You have paid dearly +for your youthful folly--your boyish infatuation with a French dancer." + +"You are very kind, sir," said Jack, as he accepted the proffered hand. +"I hear that I owe very much to you." + +"Thank God that I have found you--that I am not left desolate in my old +age!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, to the wonder of his companions. "Prepare +for a great surprise! Your name is not Vernon, but Clare?" + +"John Clare is my real name, sir." + +"And your father was Ralph Vernon Clare?" + +"Yes!" + +"I knew as much--it was needless to ask," replied Sir Lucius, in +tremulous tones; something glistened in his eye. He rested an arm on +Jack's shoulder and looked into his face. "My dear boy, your mother was +my youngest sister," he added. "And you are my nephew!" + +A rush of color dyed Jack's cheeks, and he stared in amazement; he could +not grasp the meaning of what he had just heard. + +"You my uncle, Sir Lucius?" he asked, hoarsely. + +"Yes, your uncle!" + +"By Jove, another mystery!" gasped Jimmie. "It knocks me breathless! I +don't know what to make of it--it beats the novels that wind up with the +discovery of the lost heir. At all events, Jack, you seem to be in luck. +I'm awfully glad!" + +"I--I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Jack. "I never suspected +anything of the sort, though I remember that my mother rarely spoke of +her early life." + +"That was her secret," replied Sir Lucius, "and she intended that it +should be revealed to you after her death. Read these; they will tell +you all!" + +Sir Lucius produced three papers from his pocket. Jack took them, and +he uttered an exclamation of astonishment as he saw that one was a +certificate of his mother's marriage, and another one of his own birth. +The third paper was a letter of a dozen closely written sheets, in the +dead hand that was so familiar to him. As he read on, his face showed +various emotions. + +"My poor mother, how she suffered!" he said when he had finished the +letter. "It is a strange story, Sir Lucius. So my mother was your +sister, and Victor Nevill was the son of another sister, which makes him +my cousin. My mother knew all these things, and yet she never told me!" + +"She had the family pride," Sir Lucius answered, with a sigh. "As for +Victor Nevill, I regret that the blood of the Chesneys runs in his +veins. But he is no longer any kin of mine--I disown him and cast him +out. The letter does not speak so harshly of me as I deserve. Your +mother, Mary, was my youngest and favorite sister--I loved her the more +because my wife had died childless soon after my marriage. I got a +clever young artist, Ralph Clare, down to Priory Court to paint Mary's +portrait, little foreseeing what would happen. She fell in love with +him, and fled to become his wife. It was a blow to my family pride, and +my anger was stronger than my grief. I vowed that I would never forgive +her, and when she wrote to me--once a short time after her flight, and +again ten years later--I returned her letters unopened. Her elder sister +was as obdurate as myself, and refused to have anything to do with her. +After the death of Elizabeth--that was Victor Nevill's mother--I began +to feel that I had been too harsh with Mary. My remorse grew, giving me +no rest, until recently I determined to find her. But I might never +have succeeded had not mere chance helped me. I was struck by your +resemblance to Mary when I first met you in Lamb and Drummond's shop--" + +He paused for a moment, struggling with emotion. + +"My boy, believe that I am truly repentant," he added. "I have no kith +or kin left but you--you alone can fill the empty void in my heart. You +must reign some day at Priory Court. Will you forgive me, as your mother +did at the last?" + +For an instant Jack hesitated. He remembered the sad story he had +just read--the story of his father's illness and death, his mother's +subsequent privations, and the grief caused by her brother's cruel +conduct, which continued to cloud her life after a distant relative +bequeathed to her a comfortable legacy. Then he recalled the last words +of the letter, and his face softened. + +"I forgive you freely, Sir Lucius," he said. "My mother wished me to +bear you no malice, and I cannot disregard that." + +"God bless you, my boy," replied Sir Lucius. "You have made me very +happy." + +"Come, cheer up!" put in Jimmie. "This is an occasion for rejoicing. I +have a bottle of champagne, and we'll drink it to the health of the new +heir." + +The wine was produced and opened, and Jack responded to the toast. + +"There is one thing that puzzles me, Sir Lucius," he said. "How did +these papers come into your hands? They could not have been among my +mother's effects." + +"Are you aware," replied Sir Lucius, "that on the night after your +mother's death her house in Bayswater was broken into by a burglar?" + +"Yes; I remember that." + +"Well, the burglar carried off, among other things that were of little +value, this packet of papers. He concealed them at his lodgings in +Kentish Town, and he chose a curious and ingenious hiding-place--a +recess behind a loose brick in the wall of the house, just below his +window. Shortly afterward the rascal--his name was Noah Hawker--was +caught at another crime, and sent to penal servitude for a term of +years. On his release last spring, on ticket-of-leave, he went abroad, +and when he returned to England several weeks ago he resurrected the +papers from their place of security, studied them, and saw an +opportunity for gain. He knew that they concerned three persons--you, +Victor Nevill and myself--and he was cunning enough to start with +Victor. He hunted him up and offered to sell the papers for a thousand +pounds. My nephew agreed to buy them, intending to destroy them and thus +retain his position as my sole heir--" + +"Then Nevill knew who I was?" exclaimed Jack. + +"Yes, he knew recently," Sir Lucius replied. "I must break off to tell +you that while I was abroad this summer, Victor promised, at my request, +to try to trace your mother; but I am thoroughly convinced now that he +made no effort whatever, and that he lied to me basely, with the hope of +making me believe that the task was impossible. To proceed, the man +Hawker was traced by the police, and arrested while awaiting the arrival +of my nephew to complete the sale of the papers. He believed that Victor +had betrayed him, and he determined to be revenged. So he confided in +the Governor of Pentonville Prison, who went to the house in Kentish +Town and found the papers. Then, at the prisoner's earnest request, he +sent for me this morning. I went to Pentonville and Hawker told me the +whole story and gave me the papers. By the way, he knows you, my boy, +and declares that you did him a kindness not long ago. It was at a +night-club, I think, and you bandaged a wound on his head." + +"I remember!" exclaimed Jack. "By Jove, was that the man?" + +"The fellow _must_ have been intent on revenge," said Jimmie, "to +incriminate himself so deeply." + +"That can't make much difference to Hawker, and he knows it," Sir Lucius +replied. "It seems that he was really wanted for something more serious +than failing to report himself to the police. In fact, as you will be +surprised to learn, he is said to be mixed up in the robbery of the +Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond. His pal was arrested in Belgium, and +has confessed. Hawker is aware that there is a clear case against him, +and I understand that he has made some sensational disclosures. I heard +this from the Governor of Pentonville, who happens to be an old friend of +mine. He hinted that the matter was likely to be made public in a day or +two." + +"Meaning the theft of the real Rembrandt," said Jack. "I don't suppose +it will throw any light on the mystery of the duplicate one." + +"It may," replied Sir Lucius; and he spoke more truly than he thought. +Major Wyatt had been too discreet to tell all that he knew. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +HOW THE DAY ENDED. + + +It was a day of strange events and sudden surprises. To Jack the +propitious fates gave freedom and a relative whose existence he had +never even suspected before; to Sir Lucius Chesney they brought a fresh +interest in life, a nephew whom he was prepared to take to his heart. +Let us see how certain others, closely connected with our story, fared +before the day was ended. + +Victor Nevill spent the afternoon at one of his clubs, where he won +pretty heavily at cards and drank rather more brandy than he was +accustomed to take. Feeling consequently in good spirits, he determined +to carry out a plan that he had been pondering for some time. He left +the club at six o'clock, and an hour later a cab put him down at the +lower end of Strand-on-the-Green. Mrs. Sedgewick admitted him to Stephen +Foster's house. The master had not returned from town, she said, but +Miss Foster was at home. Nevill asked to see her, and was shown into the +drawing-room, where a couple of red-shaded lamps were burning. He was +too restless to sit down, and, sauntering to the window, he drew aside +the curtains and looked out at the river, with the lights from the +railway bridge reflected on its dark surface. + +"There is no reason why I shouldn't do it--no reason why I should fear +a refusal on her part," he thought. "The clouds have blown over. Noah +Hawker's silence can be explained only in one way. The papers are hidden +where he is certain that they cannot be found, and no doubt he intends +to let the matter rest until he gets out of jail. As for Jack, it is not +likely that he will ever learn the truth or cross my path again. The +grave tells no secrets. I hope he will leave England when he is released. +That will probably be to-day, since the real murderer has been found." + +He turned away from the window, and smiled complacently as he dropped +into a big chair. + +"Yes, I will do it," he resolved. "I shall ask Madge to marry me within +a fortnight or three weeks, and we will go down to Nice or Monte +Carlo--I'll risk taking half of that thousand pounds. I dare say my +uncle will be a bit cut up when he hears the news; but I won't tell him +for a time, and after he sees my wife he will be only too eager to +congratulate me. Any man might be proud of such--" + +Soft footsteps interrupted his musing, and the next instant the door +opened. Madge entered the room, holding in one white hand a crumpled +letter. She wore a gown of lustrous rose-colored material, with filmy +lace on the throat and bosom, and her splendid hair strayed coyly over +her neck and temples. She had never looked more dazzlingly lovely, +Nevill thought, and yet-- + +He rose quickly from the chair, and then the words of greeting died on +his lips. He recoiled like a man who sees a ghost, and a sharp and +sudden fear stabbed him. In Madge's face, in her flushed cheeks and +blazing, scornful eyes, he read the signs of a woman roused to supremest +anger. + +"How dared you come?" she cried, in a voice that he seemed never to have +heard before. "How dared you? Have you no shame, no conscience? Go! Go!" + +"Madge! What has happened?" + +"Not that name from you! I forbid it; it dishonors me!" + +"I will speak! What does this farce mean?" + +"Need you ask? I know all, Victor Nevill! I know that you are a liar +and a traitor--that you are everything wicked and vile, infamous and +cowardly! Heaven has revealed the truth! I know that Diane Merode was +never Jack's wife! It was you, his trusted friend, who stole her from +him in Paris six years ago! You, who found her in London last spring, +and persuaded her to play the false and wicked part that crushed the +happiness out of two lives! That is not all; but it would be useless +to recount the rest of your dastardly deeds. Oh, how I despise and hate +you! Your presence is an insult--it is loathsome! Go! Leave me!" + +Nevill had listened to this tirade with a madly throbbing heart, and a +countenance that was almost livid. He was stunned and bewildered; he did +not understand how it was possible for detection to have overtaken him. +His first impulse was to brazen the thing out, on the chance that the +girl's accusations were prompted more by surmise than knowledge. + +"It is false!" he cried, striving to compose himself. "You will be sorry +for what you have said. Has John Vernon told you these lies?" + +"I have not seen him; he probably knows nothing as yet. But he _will_ +learn all, and if you are within his reach--" + +"This is ridiculous nonsense," Nevill hoarsely interrupted. "It is the +work of an enemy. Some one has been poisoning your mind against me. Who +is my accuser?" + +"_Diane Merode!_" cried Madge, hissing the words from her clenched +teeth. "She accuses you from the grave! Here! Take this and read it--it +is a copy of the original. And then deny the truth if you dare!" + +Nevill clutched the proffered letter--the girl did not give him Jimmie's +extra enclosure. He read quickly, merely scanning the written pages, and +yet grasping their fateful import. He must have been more than human to +hide his consternation. The blow fell like a thunderbolt: betrayal had +come from the quarter whence he would have least expected it--from the +grave. His lips quivered uncontrollably. The pages dropped to the floor. + +"_Now_ do you deny it?" Madge demanded. "Answer, and go!" + +"I deny everything," he snarled hoarsely. "It is a forgery--a tissue of +lies! Believe me, Madge! Don't spurn me! Don't cast me off! I will prove +to you--" + +"I say go!" + +The girl's voice was as hard and cold as steel. She pointed to the door +as Nevill made a step toward her. Her ravishing beauty, lost to him +forever, maddened him. For an instant he was tempted to fly at her +throat and bruise its loveliness. But just then a bell pealed loudly +through the house. The front door was heard to open, and voices mingled +with rapid steps. An elderly man burst unceremoniously into the room, +and Nevill recognized Stephen Foster's clerk and shop assistant. Bad +news was stamped on his agitated face. + +"What is the matter, Hawkins?" Madge asked, breathlessly. + +"Oh, how can I tell you, Miss Foster? It is terrible! Your father--" + +"What of him?" + +"He is dead! He shot himself in his office an hour ago. The police--" + +The girl's cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble. She gave one cry +of anguish, reeled, and fell unconscious to the floor. Mrs. Sedgewick +rushed in, wringing her hands and wailing hysterically. + +"See to your young mistress--she has fainted," Nevill said, hoarsely. +"Fetch cold water at once." + +He looked once at Madge's pale and lovely face--he felt that it was +for the last time--and then he took Hawkins by the arm and pulled him +half-forcibly into the hall. + +"Tell me everything," he whispered, excitedly. "What has happened?" + +"There isn't much to tell, Mr. Nevill," the man replied. "Two Scotland +Yard men came to the shop at five o'clock. They arrested my employer for +stealing that Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond, and they found the +picture in the safe. Mr. Foster asked permission to make a statement in +writing--he took things coolly:--and they let him do it. He wrote for +half an hour, and then, before the police could stop him, he snatched +a pistol from a drawer and shot himself through the head. I was so +flustered I hardly knew what I was doing, but I thought first of Miss +Madge, whom I knew from often bringing messages and parcels to the +house--" + +"The statement? What was in it?" Nevill interrupted. + +"I don't know, sir!" + +"Then I must find out! I am off to town--I can't stop! You will be +needed here, Hawkins. Do all that you can for Miss Foster." + +With those words, spoken incoherently, Nevill jammed on his hat and +hurried from the house. He turned instinctively toward Grove Park, +remembering that the nearest railway station was there. He was haunted +by a terrible fear as he traversed the dark streets with an unsteady +gait. Worse than ruin threatened him. He shuddered at the thought of +arrest and punishment. He could not doubt that Stephen Foster had +written a full confession. + +"He would do it out of revenge--I put the screws on him too often!" he +reflected. "I _must_ get to my rooms before the police come; all my +money is there. And I must cross the Channel to-night!" + +All the past rose before him, and he cursed himself for his blind +follies. He just missed a train at Chiswick station, and in desperation +he took a cab to Gunnersbury and caught a Mansion House train. He got +out at St. James' Park, and pulling his coat collar up he hastened +across to Pall Mall. He chose the shortest cut to Jermyn street, and on +the north side of St. James' Square, in the shadow of the railings, he +suddenly encountered the last man he could have wished to meet. + +"My God, my uncle!" he cried, staggering back. + +"You!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, in a voice half-choked by anger. "Stop, you +can't go to your rooms--the police are there. What do they want with +you?" + +"You will find out in the morning," Nevill huskily replied; he reeled +against the railings. + +"It can't be much worse--I know all about your dastardly conduct!" +said Sir Lucius. "Hawker has given me the papers, and I have found +poor Mary's son--the friend you betrayed. But there is no time for +reproaches, nor could anything I might say add to your punishment. If +you have a spark of conscience or shame left, spare me the further +disgrace of reading of your arrest in the papers. Get out of England--" + +"My money is in my rooms!" gasped Nevill. "I can't escape unless you +help me!" + +Sir Lucius took a handful of notes and gold from his pocket. + +"Here are a hundred pounds--all I have with me," he said. "It will be +more than sufficient. Don't lose a moment! Go to Dover, and cross by the +night boat. And never let me see you or hear from you again! I disown +you--you are no nephew of mine! Do you understand? You have ruined your +life beyond redemption--you can't do better than finish it with a +bullet!" + +Nevill had no words to reply. He seized the money with a trembling hand, +and crammed it into his pocket. Then he slunk away into the darkness and +disappeared. + +On the following day a new sensation thrilled the public, and it may be +imagined with what surprise Sir Lucius Chesney and Jack Vernon--who had +especial cause to be interested in the revelation--read the papers. The +story was complete, for Mr. Shadrach, the Jew who managed business for +the firm of Benjamin and Company, took fright and made a full confession. +The _Globe_, after treating at length of the arrest and subsequent +suicide of Stephen Foster, continued its account as follows: + +"The history of the two Rembrandts forms one of the most curious and +unique episodes in criminal annals, and not the least remarkable feature +of the story is the manner in which it is pieced together by the +statement of Stephen Foster and the confession of Noah Hawker. When Lamb +and Drummond purchased the original Rembrandt from the collection of the +late Martin Von Whele, and exhibited it in London, Stephen Foster and +his confederate, Victor Nevill, laid clever plans to steal the picture. +They knew that a duplicate Rembrandt, an admirable copy, was in the +possession of Mr. John Vernon, the well-known artist, who was lately +accused wrongfully of murder. By a cunning ruse Foster stole the +duplicate, and on the night of the robbery he exchanged it for the real +picture, while Nevill engaged the watchman in conversation in the Crown +Court public-house. But two other men, Noah Hawker and a companion +called the Spider, had designs on the same picture. Hawker, while +prowling about, saw Stephen Foster emerge from Crown Court, but thought +nothing of that circumstance until long afterward. So he and the Spider +stole the false Rembrandt which Foster had substituted, believing it to +be the real one. + +"Hawker and his companion went abroad, and when they tried to dispose of +their prize in Munich they learned that it was of little value. They +sold it, however, for a trifling sum, and the dealer who bought it +disposed of it as an original to Sir Lucius Chesney. On his return to +England, hearing for the first time of the robbery, Sir Lucius took the +painting to Lamb and Drummond and discovered how he had been tricked. +Meanwhile Hawker and his companion quarreled and separated. Both had +been under suspicion since a short time after the theft of the +Rembrandt, and when the Spider was arrested in Belgium, for a crime +committed in that country, he made some statements in regard to the Lamb +and Drummond affair. Hawker, coming back to London, fell into the hands +of the police. He had before this suspected Stephen Foster's crime, and +when he found how strong the case was against himself, he told all that +he knew. Scotland Yard took the matter up, and quickly discovered more +evidence, which warranted them in arresting Foster yesterday. They found +the original Rembrandt in his safe, and the unfortunate man, after +writing a complete confession, committed suicide. His fellow-criminal, +Victor Nevill, must have received timely warning. The police have not +succeeded in apprehending him, and it is believed that he crossed to the +Continent last night." + +It was not until the middle of the day that the papers printed the +complete story. Sir Lucius and Jack had a long talk about that and +other matters, and in the afternoon they went together to the house at +Strand-on-the-Green, and left messages of sympathy for Miss Foster; she +was too prostrated to see any person, Mrs. Sedgewick informed them. +Three days later, after the burial of Stephen Foster, Jack returned +alone. He found the house closed, and a neighbor told him that Madge +and Mrs. Sedgewick had gone away and left no address. + +It was a bitter disappointment, and it proved the last straw to the +burden of Jack's troubles. For a week he tried vainly to trace the girl, +and then, at the earnest request of Sir Lucius, he went down to Priory +Court. There fever gripped him, and he fell seriously ill. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +CONCLUSION. + + +For weeks Jack hovered between life and death, and when the crisis was +finally passed, and he found himself well on the road to convalescence, +the new year was a month old. His first thoughts were of Madge, whose +disappearance was still a mystery; he learned this from Jimmie, who came +down to Priory Court more than once to see his friend. He had decided to +spend the winter in England, and since Jack's illness he had been trying +to find the girl. + +By medical advice the patient was sent off to Torquay, in Devonshire, to +recuperate, and Sir Lucius, who was anxious to restore his nephew to +perfect health again, accompanied him. Jimmie remained in London, +determined to prosecute his search for Madge more vigorously than ever. +Sir Lucius, who, of course, knew the whole story, himself begged Jimmie +to spare no pains. + +In the mild climate of Devon the days dragged along monotonously, and +Jimmie's letters spoke only of failure. But Jack grew stronger and +stouter, and in looks, at least, he was quite like his old self, with a +fine bronze on his cheeks, when he returned with Sir Lucius to Priory +Court in March. It was the close of the month, and many a nine days' +wonder had replaced in the public interest the tragic death of Stephen +Foster, the exposure of Benjamin and Company's nefarious transactions, +and the solved mystery of the two Rembrandts. The world easily forgets, +but not so with the actors concerned. + +Jack had been at Priory Court two days, and was expecting a visit from +Jimmie, when the latter wired to him to come up to town at once if he +was able. Sir Lucius was not at home; he was riding over some distant +property he had recently bought. So Jack left a note for him, drove to +the station, and caught a London train. He reached Victoria station at +noon, and the cab that whirled him to the Albany seemed to crawl. Jimmie +greeted him gladly, with a ring of deep emotion in his mellow voice. + +"By Jove, old fellow," he cried, "you are looking splendidly fit!" + +"Have you succeeded?" Jack demanded, impatiently. + +"Yes, I have found her," Jimmie replied. "It was by a mere fluke. I went +to a solicitor on some business, and it turned out that he was acting +for Miss Foster--you see her father left a good bit of money. He was +close-mouthed at first, but when I partly explained how matters stood, +he told me that the girl and her old servant, Mrs. Sedgewick, went off +to a quiet place in the country--" + +"And he gave you the address?" + +"Yes; here it is!" + +Jack took the piece of paper, and when he glanced at it his face +flushed. He wrung his friend's hand silently, looking the gratitude that +he could not utter, and then he made a bolt for the door. + +"I'm off," he said, hoarsely. "God bless you, Jimmie--I'll never forget +this!" + +"Sure you feel fit enough?" + +"Quite; don't worry about that." + +"Well, good luck to you, old man!" + +Jack shouted good-by, and made for Piccadilly. He sprang into the first +cab that came along, and he reached Waterloo just in time to catch a +Shepperton train. He longed to be at his destination, and alternate +hopes and fears beset him, as he watched the landscape flit by. He drew +a deep breath when he found himself on the platform of the rustic little +station. It was a beautiful spring-like day, warm and sunny, with birds +making merry song and the air sweet and fragrant. He started off at a +rapid pace along the hedge-bordered road, and, traversing the length of +the quaint old village street, he stopped finally at a cottage on the +farther outskirts. It was a pretty, retired place, lying near the +ancient church-tower, and isolated by a walled garden full of trees and +shrubbery. + +Jack's heart was beating wildly as he opened the gate. He walked up the +graveled path, between the rows of tall green boxwood, and suddenly a +vision rose before him. It was Madge herself, as lovely and fair as the +springtime, in a white frock with a pathetic touch of black at the +throat and waist. She approached slowly, then lifted her eyes and saw +him. And on the mad impulse of the moment he sprang forward and seized +her. He held her tight against his heart, as though he intended never to +release her. + +"At last, darling!" he whispered passionately. "At last I have found +you! Cruel one, why did you hide so long? Can you forgive me, Madge? Can +you bring back the past?--the happiness that was yours and mine in the +old days?" + +At first the girl lay mutely in his arms, quivering like a fragile +flower with emotions that he could not read. Then she tried to break +from his embrace, looking at him with a flushed and tear-stained face. + +"Let me go!" she pleaded. "Oh, Jack, why did you come? It was wrong of +you! I have tried to forget--you know that the past is dead!" + +"Hush! I love you, Madge, with a love that can never die. I won't lose +you again. Be merciful! Don't send me away! Is the shadow of the +past--the heavy punishment that fell upon me for boyish follies--to +blast your life and mine? Have I not suffered enough?" + +The girl slipped from his arms and confronted him sadly. + +"It is not that," she said. "I am unworthy of you, Jack. What is your +disgrace to mine? Would you marry the daughter of a man who--" + +"Are you to blame for your father's sins?" Jack interrupted. "Let the +dead rest! He would have wished you to be happy. You are mine, mine! +Nothing shall part us, unless--But I won't believe that. Tell me, Madge, +that you love me--that your feelings have not changed." + +"I do love you, Jack, with all my heart, but--" + +He stopped her lips with a kiss, and drew her to his arms again. + +"There is no but," he whispered. "The shadows are gone, and the world is +bright. Dearest, you will be my wife?" + +He read his answer in her eloquent eyes, in the passion of the lips that +met his. A joy too deep for words filled his heart, and he felt himself +amply compensated for all that he had suffered. + + * * * * * + +The marriage took place in June, at old Shepperton church, and Jimmie +was best man. Sir Lucius Chesney witnessed the quiet ceremony, and then +considerately went off to Paris for a fortnight, while the happy pair +traveled down to Priory Court, to spend their honeymoon in the ancestral +mansion that would some day be their own. And, later, Jack took his wife +abroad, intending to do the Continent thoroughly before buckling down +in London to his art; he could not be persuaded to relinquish that, in +spite of the sad memories that attached to it. + +Jimmie took a sudden longing for his native heath, and returned to New +York; but it is more than likely that he will spend a part of each year +in England, as so many Americans are eager to do. Madge does not forget +her father, unworthy though he was of such a daughter; and to Jack the +memory of Diane is untempered by bitter feelings; for he knows that she +repented at the last. The Honorable Bertie Raven has learned his hard +lesson, and his present conduct gives reasonable assurance that he will +run a straight course in the future, thanks to the friend who saved him. +Noah Hawker is doing five years "hard," and Victor Nevill is an outcast +and an exile in Australia, eking out a wretched existence on a small +income that Sir Lucius kindly allows him. + +As for the two Rembrandts, the original, of course, reverted to Lamb and +Drummond. The duplicate hangs in the gallery at Priory Court, and Sir +Lucius prizes it highly because it was the main link in the chain of +circumstances that gave him a nephew worthy of his honored name. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's In Friendship's Guise, by Wm. 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