diff options
Diffstat (limited to '24769.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 24769.txt | 10982 |
1 files changed, 10982 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/24769.txt b/24769.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..634ced4 --- /dev/null +++ b/24769.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10982 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Opal Serpent, by Fergus Hume + +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: The Opal Serpent + +Author: Fergus Hume + +Release Date: March 6, 2008 [EBook #24769] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPAL SERPENT *** + + + + +Produced by Andrew Wainwright, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + The Opal Serpent + + By + + Fergus Hume + + AUTHOR OF + + "THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "THE RAINBOW FEATHER," + "A COIN OF EDWARD VII.," "THE PAGAN'S CUP," + "THE SECRET PASSAGE," "THE RED WINDOW," + "THE MANDARIN'S FAN," ETC. + + G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY + G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY. + + _Issued July, 1905._ + + +[Illustration: "LOOK! LOOK!" CRIED SYLVIA, GASPING--"THE MOUTH!"] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAP. PAGE + + I. DON QUIXOTE IN LONDON 7 + + II. DEBORAH JUNK, DUENNA 19 + + III. DULCINEA OF GWYNNE STREET 32 + + IV. THE UNFORESEEN 44 + + V. TROUBLE 56 + + VI. A NOISE IN THE NIGHT 68 + + VII. A TERRIBLE NIGHT 80 + + VIII. THE VERDICT OF THE JURY 91 + + IX. CASTLES IN THE AIR 103 + + X. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 115 + + XI. A CUCKOO IN THE NEST 126 + + XII. THE NEW LIFE 137 + + XIII. THE DETECTIVE'S VIEWS 148 + + XIV. MR. HAY'S LITTLE DINNER 161 + + XV. A NEW CLUE 172 + + XVI. SYLVIA'S THEORY 185 + + XVII. HURD'S INFORMATION 196 + +XVIII. AT CHRISTCHURCH, HANTS 208 + + XIX. CAPTAIN JESSOP 219 + + XX. PART OF THE TRUTH 228 + + XXI. MISS QIAN'S PARTY 241 + + XXII. FURTHER EVIDENCE 254 + +XXIII. WHAT PASH SAID 266 + + XXIV. MRS. KRILL AT BAY 278 + + XXV. A CRUEL WOMAN 291 + + XXVI. A FINAL EXPLANATION 306 + + + + +CHAPTER I + +DON QUIXOTE IN LONDON + + +Simon Beecot was a country gentleman with a small income, a small estate +and a mind considerably smaller than either. He dwelt at Wargrove in +Essex and spent his idle hours--of which he possessed a daily and +nightly twenty-four--in snarling at his faded wife and in snapping +between whiles at his son. Mrs. Beecot, having been bullied into old age +long before her time, accepted sour looks and hard words as necessary to +God's providence, but Paul, a fiery youth, resented useless nagging. He +owned more brain-power than his progenitor, and to this favoring of +Nature paterfamilias naturally objected. Paul also desired fame, which +was likewise a crime in the fire-side tyrant's eyes. + +As there were no other children Paul was heir to the Beecot acres, +therefore their present proprietor suggested that his son should wait +with idle hands for the falling in of the heritage. In plain words, Mr. +Beecot, coming of a long line of middle-class loafers, wished his son to +be a loafer also. Again, when Mrs. Beecot retired to a tearful rest, her +bully found Paul a useful person on whom to expend his spleen. Should +this whipping-boy leave, Mr. Beecot would have to forego this enjoyment, +as servants object to being sworn at without cause. For years Mr. +Beecot indulged in bouts of bad temper, till Paul, finding twenty-five +too dignified an age to tolerate abuse, announced his intention of +storming London as a scribbler. + +The parents objected in detail. Mrs. Beecot, after her kind, dissolved +in tears, and made reference to young birds leaving the nest, while her +husband, puffed out like a frog, and redder than the wattles of a +turkey-cock, exhausted himself in well-chosen expressions. Paul +increased the use of these by fixing a day for his departure. The female +Beecot retired to bed with the assistance of a maid, burnt feathers and +sal volatile, and the male, as a last and clinching argument, +figuratively buttoned up his pockets. + +"Not one shilling will you get from me," said Beecot senior, with the +graceful addition of vigorous adjectives. + +"I don't ask for money," said Paul, keeping his temper, for after all +the turkey-cock was his father. "I have saved fifty pounds. Not out of +my pocket-money," he added hastily, seeing further objections on the +way. "I earned it by writing short stories." + +"The confounded mercantile instinct," snorted paterfamilias, only he +used stronger words. "Your mother's uncle was in trade. Thank Heaven +none of my people ever used hands or brains. The Beecots lived like +gentlemen." + +"I should say like cabbages from your description, father." + +"No insolence, sir. How dare you disgrace your family? Writing tales +indeed! Rubbish I expect" (here several adjectives). "And you took money +I'll be bound, eh! eh!" + +"I have just informed you that I took all I could get," said Beecot +junior, quietly. "I'll live in Town on my savings. When I make a name +and a fortune I'll return." + +"Never! never!" gobbled the turkey-cock. "If you descend to the gutter +you can wallow there. I'll cut you out of my will." + +"Very good, sir, that's settled. Let us change the subject." + +But the old gentleman was too high-spirited to leave well alone. He +demanded to know if Paul knew to whom he was talking, inquired if he had +read the Bible touching the duties of children to their parents, +instanced the fact that Paul's dear mother would probably pine away and +die, and ended with a pathetic reference to losing the prop of his old +age. Paul listened respectfully and held to his own opinion. In defence +of the same he replied in detail,-- + +"I am aware that I talk to my father, sir," said he, with spirit; "you +never allow me to forget that fact. If another man spoke to me as you do +I should probably break his head. I _have_ read the Bible, and find +therein that parents owe a duty to their children, which certainly does +not include being abused like a pick-pocket. My mother will not pine +away if you will leave her alone for at least three hours a day. And as +to my being the prop of your old age, your vigor of language assures me +that you are strong enough to stand alone." + +Paterfamilias, never bearded before, hastily drank a glass of port--the +two were enjoying the usual pleasant family meal when the conversation +took place--and said--but it is useless to detail his remarks. They were +all sound and no sense. In justice to himself, and out of pity for his +father, Paul cut short the scene by leaving the room with his +determination unchanged. Mr. Beecot thereupon retired to bed, and +lectured his wife on the enormity of having brought a parricide into the +world. Having been countered for once in his life with common-sense, he +felt that he could not put the matter too strongly to a woman, who was +too weak to resent his bullying. + +Early next day the cause of the commotion, not having swerved a +hair's-breadth from the path he had marked out, took leave of his +mother, and a formal farewell of the gentleman who described himself as +the best of fathers. Beecot senior, turkey-cock and tyrant, was more +subdued now that he found bluster would not carry his point. But the +wave of common-sense came too late. Paul departed bag and baggage, and +his sire swore to the empty air. Even Mrs. Beecot was not available, as +she had fainted. + +Once Paul was fairly out of the house paterfamilias announced that the +glory of Israel had departed, removed his son's photograph from the +drawing-room, and considered which of the relatives he had quarrelled +with he should adopt. Privately, he thought he had been a trifle hard on +the lad, and but for his obstinacy--which he called firmness--he would +have recalled the prodigal. But that enterprising adventurer was beyond +hearing, and had left no address behind him. Beecot, the bully, was not +a bad old boy if only he had been firmly dealt with, so he acknowledged +that Paul had a fine spirit of his own, inherited from himself, and +prophesied incorrectly. "He'll come back when the fifty pounds is +exhausted," said he in a kind of dejected rage, "and when he does--" A +clenched fist shaken at nothing terminated the speech and showed that +the leopard could not change his spots. + +So Paul Beecot repaired to London, and after the orthodox fashion began +to cultivate the Muses on a little oatmeal by renting a Bloomsbury +garret. There he wrote reams on all subjects and in all styles, and for +six months assiduously haunted publishers' doors with varying fortunes. +Sometimes he came away with a cheque, but more often with a bulky +manuscript bulging his pocket. When tired of setting down imaginary +woes he had time to think of his own; but being a cheerful youth, with +an indomitable spirit, he banished trouble by interesting himself in the +cheap world. By this is meant the world which costs no money to +view--the world of the street. Here he witnessed the drama of humanity +from morning till night, and from sunset till dawn, and on the whole +witnessed very good acting. The poorer parts in the human comedy were +particularly well played, and starving folks were quite dramatic in +their demands for food. Note-book in hand, Paul witnessed spectacular +shows in the West End, grotesque farces in the Strand, melodrama in +Whitechapel and tragedy on Waterloo Bridge at midnight. Indeed, he quite +spoiled the effect of a sensation scene by tugging at the skirts of a +starving heroine who wished to take a river journey into the next world. +But for the most part, he remained a spectator and plagiarised from real +life. + +Shortly, the great manager of the Universal Theatre enlisted Paul as an +actor, and he assumed the double _role_ of an unappreciated author and a +sighing lover. In the first capacity he had in his desk ten short +stories, a couple of novels, three dramas and a sheaf of doubtful +verses. These failed to appeal to editor, manager or publisher, and +their author found himself reduced to his last five-pound note. Then the +foolish, ardent lad must needs fall in love. Who his divinity was, what +she was, and why she should be divinised, can be gathered from a +conversation her worshipper held with an old school-fellow. + +It was in Oxford Street at five o'clock on a June afternoon that Paul +met Grexon Hay. Turning the corner of the street leading to his +Bloomsbury attic, the author was tapped on the shoulder by a resplendent +Bond Street being. That is, the said being wore a perfectly-fitting +frock-coat, a silk hat, trousers with the regulation fold back and +front, an orchid buttonhole, grey gloves, boots that glittered, and +carried a gold-topped cane. The fact that Paul wheeled without wincing +showed that he was not yet in debt. Your Grub Street old-time author +would have leaped his own length at the touch. But Paul, with a clean +conscience, turned slowly, and gazed without recognition into the +clean-shaven, calm, cold face that confronted his inquiring eyes. + +"Beecot!" said the newcomer, taking rapid stock of Paul's shabby serge +suit and worn looks. "I thought I was right." + +The voice, if not the face, awoke old memories. + +"Hay--Grexon Hay!" cried the struggling genius. "Well, I am glad to see +you," and he shook hands with the frank grip of an honest man. + +"And I you." Hay drew his friend up the side street and out of the human +tide which deluged the pavement. "But you seem--" + +"It's a long story," interrupted Paul flushing. "Come to my castle and +I'll tell you all about it, old boy. You'll stay to supper, won't you? +See here"--Paul displayed a parcel--"a pound of sausages. You loved 'em +at school, and I'm a superfine cook." + +Grexon Hay always used expression and word to hide his feelings. But +with Paul--whom he had always considered a generous ass at Torrington +school--a trifle of self-betrayal didn't matter much. Beecot was too +dense, and, it may be added, too honest to turn any opportunity to +advantage. "It's a most surprising thing," said Hay, in his calm way, +"really a most surprising thing, that a Torrington public school boy, my +friend, and the son of wealthy parents, should be buying sausages." + +"Come now," said Paul, with great spirit and towing Hay homeward, "I +haven't asked you for money." + +"If you do you shall have it," said Hay, but the offer was not so +generous a one as would appear. That was Hay all over. He always said +what he did not mean, and knew well that Beecot's uneasy pride shied at +loans however small. + +Paul, the unsophisticated, took the shadow of generosity for its +substance, and his dark face lighted up. "You're a brick, Hay," he +declared, "but I don't want money. No!"--this in reply to an eloquent +glance from the well-to-do--"I have sufficient for my needs, and +besides," with a look at the resplendent dress of the fashion-plate +dandy, "I don't glitter in the West End." + +"Which hints that those who do, are rich," said Grexon, with an arctic +smile. "Wrong, Beecot. I'm poor. Only paupers can afford to dress well." + +"In that case I must be a millionaire," laughed Beecot, glancing +downward at his well-worn garb. "But mount these stairs; we have much to +say to one another." + +"Much that is pleasant," said the courtly Grexon. + +Paul shrugged his square shoulders and stepped heavenward. "On your +part, I hope," he sang back; "certainly not on mine. Come to Poverty +Castle," and the fashionable visitor found his host lighting the fire in +an apartment such as he had read about but had never seen. + +It was quite the proper garret for starving genius--small, bleak, bare, +but scrupulously clean. The floor was partially covered with scraps of +old carpet, faded and worn; the walls were entirely papered with +pictures from illustrated journals. One window, revealing endless rows +of dingy chimney-pots, was draped with shabby rep curtains of a dull +red. In one corner, behind an Indian screen, stood a narrow camp +bedstead, covered with a gaudy Eastern shawl, and also a large tin bath, +with a can of water beside it. Against the wall leaned a clumsy deal +bookcase filled with volumes well-thumbed and in old bindings. On one +side of the tiny fireplace was a horse-hair sofa, rendered less slippery +by an expensive fur rug thrown over its bareness; on the other was a +cupboard, whence Beecot rapidly produced crockery, knives, forks, a +cruet, napkins and other table accessories, all of the cheapest +description. A deal table in the centre of the room, an antique mahogany +desk, heaped high with papers, under the window, completed the +furnishing of Poverty Castle. And it was up four flights of stairs like +that celebrated attic in Thackeray's poem. + +"As near heaven as I am likely to get," rattled on Beecot, deftly frying +the sausages, after placing his visitor on the sofa. "The grub will soon +be ready. I'm a first-class cook, bless you, old chap. Housemaid too. +Clean, eh?" He waved the fork proudly round the ill-furnished room. "I'd +dismiss myself if it wasn't." + +"But--but," stammered Hay, much amazed, and surveying things through an +eye-glass. "What are you doing here?" + +"Trying to get my foot on the first rung of Fame's ladder." + +"But I don't quite see--" + +"Read Balzac's life and you will. His people gave him an attic and a +starvation allowance in the hope of disgusting him. Bar the allowance, +my pater has done the same. Here's the attic, and here's my +starvation"--Paul gaily popped the frizzling sausages on a chipped hot +plate--"and here's your aspiring servant hoping to be novelist, +dramatist, and what not--to say nothing of why not? Mustard, there you +are. Wait a bit. I'll brew you tea or cocoa." + +"I never take those things with meals, Beecot." + +"Your kit assures me of that. Champagne's more in your line. I say, +Grexon, what are you doing now?" + +"What other West-End men do," said Grexon, attacking a sausage. + +"That means nothing. Well, you never did work at Torrington, so how can +I expect the leopard to change his saucy spots." + +Hay laughed, and, during the meal, explained his position. "On leaving +school I was adopted by a rich uncle," he said. "When he went the way of +all flesh he left me a thousand a year, which is enough to live on with +strict economy. I have rooms in Alexander Street, Camden Hill, a circle +of friends, and a good appetite, as you will perceive. With these I get +through life very comfortably." + +"Ha!" said Paul, darting a keen glance at his visitor, "you have the +strong digestion necessary to happiness. Have you the hard heart also? +If I remember at school--" + +"Oh, hang school!" said Grexon, flushing all over his cold face. "I +never think of school. I was glad when I got away from it. But we were +great friends at school, Paul." + +"Something after the style of Steerforth and David Copperfield," was +Paul's reply as he pushed back his plate; "you were my hero, and I was +your slave. But the other boys--" He looked again. + +"They hated me, because they did not understand me, as you did." + +"If that is so, Grexon, why did you let me slip out of your life? It is +ten years since we parted. I was fifteen and you twenty." + +"Which now makes us twenty-five and thirty respectively," said Hay, +dryly; "you left school before I did." + +"Yes; I had scarlet fever, and was taken home to be nursed. I never went +back, and since then I have never met an old Torrington boy--" + +"Have you not?" asked Hay, eagerly. + +"No. My parents took me abroad, and I sampled a German university. I +returned to idle about my father's place, till I grew sick of doing +nothing, and, having ambitions, I came to try my luck in town." He +looked round and laughed. "You see my luck." + +"Well," said Hay, lighting a dainty cigarette produced from a gold case, +"my uncle, who died, sent me to Oxford and then I travelled. I am now on +my own, as I told you, and haven't a relative in the world." + +"Why don't you marry?" asked Paul, with a flush. + +Hay, wary man-about-town as he was, noted the flush, and guessed its +cause. He could put two and two together as well as most people. + +"I might ask you the same question," said he. + +The two friends looked at one another, and each thought of the +difference in his companion since the old school-days. Hay was +clean-shaven, fair-haired, and calm, almost icy, in manner. His eyes +were blue and cold. No one could tell what was passing in his mind from +the expression of his face. As a matter of fact he usually wore a mask, +but at the present moment, better feelings having the upper hand, the +mask had slipped a trifle. But as a rule he kept command of expression, +and words, and actions. An admirable example of self-control was Grexon +Hay. + +On the other hand, Beecot was slight, tall and dark, with an eager +manner and a face which revealed his thoughts. His complexion was swart; +he had large black eyes, a sensitive mouth, and a small moustache +smartly twisted upward. He carried his head well, and looked rather +military in appearance, probably because many of his forebears had been +Army men. While Hay was smartly dressed in a Bond Street kit, Paul wore +a well-cut, shabby blue serge. He looked perfectly well-bred, but his +clothes were woefully threadbare. + +From these and the garret and the lean meal of sausages Hay drew his +conclusions and put them into words. + +"Your father has cut you off," said he, calmly, "and yet you propose to +marry." + +"How do you know both things?" + +"I keep my eyes open, Paul. I see this attic and your clothes. I saw +also the flush on your face when you asked me why I did not marry. You +are in love?" + +"I am," said Beecot, becoming scarlet, and throwing back his head. "It +is clever of you to guess it. Prophesy more." + +Hay smiled in a cold way. "I prophesy that if you marry on nothing you +will be miserable. But of course," he looked sharply at his open-faced +friend, "the lady may be rich." + +"She is the daughter of a second-hand bookseller called Norman, and I +believe he combines selling books with pawnbroking." + +"Hum," said Hay, "he might make money out of the last occupation. Is he +a Jew by any chance?" + +"No. He is a miserable-looking, one-eyed Christian, with the manner of a +frightened rabbit." + +"One-eyed and frightened," repeated Hay, musingly, but without change of +expression; "desirable father-in-law. And the daughter?" + +"Sylvia. She is an angel, a white lily, a--" + +"Of course," said Grexon, cutting short these rhapsodies. "And what do +you intend to marry on?" + +Beecot fished a shabby blue velvet case out of his pocket. "On my last +five pounds and this," he said, opening the case. + +Hay looked at the contents of the case, and saw a rather large brooch +made in the form of a jewelled serpent. "Opals, diamonds and gold," he +said slowly, then looked up eagerly. "Sell it to me." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +DEBORAH JUNK, DUENNA + + +Number forty-five Gwynne Street was a second-hand bookshop, and much of +the stock was almost as old as the building itself. A weather-stained +board of faded blue bore in tarnished gold lettering the name of its +owner, and under this were two broad windows divided by a squat door, +open on week-days from eight in the morning until eight at night. Within +the shop was dark and had a musty odor. + +On either side of the quaint old house was a butcher's and a baker's, +flaunting places of business, raw in their newness. Between the +first-named establishment and the bookshop a low, narrow passage led to +a small backyard and to a flight of slimy steps, down which clients who +did not wish to be seen could arrive at a kind of cellar to transact +business with Mr. Norman. + +This individual combined two distinct trades. On the ground floor he +sold second-hand books; in the cellar he bought jewels and gave money on +the same to needy people. In the shop, pale youths, untidy, abstracted +old men, spectacled girls, and all varieties of the pundit caste were to +be seen poring over ancient volumes or exchanging words with the +proprietor. But to the cellar came fast young men, aged spendthrifts, +women of no reputation and some who were very respectable indeed. These +usually came at night, and in the cellar transactions would take place +which involved much money exchanging hands. In the daytime Mr. Norman +was an innocent bookseller, but after seven he retired to the cellar and +became as genuine a pawnbroker as could be found in London. Touching +books he was easy enough to deal with, but a Shylock as regards jewels +and money lent. With his bookish clients he passed for a dull shopkeeper +who knew little about literature; but in the underground establishment +he was spoken of, by those who came to pawn, as a usurer of the worst. +In an underhand way he did a deal of business. + +Aaron Norman--such was the name over the shop--looked like a man with a +past--a miserable past, for in his one melancholy eye and twitching, +nervous mouth could be read sorrow and apprehension. His face was pale, +and he had an odd habit of glancing over his left shoulder, as though he +expected to be tapped thereon by a police officer. Sixty years had +rounded his shoulders and weakened his back, so that his one eye was +almost constantly on the ground. Suffering had scored marks on his +forehead and weary lines round his thin-lipped mouth. When he spoke he +did so in a low, hesitating voice, and when he looked up, which was +seldom, his eye revealed a hunted look like that of a wearied beast +fearful lest it should be dragged from its lair. + +It was this strange-looking man that Paul Beecot encountered in the +doorway of the Gwynne Street shop the day after his meeting with Hay. +Many a visit had Paul paid to that shop, and not always to buy books. +Norman knew him very well, and, recognizing him in a fleeting look as he +passed through the doorway, smiled weakly. Behind the counter stood Bart +Tawsey, the lean underling, who was much sharper with buyers than was +his master, but after a disappointed glance in his direction Paul +addressed himself to the bookseller. "I wish to see you particularly," +he said, with his eager air. + +"I am going out on important business," said Norman, "but if you will +not be very long--" + +"It's about a brooch I wish to pawn." + +The old man's mouth became hard and his eyes sharper. "I can't attend to +that now, Mr. Beecot," he said, and his voice rang out louder than +usual. "After seven." + +"It's only six now," said Paul, looking over his shoulder at a church +clock which could be seen clearly in the pale summer twilight. "I can't +wait." + +"Well, then, as you are an old customer--of books," said Aaron, with +emphasis, "I'll stretch a point. You can go below at a quarter to seven, +and I'll come round through the outside passage to see you. Meantime, I +must go about my business," and he went away with his head hanging and +his solitary eye searching the ground as usual. + +Paul, in spite of his supposed hurry, was not ill-pleased that Aaron had +gone out and that there was an idle hour before him. He stepped lightly +into the shop, and, under the flaring gas--which was lighted, so dark +was the interior of the shop in spite of the luminous gloaming--he +encountered the smile of Barty. Paul, who was sensitive and proudly +reticent, grew red. He knew well enough that his apparent admiration of +Sylvia Norman had attracted the notice of Bart and of the red-armed +wench, Deborah Junk, who was the factotum of the household. Not that he +minded, for both these servants were devoted to Sylvia, and knowing that +she returned the feelings of Paul said nothing about the position to +Aaron. Beecot could not afford to make enemies of the pair, and had no +wish to do so. They were coarse-grained and common, but loyal and kindly +of heart. + +"Got any new books, Bart?" asked Beecot, coming forward with roving +eyes, for he hoped to see Sylvia glide out of the darkness to bless his +hungry eyes. + +"No, sir. We never get new books," replied Bart, smartly. "Leastways +there's a batch of second-hand novels published last year. But bless +you, Mr. Beecot, there ain't nothing new about them 'cept the bindings." + +"You are severe, Bart. I hope to be a novelist myself." + +"We need one, sir. For the most part them as write now ain't novelists, +if that means telling anything as is new. But I must go upstairs, sir. +Miss Sylvia said I was to tell her when you came." + +"Oh, yes--er--er--that is--she wants to see a photograph of my old home. +I promised to show it to her." Paul took a parcel out of his pocket. +"Can't I go up?" + +"No, sir. 'Twouldn't be wise. The old man may come back, and if he knew +as you'd been in his house," Bart jerked his head towards the ceiling, +"he'd take a fit." + +"Why? He doesn't think I'm after the silver?" + +"Lor' bless you no, sir. It ain't that. What's valuable--silver and gold +and jewels and such like--is down there." Bart nodded towards the floor. +"But Mr. Norman don't like people coming into his private rooms. He's +never let in anyone for years." + +"Perhaps he fears to lose the fairest jewel he has." + +Bart was what the Scotch call "quick in the uptake." "He don't think so +much of her as he ought to, sir," said he, gloomily. "But I know he +loves her, and wants to make her a great heiress. When he goes to the +worms Miss Sylvia will have a pretty penny. I only hope," added Bart, +looking slyly at Paul, "that he who has her to wife won't squander what +the old man has worked for." + +Beecot colored still more at this direct hint, and would have replied, +but at this moment a large, red-faced, ponderous woman dashed into the +shop from a side door. "There," said she, clapping her hands in a +childish way, "I know'd his vice, an' I ses to Miss Sylvia, as is +sittin' doing needlework, which she do do lovely, I ses 'That's him,' +and she ses, with a lovely color, 'Oh, Deborah, jus' see, fur m'eart's +abeating too loud for me t'ear 'is vice.' So I ses--" + +Here she became breathless and clapped her hands again, so as to prevent +interruption. But Paul did interrupt her, knowing from experience that +when once set going Deborah would go on until pulled up. "Can't I go up +to Miss Norman?" he asked. + +"You may murder me, and slay me, and trample on my corp," said Deborah, +solemnly, "but go up you can't. Master would send me to walk the streets +if I dared to let you, innocent as you are, go up them stairs." + +Paul knew long ago how prejudiced the old man was in this respect. +During all the six months he had known Sylvia he had never been +permitted to mount the stairs in question. It was strange that Aaron +should be so particular on this point, but connecting it with his +downcast eye and frightened air, Paul concluded, though without much +reason, that the old man had something to conceal. More, that he was +frightened of someone. However, he did not argue the point, but +suggested a meeting-place. "Can't I see her in the cellar?" he asked. +"Mr. Norman said I could go down to wait for him." + +"Sir," said Deborah, plunging forward a step, like a stumbling 'bus +horse, "don't tell me as you want to pawn." + +"Well, I do," replied Paul, softly, "but you needn't tell everyone." + +"It's only Bart," cried Deborah, casting a fierce look in the direction +of the slim, sharp-faced young man, "and if he was to talk I'd take his +tongue out. That I would. I'm a-training him to be my husband, as I +don't hold with the ready-made article, and married he shall be, by +parsing and clark if he's a good boy and don't talk of what don't matter +to him." + +"I ain't goin' to chatter," said Bart, with a wink. "Lor' bless you, +sir, I've seen gentlemen as noble as yourself pawning things down +there"--he nodded again towards the floor--"ah, and ladies too, but--" + +"Hold your tongue," cried Deborah, pitching herself across the floor +like a ship in distress. "Your a-talking now of what you ain't a right +to be a-talkin' of, drat you. Come this way, Mr. Beecot, to the place +where old Nick have his home, for that he is when seven strikes." + +"You shouldn't speak of your master in that way," protested Paul. + +"Oh, shouldn't I," snorted the maid, with a snort surprisingly loud. +"And who have a better right, sir? I've been here twenty year as servant +and nuss and friend and 'umble well-wisher to Miss Sylvia, coming a slip +of a girl at ten, which makes me thirty, I don't deny; not that it's too +old to marry Bart, though he's but twenty, and makes up in wickedness +for twice that age. I know master, and when the sun's up there ain't a +better man living, but turn on the gas and he's an old Nick. Bart, +attend to your business and don't open them long ears of yours too wide. +I won't have a listening husband, I can tell you. This way, sir. Mind +the steps." + +By this time Deborah had convoyed Paul to a dark corner behind the +counter and jerked back a trap door. Here he saw a flight of wooden +steps which led downwards into darkness. But Miss Junk snatched up a +lantern on the top step, and having lighted it dropped down, holding it +above her red and touzelled head. Far below her voice was heard crying +to Beecot to "Come on"; therefore he followed as quickly as he could, +and soon found himself in the cellar. All around was dark, but Deborah +lighted a couple of flaring gas-jets, and then turned, with her arms +akimbo, on the visitor. + +"Now then, sir, you and me must have a talk, confidential like," said +she in her breathless way. "It's pawning is it? By which I knows that +you ain't brought that overbearing pa of yours to his knees." + +Paul sat down in a clumsy mahogany chair, which stood near a plain deal +table, and stared at the handmaiden. "I never told you about my father," +he said, exhibiting surprise. + +"Oh, no, of course not"--Miss Junk tossed her head--"me being a babe an' +a suckling, not fit to be told anything. But you told Miss Sylvia and +she told me, as she tells everything to her Debby, God bless her for a +pretty flower!" She pointed a coarse, red finger at Paul. "If you were a +gay deceiver, Mr. Beecot, I'd trample on your corp this very minute if I +was to die at Old Bailey for the doing of it." + +Seeing Deborah was breathless again, Paul seized his chance. "There is +no reason you shouldn't know all about me, and--" + +"No, indeed, I should think not, begging your pardon, sir. But when you +comes here six months back, I ses to Miss Sylvia, I ses, 'He's making +eyes at you, my lily,' and she ses to me, she says, 'Oh, Debby, I love +him, that I do.' And then I ses, ses I, 'My pretty, he looks a gent born +and bred, but that's the wust kind, so we'll find out if he's a liar +before you loses your dear heart to him.'" + +"But I'm not a liar--" began Paul, only to be cut short again. + +"As well I knows," burst out Miss Junk, her arms akimbo again. "Do you +think, sir, as I'd ha' let you come loving my pretty one and me not +knowing if you was Judas or Jezebel? Not me, if I never drank my nightly +drop of beer again. What you told Miss Sylvia of your frantic pa and +your loving ma she told me. Pumping _you_ may call it," shouted Deborah, +emphasising again with the red finger, "but everything you told in your +lover way she told her old silly Debby. I ses to Bart, if you loves me, +Bart, go down to Wargrove, wherever it may be--if in England, which I +doubt--and if he--meaning you--don't tell the truth, out he goes if I +have the chucking of him myself and a police-court summings over it. So +Bart goes to Wargrove, and he find out that you speaks true, which means +that you're a gent, sir, if ever there was one, in spite of your frantic +pa, so I hopes as you'll marry my flower, and make her happy--bless +you," and Deborah spread a large pair of mottled arms over Paul's head. + +"It's all true," said he, good-naturedly; "my father and I don't get on +well together, and I came to make a name in London. But for all you +know, Deborah, I may be a scamp." + +"That you are not," she burst out. "Why, Bart's been follerin' you +everywhere, and he and me, which is to be his lawful wife and master, +knows all about you and that there place in Bloomsbury, and where you go +and where you don't go. And let me tell you, sir," again she lifted her +finger threateningly, "if you wasn't what you oughter be, never would +you see my pretty one again. No, not if I had to wash the floor in your +blue blood--for blue it is, if what Bart learned was true of them stone +figgers in the church," and she gasped. + +Paul was silent for a few minutes, looking at the floor. He wondered +that he had not guessed all this. Often it had seemed strange to him +that so faithful and devoted a couple of retainers as Bart and Deborah +Junk should favor his wooing of Sylvia and keep it from their master, +seeing that they knew nothing about him. But from the woman's +story--which he saw no reason to disbelieve--the two had not rested +until they had been convinced of his respectability and of the truth of +his story. Thus they had permitted the wooing to continue, and Paul +privately applauded them for their tact in so making sure of him without +committing themselves to open speech. "All the same," he said aloud, and +following his own thoughts, "it's strange that you should wish her to +marry me." + +Miss Junk made a queer answer. "I'm glad enough to see her marry anyone +respectable, let alone a gent, as you truly are, with stone figgers in +churches and a handsome face, though rather dark for my liking. Mr. +Beecot, twenty year ago, a slip of ten, I come to nuss the baby as was +my loving angel upstairs, and her ma had just passed away to jine them +as lives overhead playing harps. All these years I've never heard a +young step on them stairs, save Miss Sylvia's and Bart's, him having +come five years ago, and a brat he was. And would you believe it, Mr. +Beecot, I know no more of the old man than you do. He's queer, and he's +wrong altogether, and that frightened of being alone in the dark as you +could make him a corp with a turnip lantern." + +"What is he afraid of?" + +"Ah," said Deborah, significantly, "what indeed? It may be police and it +may be ghosts, but, ghosts or police, he never ses what he oughter say +if he's a respectable man, which I sadly fear he ain't." + +"He may have his reasons to--" + +Miss Junk tossed her head and snorted again loudly. "Oh, yes--he has his +reasons," she admitted, "and Old Bailey ones they are, I dessay. But +there's somethin' 'anging over his head. Don't ask me what it is, fur +never shall you know, by reason of my being ignorant. But whatever it +is, Mr. Beecot, it's something wicked, and shall I see my own pretty in +trouble?" + +"How do you know there will be trouble?" interrupted Paul, anxiously. + +"I've heard him pray," said Miss Junk, mysteriously--"yes, you may look, +for there ain't no prayer in the crafty eye of him--but pray he do, and +asks to be kept from danger--" + +"Danger?" + +"Danger's the word, for I won't deceive you, no, not if you paid me +better wages than the old man do give and he's as near as the paring of +an inion. So I ses to Bart, if there's danger and trouble and Old +Baileys about, the sooner Miss Sylvia have some dear man to give her a +decent name and pertect her the more happy old Deborah will be. So I +looked and looked for what you might call a fairy prince as I've heard +tell of in pantomimes, and when you comes she loses her heart to you. So +I ses, find out, Bart, what he is, and--" + +"Yes, yes, I see. Well, Deborah, you can depend upon my looking after +your pretty mistress. If I were only reconciled with my father I would +speak to Mr. Norman." + +"Don't, sir--don't!" cried the woman, fiercely, and making a clutch at +Paul's arm; "he'll turn you out, he will, not being anxious fur anyone +to have my flower, though love her as he oughter do, he don't, no," +cried Deborah, "nor her ma before her, who died with a starvin' 'eart. +But you run away with my sweetest and make her your own, though her pa +swears thunderbolts as you may say. Take her from this place of +wickedness and police-courts." And Deborah looked round the cellar with +a shudder. Suddenly she started and held up her finger, nodding towards +a narrow door at the side of the cellar. "Master's footstep," she said +in a harsh whisper. "I'd know it in a thousand--just like a thief's, +ain't it?--stealing as you might say. Don't tell him you've seen me." + +"But Sylvia," cried Paul, catching her dress as she passed him. + +"Her you'll see, if I die for it," said Deborah, and whirled up the +wooden steps in a silent manner surprising in so noisy a woman. Paul +heard the trap-door drop with a stealthy creak. + +As a key grated in the lock of the outside door he glanced round the +place to which he had penetrated for the first time. It was of the same +size as the shop overhead, but the walls were of stone, green with slime +and feathery with a kind of ghastly white fungus. Overhead, from the +wooden roof, which formed the floor of the shop, hung innumerable +spider's webs thick with dust. The floor was of large flags cracked in +many places, and between the chinks in moist corners sprouted sparse, +colorless grass. In the centre was a deal table, scored with queer marks +and splotched with ink. Over this flared two gas-jets, which whistled +shrilly. Against the wall, which was below the street, were three green +painted safes fast locked: but the opposite wall had in it the narrow +door aforesaid, and a wide grated window, the bars of which were rusty, +though strong. The atmosphere of the place was cold and musty and +suggestive of a charnel house. Certainly a strange place in which to +transact business, but everything about Aaron Norman was strange. + +And he looked strange himself as he stepped in at the open door. Beyond, +Paul could see the shallow flight of damp steps leading to the yard and +the passage which gave admission from the street. Norman locked the door +and came forward. He was as white as a sheet, and his face was thickly +beaded with perspiration. His mouth twitched more than usual, and his +hands moved nervously. Twice as he advanced towards Paul, who rose to +receive him, did he cast the odd look over his shoulder. Beecot +fancifully saw in him a man who had committed some crime and was fearful +lest it should be discovered, or lest the avenger should suddenly +appear. Deborah's confidential talk had not been without its effects on +the young man, and Paul beheld in Aaron a being of mystery. How such a +man came to have such a daughter as Sylvia, Paul could not guess. + +"Here you are, Mr. Beecot," said Aaron, rubbing his hands as though the +cold of the cellar struck to his bones. "Well?" + +"I want to pawn a brooch," said Beecot, slipping his hand into his +breast pocket. + +"Wait," said Norman, throwing up his lean hand. "Let me tell you that I +have taken a fancy to you, and I have watched you all the many times you +have been here. Didn't you guess?" + +"No," said Paul, wondering if he was about to speak of Sylvia, and +concluding that he guessed what was in the wind. + +"Well then, I have," said the pawnbroker, "and I think it's a pity a +young man should pawn anything. Have you no money?" he asked. + +Paul reddened. "Very little," he said. + +"Little as it may be, live on that and don't pawn," said Aaron. "I speak +against my own interests, but I like you, and perhaps I can lend you a +few shillings." + +"I take money from no one, thank you all the same," said Beecot, +throwing back his head, "but if you can lend me something on this +brooch," and he pulled out the case from his pocket. "A friend of mine +would have bought it, but as it belongs to my mother I prefer to pawn it +so that I may get it again when I am rich." + +"Well, well," said Aaron, abruptly, and resuming his downcast looks, "I +shall do what I can. Let me see it." + +He stretched out his hand and took the case. Slowly opening it under the +gas, he inspected its contents. Suddenly he gave a cry of alarm, and the +case fell to the floor. "The Opal Serpent!--The Opal Serpent!" he cried, +growing purple in the face, "keep off!--keep off!" He beat the air with +his lean hands. "Oh--the Opal!" and he fell face downward on the slimy +floor in a fit or a faint, but certainly unconscious. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +DULCINEA OF GWYNNE STREET + + +Near the Temple Station of the Metropolitan Railway is a small garden +which contains a certain number of fairly-sized trees, a round +band-stand, and a few flower-beds intersected by asphalt paths. Here +those who are engaged in various offices round about come to enjoy _rus +in urbes_, to listen to the gay music, and, in many cases, to eat a +scanty mid-day meal. Old women come to sun themselves, loafers sit on +the seats to rest, workmen smoke and children play. On a bright day the +place is pretty, and those who frequent it feel as though they were +enjoying a country holiday though but a stone's throw from the Thames. +And lovers meet here also, so it was quite in keeping that Paul Beecot +should wait by the bronze statues of the Herculaneum wrestlers for the +coming of Sylvia. + +On the previous day he had departed hastily, after committing the old +man to Deborah's care. At first he had lingered to see Aaron revive, but +when the unconscious man came to his senses and opened his eyes he +fainted again when his gaze fell on Paul. Deborah, therefore, in her +rough, practical way, suggested that as Beecot was "upsetting him" he +had better go. It was in a state of perplexity that Paul had gone away, +but he was cheered on his homeward way by a hasty assurance given by +Miss Junk that Sylvia would meet him in the gardens, "near them niggers +without clothes," said Deborah. + +It was strange that the sight of the brooch should have produced such an +effect on Aaron, and his fainting confirmed Paul's suspicions that the +old man had not a clean conscience. But what the serpent brooch had to +do with the matter Beecot could not conjecture. It was certainly an odd +piece of jewellery, and not particularly pretty, but that the merest +glimpse of it should make Norman faint was puzzling in the extreme. + +"Apparently it is associated with something disagreeable in the man's +mind," soliloquised Paul, pacing the pavement and keeping a sharp +look-out for Sylvia, "perhaps with death, else the effect would scarcely +have been so powerful as to produce a fainting fit. Yet Aaron can't know +my mother. Hum! I wonder what it means." + +While he was trying to solve the mystery a light touch on his arm made +him wheel round, and he beheld Sylvia smiling at him. While he was +looking along the Embankment for her coming she had slipped down Norfolk +Street and through the gardens, to where the wrestlers clutched at empty +air. In her low voice, which was the sweetest of all sounds to Paul, she +explained this, looking into his dark eyes meanwhile. "But I can't stay +long," finished Sylvia. "My father is still ill, and he wants me to +return and nurse him." + +"Has he explained why he fainted?" asked Paul, anxiously. + +"No; he refuses to speak on the matter. Why did he faint, Paul?" + +The young man looked puzzled. "Upon my word I don't know," he said. +"Just as I was showing him a brooch I wished to pawn he went off." + +"What kind of a brooch?" asked the girl, also perplexed. + +Paul took the case out of his breast pocket, where it had been since the +previous day. "My mother sent it to me," he explained; "you see she +guesses that I am hard up, and, thanks to my father, she can't send me +money. This piece of jewellery she has had for many years, but as it is +rather old-fashioned she never wears it. So she sent it to me, hoping +that I might get ten pounds or so on it. A friend of mine wished to buy +it, but I was anxious to get it back again, so that I might return it to +my mother. Therefore I thought your father might lend me money on it." + +Sylvia examined the brooch with great attention. It was evidently of +Indian workmanship, delicately chased, and thickly set with jewels. The +serpent, which was apparently wriggling across the stout gold pin of the +brooch, had its broad back studded with opals, large in the centre of +the body and small at head and tail. These were set round with tiny +diamonds, and the head was of chased gold with a ruby tongue. Sylvia +admired the workmanship and the jewels, and turned the brooch over. On +the flat smooth gold underneath she found the initial "R" scratched with +a pin. This she showed to Paul. "I expect your mother made this mark to +identify the brooch," she said. + +"My mother's name is Anne," replied Paul, looking more puzzled than +ever, "Anne Beecot. Why should she mark this with an initial which has +nothing to do with her name?" + +"Perhaps it is a present," suggested Sylvia. + +Paul snapped the case to, and replaced it in his pocket. "Perhaps it +is," he said. "However, when I next write to my mother I'll ask her +where she got the brooch. She has had it for many years," he added +musingly, "for I remember playing with it when a small boy." + +"Don't tell your mother that my father fainted." + +"Why not? Does it matter?" + +Sylvia folded her slender hands and looked straight in front of her. +For some time they had been seated on a bench in a retired part of the +gardens, and the laughter of playing children, the music of the band +playing the merriest airs from the last musical comedy, came faintly to +their ears. "I think it does matter," said the girl, seriously; "for +some reason my father wants to keep himself as quiet as possible. He +talks of going away." + +"Going away. Oh, Sylvia, and you never told me." + +"He only spoke of going away when I came to see how he was this +morning," she replied. "I wonder if his fainting has anything to do with +this determination. He never talked of going away before." + +Paul wondered also. It seemed strange that after so unusual an event the +old man should turn restless and wish to leave a place where he had +lived for over twenty years. "I'll come and have an explanation," said +Paul, after a pause. + +"I think that will be best, dear. Father said that he would like to see +you again, and told Bart to bring you in if he saw you." + +"I'll call to-day--this afternoon, and perhaps your father will explain. +And now, Sylvia, that is enough about other people and other things. Let +us talk of ourselves." + +Sylvia turned her face with a fond smile. She was a delicate and dainty +little lady, with large grey eyes and soft brown hair. Her complexion +was transparent, and she had little color in her cheeks. With her oval +face, her thin nose and charming mouth she looked very pretty and sweet. +But it was her expression that Paul loved. That was a trifle sad, but +when she smiled her looks changed as an overcast sky changes when the +sun bursts through the clouds. Her figure was perfect, her hands and +feet showed marks of breeding, and although her grey dress was as +demure as any worn by a Quakeress, she looked bright and merry in the +sunshine of her lover's presence. Everything about Sylvia was dainty and +neat and exquisitely clean: but she was hopelessly out of the fashion. +It was this odd independence in her dress which constituted another +charm in Paul's eyes. + +The place was too public to indulge in love-making, and it was very +tantalising to sit near this vision of beauty without gaining the +delight of a kiss. Paul feasted his eyes, and held Sylvia's grey-gloved +hand under cover of her dress. Further he could not go. + +"But if you put up your sunshade," he suggested artfully. + +"Paul!" That was all Sylvia said, but it suggested a whole volume of +rebuke. Brought up in seclusion, like the princess in an enchanted +castle, the girl was exceedingly shy. Paul's ardent looks and eager +wooing startled her at times, and he thought disconsolately that his +chivalrous love-making was coarse and common when he gazed on the +delicate, dainty, shrinking maid he adored. + +"You should not have stepped out of your missal, Sylvia," he said sadly. + +"Whatever do you mean, dearest?" + +"I mean that you are a saint--an angel--a thing to be adored and +worshipped. You are exactly like one of those lovely creations one sees +in mass-books of the Middle Ages. I fear, Sylvia," Paul sighed, "that +you are too dainty and holy for this work-a-day world." + +"What nonsense, Paul! I'm a poor girl without position or friends, +living in a poor street. You are the first person who ever thought me +pretty." + +"You are not pretty," said the ardent Beecot, "you are divine--you are +Beatrice--you are Elizabeth of Thuringia--you are everything that is +lovely and adorable." + +"And you are a silly boy," replied Sylvia, blushing, but loving this +poetic talk all the same. "Do you want to put me in a glass case when we +marry? If you do, I sha'n't become Mrs. Beecot. I want to see the world +and to enjoy myself." + +"Then other men will admire you and I shall grow jealous." + +"Can you be jealous--Paul?" + +"Horribly! You don't know half my bad qualities. I am poor and needy, +and ambitious and jealous, and--" + +"There--there. I won't hear you run yourself down. You are the best boy +in the world." + +"Poor world, if I am that," he laughed, and squeezed the little hand. +"Oh, my love, do you really think of me?" + +"Always! Always! You know I do. Why, ever since I saw you enter the shop +six months ago I have always loved you. I told Debby, and Debby said +that I could." + +"Supposing Debby had said that you couldn't." + +"Oh, she would never have said that. Why, Paul, she saw you." + +The young man laughed and colored. "Do I carry my character in my face?" +he asked. "Sylvia, don't think too well of me." + +"That is impossible," she declared. "You are my fairy prince." + +"Well, I certainly have found an enchanted princess sleeping in a +jealously-guarded castle. What would your father say did he know?" + +Sylvia looked startled. "I am afraid of my father," she replied, +indirectly. "Yes--he is so strange. Sometimes he seems to love me, and +at other times to hate me. We have nothing in common. I love books and +art, and gaiety and dresses. But father only cares for jewels. He has a +lot down in the cellar. I have never seen them, you know," added Sylvia, +looking at her lover, "nor have Deborah or Bart. But they are there. +Bart and Deborah say so." + +"Has your father ever said so?" + +"No. He won't speak of his business in the cellar. When the shop is +closed at seven he sends Bart away home and locks Deborah and I in the +house. That is," she explained anxiously, lest Paul should think her +father a tyrant, "he locks the door which leads to the shop. We can walk +over all the house. But there we stop till next morning, when father +unlocks the door at seven and Bart takes down the shutters. We have +lived like that for years. On Sunday evenings, however, father does not +go to the cellar, but takes me to church. He has supper with me +upstairs, and then locks the door at ten." + +"But he sleeps upstairs?" + +"No. He sleeps in the cellar." + +"Impossible. There is no accommodation for sleeping there." + +Sylvia explained. "There is another cellar--a smaller one--off the large +place he has the safes in. The door is in a dark corner almost under the +street line. This smaller cellar is fitted up as a bedroom, and my +father has slept there all his life. I suppose he is afraid of his +jewels being stolen. I don't think it is good for his health," added the +girl, wisely, "for often in the morning he looks ill and his hands +shake." + +"Sylvia, does your father drink alcohol?" + +"Oh, no, Paul! He is a teetotaller, and is very angry at those who drink +to excess. Why, once Bart came to the shop a little drunk, and father +would have discharged him but for Deborah." + +Paul said nothing, but thought the more. Often it had struck him that +Norman was a drunkard, though his face showed no signs of indulgence, +for it always preserved its paleness. But the man's hands shook, and his +skin often was drawn and tight, with that shiny look suggestive of +indulgence. "He either drinks or smokes opium," thought Paul on hearing +Sylvia's denial. But he said nothing to her of this. + +"I must go home now," she said, rising. + +"Oh, no, not yet," he implored. + +"Well, then, I'll stay for a few minutes longer, because I have +something to say," she remarked, and sat down again. "Paul, do you think +it is quite honorable for you and I to be engaged without the consent of +my father?" + +"Well," hesitated Beecot, "I don't think it is as it should be. Were I +well off I should not fear to tell your father everything; but as I am a +pauper he would forbid my seeing you did he learn that I had raised my +eyes to you. But if you like I'll speak, though it may mean our parting +for ever." + +"Paul," she laid a firm, small hand on his arm, "not all the fathers in +the world will keep me from you. Often I have intended to tell all, but +my father is so strange. Sometimes he goes whole days without speaking +to me, and at times he speaks harshly, though I do nothing to deserve +rebuke. I am afraid of my father," said the girl, with a shiver. "I said +so before, and I say so again. He is a strange man, and I don't +understand him at all. I wish I could marry you and go away altogether." + +"Well, let us marry if you like, though we will be poor." + +"No," said Sylvia, sorrowfully; "after all, strange and harsh though my +father is, he is still my father, and at times he is kind. I must stay +with him to the end." + +"What end?" + +Sylvia shook her head still more sorrowfully. "Who knows? Paul, my +father is afraid of dying suddenly." + +"By violence?" asked Beecot, thinking of Deborah's talk. + +"I can't say. But every day after six he goes to church and prays all +alone. Deborah told me, as often she has seen him leave the church. Then +he is afraid of every stranger who enters the shop. I don't understand +it," cried the girl, passionately. "I don't like it. I wish you would +marry me and take me away, Paul; but, oh, how selfish I am!" + +"My own, I wish I could. But the money--" + +"Oh, never mind the money. I must get away from that house. If it was +not for Deborah I would be still more afraid. I often think my father is +mad. But there," Sylvia rose and shook out her skirts, "I have no right +to talk so, and only do so to you, that you may know what I feel. I'll +speak to my father myself and say we are engaged. If he forbids our +marriage I shall run away with you, Paul," said poor Sylvia, the tears +in her eyes. "I am a bad girl to talk in this way. After all, he is my +father." + +Beecot had an ardent desire to take her in his arms and kiss away those +tears, but the publicity of the meeting-place denied him the power to +console her in that efficacious fashion. All he could do was to assure +her of his love, and then they walked out of the gardens towards the +Strand. "I'll speak to your father myself," said Paul; "we must end this +necessary silence. After all, I am a gentleman, and I see no reason why +your father should object." + +"I know you are everything that is good and true," said Sylvia, drying +her eyes. "If you were not Debby would not have let me become engaged to +you," she finished childishly. + +"Debby made inquiries about me," said Paul, laughing, to cheer her. +"Yes! she sent Bart to Wargrove and found out all about me and my +family and my respected father. She wished to be certain that I was a +proper lover for her darling." + +"I am your darling now," whispered Sylvia, squeezing his arm, "and you +are the most charming lover in the world." + +Paul was so enchanted with this speech that he would have defied public +opinion by embracing her there and then, but Sylvia walked away rapidly +down Gwynne Street and shook her head with a pursed-up mouth when Paul +took a few steps after her. Recognizing that it would be wise not to +follow her to the shop lest the suspicious old man should be looking +out, Beecot went on his homeward way. + +When he drew near his Bloomsbury garret he met Grexon Hay, who was +sauntering along swinging his cane. "I was just looking for you," he +said, greeting Paul in his usual self-contained manner; "it worries me +to think you are so hard-up, though I'm not a fellow given to sentiment +as a rule. Let me lend you a fiver." + +Paul shook his head. "Thank you all the same." + +"Well, then, sell me the brooch." + +Beecot suddenly looked squarely at Hay, who met his gaze calmly. "Do you +know anything of that brooch?" he asked. + +"What do you mean? It is a brooch of Indian workmanship. That is all I +know. I want to give a lady a present, and if you will sell it to me +I'll take it, to help you, thus killing two birds at one shot." + +"I don't want to sell it," said Paul, looking round. His eyes fell on a +respectable man across the road, who appeared to be a workman, as he had +a bag of tools on his shoulder. He was looking into a shop window, but +also--as Paul suddenly thought--seemed to be observing him and Hay. +However, the incident was not worth noticing, so he continued his +speech to Grexon. "I tried to pawn it with Aaron Norman," he said. + +"Well, what did you get on it?" asked Hay, with a yawn. + +"Nothing. The old man fainted when I showed him the brooch. That is why +I asked you if you know anything strange about the article." + +Hay shook his head, but looked curiously at Beecot. "Do you know +anything yourself?" he asked; "you seem to have something on your mind +about that brooch." + +"There is something queer about it," said Paul. "Why should Aaron Norman +faint when he saw it?" + +Hay yawned again. "You had better ask your one-eyed friend--I think you +said he was one-eyed." + +"He is, and a frightened sort of man. But there's nothing about that +opal serpent to make him faint." + +"Perhaps he did so because it is in the shape of a serpent," suggested +Grexon; "a constitutional failing, perhaps. Some people hate cats and +other fluttering birds. Your one-eyed friend may have a loathing of +snakes and can't bear to see the representation of one." + +"It might be that," said Beecot, after a pause. "Aaron is a strange sort +of chap. A man with a past, I should say." + +"You make me curious," said Grexon, laughing in a bored manner. "I think +I'll go to the shop myself and have a look at him." + +"Come with me when I next go," said Paul. "I had intended to call this +afternoon; but I won't, until I hear from my mother." + +"What about?" + +"I want to learn how she came into possession of the brooch." + +"Pooh, nonsense," said Hay, contemptuously, "you think too much about +the thing. Who cares if a pawnbroker faints? Why I wish to go to the +shop, is, because I am anxious to see your lady-love. Well, when you do +want me to go, send for me; you have my address. 'Day, old man," and the +gorgeous being sauntered away, with apparently not a care in the world +to render him anxious. + +Paul was anxious, however. The more he thought of the episode of the +brooch the stranger it seemed, and Sylvia's talk of her father's queer +habits did not make Paul wonder the less. However, he resolved to write +to his mother, and was just mounting his stairs to do so when he heard a +"Beg pardon, sir," and beheld the working man, bag of tools, pipe and +all. + +"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, civilly, "but that gentleman you was +a-talking to. Know his name, sir?" + +"What the devil's that to you?" asked Paul, angrily. + +"Nothing, sir, only he owes me a little bill." + +"Go and ask him for it then." + +"I don't know his address, sir." + +"Oh, be hanged!" Paul went on, when the man spoke again. + +"He's what I call a man on the market, sir. Have a care," and he +departed quickly. + +Paul stared. What did the working man mean, and was he a working man? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE UNFORESEEN + + +Paul did not go near the Gwynne Street shop for the next few days, much +as he wanted to do so. Being deeply in love he could hardly bear to be +away from Sylvia even for a few hours: but in spite of this he remained +away for two reasons. The first of these was that he awaited a reply to +his letter written to Mrs. Beecot, as he wished to be able to tell Aaron +Norman where the brooch had been obtained. He thought by doing this to +ingratiate himself with the old man, and perhaps, if thus confidential, +might learn, for the satisfaction of his curiosity, why the sight of the +brooch had produced such an effect on the pawnbroker. + +The other reason was that, not having been able to sell the brooch, or +rather pawn it since he did not wish to lose it altogether, funds were +running low, and now he had but a few shillings left. A call at the +office of a penny weekly had resulted in the return of three stories as +being too long and not the sort required. But the editor, in a hasty +interview, admitted that he liked Paul's work and would give him three +pounds for a tale written on certain lines likely to be popular with the +public. Paul did not care to set forth another person's ideas, +especially as these were old and very sensational; but as he required +money he set to work and labored to produce what would bring him in the +cash. He made several attempts before he reached the editor's level, +which was low rather than high, and succeeded in getting the tale +accepted. With three golden pounds in his pocket and exultation in his +heart--for every success seemed to bring him nearer to Sylvia--Paul +returned to his aerial castle and found waiting for him the expected +letter. + +It was written in a low-spirited sort of way, characteristic of Mrs. +Beecot, but with a true motherly heart. After two pages of lamentation +over his absence, and a description of how the head of the household +managed to bear up against the affliction of his son's absence, Mrs. +Beecot proceeded to explain about the brooch. + +"Why do you ask me about the opal brooch, my dear boy?" wrote Mrs. +Beecot in her scratchy handwriting. "All I know is that your father +bought it out of a pawnbroker's shop in Stowley, which is some town in +the Midlands. Your father was travelling there and saw the brooch by +chance. As I always thought opals unlucky he was anxious to make me see +the folly of such a superstition, so he bought the brooch and took it +away with him. Afterwards, I believe, he received a letter from the +pawnbroker, saying that his assistant had sold the brooch by mistake, +that the time for redeeming it had not run out when your father bought +it. The pawnbroker asked that the brooch might be returned, and wanted +to pay back the money. But you know what your father is. He refused at +once to give back the brooch, and insisted on my wearing it. I had a bad +fall while wearing it, and then was thrown out of that high dog-cart +your father would insist on driving. I am sure the brooch or the stones +is unlucky, and, as after a time your father forgot all about it, I let +it lie in my jewel-case. For years I had not worn it, and as I think it +is unlucky, and as you need money, my darling boy, I hope you will sell +it. There is no need to pawn it as you say. I never want to see the +brooch again. But regarding your health, etc., etc." + +So Mrs. Beecot wrote in her verbose style, and with some errors of +grammar. Paul saw in her simple tale fresh evidence of his father's +tyranny, since he made his wife wear gems she detested and was +superstitiously set against possessing them. The dog-cart episode Paul +remembered very well. Mr. Beecot, in his amiable way, had no patience +with his wife's nerves, and never lost an opportunity of placing her in +unpleasant positions, whereby she might be, what he called, hardened. +Paul sighed to think of his mother's position as he folded up the +letter. She had a bad time with the truculent husband she had married. +"And I can't believe she became his wife of her own free will," thought +Paul; "probably the governor bullied her into it in his own sweet way." + +However, there was nothing in the letter to explain Norman's faint. It +was certainly strange that the pawnbroker, from whom the brooch had been +originally purchased, should have demanded it back; and the excuse given +seems rather a weak one. However, Paul did not waste time in thinking +over this, but resolved to tell Aaron what his mother had said. + +He had received two letters from Sylvia, mentioning, amongst other +things, that her father, now quite well, was asking after Paul, and +urging him to come and see him. "My father appears to have a fancy for +you," wrote Sylvia, "so if you are very nice--as nice as you can +be--perhaps he won't be very angry if you tell him we are engaged." +There was much more to the same effect, which Paul thought good advice, +and he intended to adopt the same. It was necessary that he should tell +Aaron of his love if things were to be conducted in a straightforward +and honorable manner. And Paul had no desire to conduct them otherwise. + +Having made up his mind to see Aaron again, Paul bethought himself of +Grexon Hay. That gentleman had never appeared again at the Bloomsbury +garret, and had never even written. But Paul was anxious that Hay--whom +he regarded as a clever man-of-the-world--should see the old man, and, +as our trans-Atlantic cousins say, "size him up." Norman's manner and +queer life puzzled Paul not a little, and not being very worldly himself +he was anxious to have the advice of his old school friend, who seemed +desirous of doing him a good turn, witness his desire to buy the brooch +so that Paul might be supplied with money. So Beecot wrote to Grexon Hay +at his Camden Hill chamber and told him he intended to go to Gwynne +Street on a certain day at a certain time. To this Grexon responded by +saying that he was at Paul's service and would come especially as he +wanted to see Dulcinea of Gwynne Street. + +Paul laughed at the phrase. "I suppose Grexon thinks I am very +Quixotic," he thought, "coming to London to tilt with the windmills of +the Press. But Don Quixote was wise in spite of his apparent madness, +and Grexon will recognize my wisdom when he sees my Dulcinea, bless her! +Humph! I wonder if Hay could pacify my father and make him look more +kindly on my ambitions. Grexon is a clever fellow, a thoroughly good +chap, so--" + +Here Paul paused to think. The incident of the working man and the +warning he had given about Hay recurred to his mind. Also the phrase +"Man on the Market" stuck in his memory. Why should Grexon Hay be called +so, and what did the phrase mean? Paul had never heard it before. +Moreover, from certain indications Beecot did not think that the +individual with the bag of tools was a working man. He rather appeared +to be a person got up to play the part. The fellow watching them both +and accosting Paul alone certainly seemed a doubtful character. Beecot +regretted that he had been so short with the man, else he might have +learned why he had acted in this way. The story of the little bill was +absurd, for if Grexon owed the man money the man himself would certainly +have known the name and address of his creditor. Altogether, the +incident puzzled Paul almost as much as that of Aaron's fainting, and he +resolved to question Grexon. But it never crossed his mind that Hay was +anything else but what he appeared to be--a man-about-town with a +sufficient income to live upon comfortably. Had Paul doubted he would +never have asked Grexon to go with him to Gwynne Street. However, he had +done so, and the appointment was made, so there was no more to be said. + +The man-about-town duly made his appearance to the very minute. "I +always keep appointments," he explained when Paul congratulated him on +his punctuality; "there's nothing annoys me so much as to be kept +waiting, so I invariably practise what I preach. Well, Paul, and how is +Dulcinea of Gwynne Street?" + +"She is very well," replied Paul, who was still a young enough lover to +blush, "but I have not seen her since we last met. I waited for a letter +from my mother about the brooch, so that I might explain to Aaron how +she got it. The old man has been asking after me." + +"Oh, confound the brooch!" said Grexon in his cool manner. "I don't want +to hear about it. Let us talk of Dulcinea." + +"Rather let us talk of yourself," said Paul. + +"Not an interesting subject," replied Hay, rising as Paul opened his +garret door for departure, "you know all about me." + +"No! I don't know why you are called a man-on-the-market." + +Hay flushed and turned sharply. "What do you mean?" he asked in a +particularly quiet tone. + +"I don't know what I _do_ mean," said Paul. "Do you remember that +working man with the bag of tools who was across the road when we last +conversed?" + +"No," said Hay, staring, "I never notice creatures of that class. Why?" + +"Because he asked me who you were and where you lived. It seems you owe +him some money." + +"That is very probable," said Hay, equably. "I owe most people money, +and if this man has a debt against me he would certainly know all about +me as to address and name." + +"So I thought," replied Paul, "but the queer thing is that he told me to +take care, and called you a man-on-the-market. What does it mean? I +never heard the phrase before." + +"I have," said Hay, proceeding calmly down the somewhat steep stairs; "a +man-on-the-market means one who wants to marry and is eligible for any +heiress who comes along with a sufficient rent-roll. But why should a +fellow like that talk the shibboleth of Society?" + +Paul shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say. Perhaps the man guessed I +intended to take you to see Sylvia, and warned me against you, as it +seems from his phrase that you wish to marry." + +"Ah! Then your Dulcinea is an heiress?" said Hay, fixing his eye-glass +carefully; "if so, you needn't fear me. I am almost engaged and won't be +on the market any longer. What confounded cheek this fellow addressing +you in that way and talking of me as he did. I suppose," he added with +a cold laugh, "it is not necessary for me to defend myself." + +"What rubbish," replied Beecot, good-naturedly. "All the same, it is +strange the man should have spoken to me as he did. I told him to go to +the devil." + +"And go to the devil he assuredly will if I meet him," was the dry +reply. "I'll break his head for not minding his own business. I think I +can explain, and will do so as soon as you take that telegram the lad is +holding out for you." + +Grexon was quicker-sighted than Paul, for the moment they arrived at the +bottom of the stairs and were about to emerge into the street he saw the +messenger. "Do you know if any gent of that name lives here, guvnor?" +asked the boy, holding out the buff-colored envelope. + +Beecot, to his surprise, saw his own name. "Who can be wiring to me?" he +said, taking the telegram. "Wait, boy, there may be an answer," and he +skimmed through the lines. "Don't sell the brooch, but send it back," +read Paul, puzzled, "your father angry.--MOTHER." He paused, and looked +at the boy. "Got a form?" he asked. + +The lad produced one and a stumpy pencil. With these materials Beecot +wrote a reply saying the brooch would be returned on the morrow. When +the boy went away with the answer Paul felt in his breast pocket and +took out the old blue case. "I've a good mind to send it now," he said +aloud. + +"What's that?" asked Hay, who was yawning at the door. "No bad news I +hope?" + +"It's about that brooch again." + +Hay laughed. "Upon my word it seems to you what the Monster was to +Frankenstein," said he. "Send it back--to Mrs. Beecot, I presume--and +have done with it." He cast a glance at the case. "I see you have it +with you," he ended, lightly. + +"Yes," said Paul, and replacing the case in his pocket went down the +street with his friend. Then he determined to ask his opinion, and +related the gist of Mrs. Beecot's letter. "And now the mater wires to +have it back," he said. "I expect my father has found out that she has +sent it to me, and is furious." + +"Well, send it back and have done with it," said Hay, impatiently; "you +are in danger of becoming a bore with that brooch, Beecot. I'll lend you +money if you like." + +"No, thanks, I have three pounds honestly earned. However, we'll speak +no more of the brooch. I'll send it back this very day. Tell me," he +linked his arm within that of his friend, "tell me of that man." + +"That man--of the working creature," said Hay, absently. "Pooh, the man +was no more a working man than I am." + +"Well, I thought myself he was a bit of a fraud." + +"Detectives never do make up well," said Grexon, calmly. + +Paul stopped as they turned into Oxford Street. "What? Was the man a +detective?" + +"I think so, from your description of his conversation. The fact is I'm +in love with a lady who is married. We have behaved quite well, and no +one can say a word against us. But her husband is a beast and wants a +divorce. I have suspected for some time that he is having me +watched. Thanks to you, Paul, I am now sure. So perhaps you will +understand why the man warned you against me and talked of my being a +man-on-the-market." + +"I see," said Paul, hesitating; "but don't get into trouble, Hay." + +"Oh, I'm all right. And I don't intend to do anything dishonorable, if +that is what you mean. It's the husband's fault, not mine. By the way, +can you describe the fellow?" + +"Yes. He had red hair and a red beard--rather a ruddy face, and walked +with a limp." + +"All put on," said Hay, contemptuously; "probably the limp was affected, +the beard false, the hair a wig, and the face rouged--very clumsy +indeed. I daresay he'll appear pale and gentlemanly the next time he +watches me. I know the tricks of these fellows." + +The two friends talked for some time about this episode, and then +branched off into other subjects. Hay described the married lady he +adored, and Paul rebuked him for entertaining such a passion. "It's not +right, Hay," said he, positively; "you can't respect a woman who runs +away from her husband." + +"She hasn't run away yet, Sir Galahad," laughed Grexon. "By Jove, you +are an innocent!" + +"If that means respecting the institution of marriage and adoring women +as angels I hope I'll remain an innocent." + +"Oh, women are angels, of course," said Hay as they walked down Gwynne +Street; "it's a stock phrase in love-making. But there are angels of two +sorts. Dulcinea is--" + +"Here we are," interrupted Paul, quickly. Somehow it irritated him to +hear this hardened sinner speak of Sylvia, and he began to think that +Grexon Hay had deteriorated. Not that he was considered to be +particularly good at Torrington school. In fact, Paul remembered that he +had been thoroughly disliked. However, he had no time to go into the +matter, for at this moment Aaron appeared at the door of the shop. He +stepped out on to the pavement as Paul approached. "Come in," he said, +"I want to see you--privately," he added, casting a frightened look at +Hay. + +"In that case I'll leave you," said Grexon, disengaging his arm from +Paul. "Dulcinea must wait for another occasion. Go in and do your +business. I'll wait without." + +Paul thanked his friend by a look and went into the shop with the old +man. "That brooch," said Aaron, in a timid whisper, "have you got it? +Give it to me--quick--quick." + +There was no one in the shop as Bart had apparently gone out on an +errand. The door leading to the stairs, down which Sylvia had so often +descended, was closed, and no one was about to overhear their +conversation. "I have the brooch," said Paul, "but--" + +"Give it to me--give it," panted Aaron. "I'll buy it--at a large price. +Ask what you want." + +"Why are you so eager to get it?" demanded Beecot, astonished. + +"That's my business," said Norman, in a suddenly imperious manner. "I +want it. The stones take my fancy," he ended weakly. + +"Was that why you fainted?" asked Paul, suspiciously. + +"No." The man grew white and leaned against the counter, breathing +heavily. "Where did you get the brooch?" he asked, trying to keep +himself calm, but with a visible effort. + +"I got it from my mother, and she received it from my father--" + +"Beecot--Beecot," said the old man, fingering his lips, much agitated. +"I know no one of that name save yourself, and you are not a spy--a +scoundrel--a--a--" He caught the eyes of Paul fixed on him in amazement, +and suddenly changed his tone. "Excuse me, but the brooch reminds me of +trouble." + +"You have seen it before?" + +"Yes--that is no--don't ask me." He clutched at his throat as though he +felt choked. "I can't talk of it. I daren't. How did your father get +it?" + +More and more astonished, Paul explained. Aaron listened with his one +eye very bright, and made uneasy motions with his lean hands as the +young man spoke. When Beecot ended he bit his nails. "Yes, yes," he +murmured to himself, "it would be asked for back. But it sha'n't go +back. I want it. Sell it to me, Mr. Beecot." + +"I'm sorry I can't," replied Paul, good-naturedly. "But my mother wired +that it was to be returned. My father has discovered that she sent it to +me and is not pleased." + +"Did you tell your mother you had shown it to me?" + +"No. There was no need." + +"God bless you!" breathed the man, pulling out a crimson handkerchief. +"Of course there was no need," he tittered nervously. "It doesn't do to +talk of pawning things--not respectable, eh--eh." He wiped his face and +passed his tongue over his white lips. "Well, you won't sell it to me?" + +"I can't. But I'll ask my mother if she will." + +"No, no! Don't do that--say nothing--say nothing. I don't want the +brooch. I never saw the brooch--what brooch--pooh--pooh, don't talk to +me of the brooch," and so he babbled on. + +"Mr. Norman," said Beecot, gravely, "what is the story connected with +the brooch?" + +Aaron flung up his hands and backed towards the counter. "No, no. Don't +ask me. What do you mean? I know no story of a brooch--what brooch--I +never saw one--I never--ah"--he broke off in relief as two pale-faced, +spectacled girls entered the shop--"customers. What is it, ladies? How +can I serve you?" And he bustled away behind the counter, giving all his +attention to the customers, yet not without a sidelong look in the +direction of the perplexed Paul. + +That young gentleman, finding it impossible to get further speech with +Aaron, and suspecting from his manner that all was not right, left the +shop. He determined to take the brooch to Wargrove himself, and to ask +his mother about it. Then he could learn why she wanted it back--if not +from her, then from his father. This knowledge might explain the +mystery. + +"Did you sell the brooch?" asked Grexon as they walked up Gwynne Street. + +"No. I have to send it back to my mother, and--" + +"Hold on!" cried Hay, stumbling. "Orange-peel--ah--" + +His stumble knocked Paul into the middle of the road. A motor car was +coming down swiftly. Before Hay could realize what had taken place Paul +was under the wheels of the machine. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +TROUBLE + + +"Oh, Debby," wept Sylvia, "he will die--he will die." + +"Not he, my precious pet," said the handmaiden, fondling the girl's soft +hands within her own hard ones. "Them sort of young men have as many +lives as tom cats. Bless you, my flower, he'll be up and ready, waiting +at the altar, before the fashions change--and that's quick enough," +added Deborah, rubbing her snub nose. "For they're allays an-altering +and a-turning and a-changing of 'em." + +The two were in the sitting-room over the bookshop. It was a +low-ceilinged apartment, long and narrow, with windows back and front, +as it extended the whole depth of the house. The back windows looked out +on the dingy little yard, but these Norman had filled in with stained +glass of a dark color, so that no one could see clearly out of them. Why +he had done so was a mystery to Sylvia, though Deborah suspected the old +man did not want anyone to see the many people who came to the back +steps after seven. From the front windows could be seen the street and +the opposite houses, and on the sills of the windows Sylvia cultivated a +few cheap flowers, which were her delight. The room was furnished with +all manner of odds and ends, flotsam and jetsam of innumerable sales +attended by Aaron. There were Japanese screens, Empire sofas, mahogany +chairs, Persian praying mats, Louis Quatorz tables, Arabic tiles, +Worcester china, an antique piano that might have come out of the ark, +and many other things of epochs which had passed away. Sylvia herself +bloomed like a fair flower amidst this wreckage of former times. + +But the flower drooped at this moment and seemed in danger of dying for +lack of sunshine. That, indeed, had been taken away by the removal of +the young lover. Bart, who had witnessed the accident, returned hastily +to tell Sylvia, and so great had the shock of the dreadful news been, +that she had fainted, whereupon the foolish shopman had been severely +dealt with by Deborah. When Sylvia recovered, however, she insisted upon +seeing Bart again, and then learned that Paul had been taken to Charing +Cross Hospital. + +"They drawed him from under the wheels, miss, as white as a vellum +binding as ain't bin used. That gent as he was a-walking arm-in-arm +with, slipped and knocked Mr. Beecot spinning under the steam engine." +So did Bart describe the latest triumph of civilisation. "He was that +sorry, in a cold-blooded way, as I never saw. He helped to git Mr. +Beecot into a cab and druve off. Then I come to tell you." + +"And a nice way you've told it," grunted Deborah, driving him to the +door. "Get back to the shop, you threadpaper of a man. My husband shall +never be such a fool. The engagement's off." + +"Oh, Debby!" whimpered Bart, who, strange to say, was fondly attached to +the stout servant. But that may have been habit. + +"Get along with you," she said, and banged the door in his face. "And +don't tell master," she bawled after him, "else he'll be fainting again, +drat him for a lily-livered duck!" + +So Aaron never knew that the man who possessed the brooch had been run +over by a motor or was in the hospital. Sylvia and Deborah both tried +to look as cheerful as possible, and schemed how to see the lover who +had thus been laid low. Deborah boldly announced that she was taking +Sylvia to buy her a new dress--that is, to choose it, for the cost was +to be paid out of the servant's wages--and went with her one afternoon +to the hospital. They heard that Paul's arm was broken, and that he had +been slightly hurt about the head. But there was no danger of his dying, +and although they were not allowed to see him the two women returned +greatly cheered. But Sylvia frequently gave way to low spirits, thinking +that at any moment the good symptoms might give way to bad ones. Deborah +always cheered her, and went daily to get news. Always she returned to +say, "He's a-goin' on nicely, and has that color as he might be a +sunset." So Sylvia was bright until her next fit of low spirits came. + +Meanwhile, their attention was taken up by the odd behavior of Aaron. +The old man suddenly announced that he was about to sell the shop and +retire, and displayed a feverish haste in getting rid of his stock, even +at a low price. Whether he sold the jewels so cheap as the books no one +ever knew; but certainly the pundit caste did well out of the sale. +Within the week the shop below was denuded, and there were nothing but +bare shelves, much to the disgust of Bart, who, like Othello, found his +occupation gone. The next day the furniture was to be sold, and when +Deborah was comforting Sylvia at the week's end the fiat had already +gone forth. Whither he intended to transfer his household the old man +did not say, and this, in particular, was the cause of Sylvia's grief. +She dreaded lest she should see her lover no more. This she said to +Deborah. + +"See him you shall, and this very day," cried the maiden, cheerfully. +"Why, there's that dress. I can't make up my mind whether to have +magenter or liliac, both being suited to my complexion. Not that it's +cream of the valley smother in rosebuds as yours is, my angel, but a +dress I must have, and your pa can't deny my taking you to choose." + +"But, Debby, it seems wrong to deceive father in this way." + +"It do," admitted Debby, "and it is. We'll speak this very night--you +and me in duets, as you might say, my pretty. He sha'n't say as we've +gone to hide behind a hedge." + +"But we have, Debby, for six months," said Sylvia. + +"Because I'm a hardened and bold creature," said Deborah, fiercely, "so +don't say it's you as held your tongue, for that you didn't, my +honeycomb. Many and many a time have you said to me, ses you, 'Oh, do +tell my par,' and many a time have I said to you, ses I, 'No, my +precious, not for Joseph,' whoever he may be, drat him!" + +"Now, Debby, you're taking all the blame on yourself!" + +"And who have the broader shoulders, you or me, my flower?" asked Debby, +fondly. "I'm as wicked as Bart, and that's saying much, for the way he +bolts his food is dreadful to think of. Never will I have a corkidile +for a husband. But here," cried Deborah, beginning to bustle, "it's the +dress I'm thinking of. Magenter or lilacs in full boom. What do you +think, my honey-pot?" + +So the end of Deborah's shameless diplomacy was, that the two went, not +to the inferior draper's where Debby bought her extraordinary +garments--though they went there later in a Jesuitical manner--but to +the hospital, where to her joy Sylvia was allowed to see Paul. He looked +thin and pale, but was quite himself and very cheerful. "My darling," he +said, kissing Sylvia's hand, while Debby sat bolt upright near the bed, +with a large handbag, and played propriety by glaring. "Now I shall get +well quickly. The sight of you is better than all medicine." + +"I should think so," sniffed Debby, graciously. "Where's your orchards, +with sich a color." + +"You mean orchids, Debby," laughed Sylvia, who blushed a rosy red. + +"It's them things with lady slippers a size too large for your foot I'm +a-thinking of, pet, and small it is enough for glarse boots as the fairy +story do tell. But I'm a-taking up the precious time of billing and +cooing, so I'll shut my mouth and my ears while you let loose your +affections, my sweet ones, if you'll excuse the liberty, sir, me being +as fond of my lovey there as you is your own self." + +"No, I can't admit that," said Paul, kissing Sylvia's hand again and +holding it while he talked. "Darling, how good of you to come and see +me." + +"It may be for the last time, Paul," said Sylvia, trying to keep back +her tears, "but you'll give me your address, and I'll write." + +"Oh, Sylvia, what is it?" + +"My father has sold the books and is selling the house. We are going +away. Where to I don't know." + +"Tumbucktook would suit him," snapped Debby, suddenly; "he's trying to +get into some rabbit-hole. Why, I don't know." + +"I do," said Paul, lying back thoughtfully. He guessed that Aaron was +moving because of the brooch, though why he should do so was a mystery. +"Sylvia," he asked, "did your father see my accident?" + +"No, Paul. He was busy in the shop. Bart saw it, but Debby said he +wasn't to tell father." + +"Because of the fainting," explained Debby; "the man ain't strong, +though Sampson he may think himself--ah, and Goliath, too, for all I +care. But why ask, Mr. Beecot?" + +Paul did not reply to her, but asked Sylvia another question. "Do you +remember that opal brooch I showed you?" + +"The serpent. Yes?" + +"Well, it's lost." + +"Lost, Paul?" + +The young man nodded mournfully. "I'm very vexed about it," he said in a +low tone; "my mother wanted it back. I was going to send it that very +day, but when I met with the accident it got lost somehow. It wasn't in +my pocket when my clothes were examined, though I asked for it as soon +as I became conscious. My friend also couldn't tell me." + +"Him as caused the smashes," said Deborah, with several sniffs. "A nice +pretty friend, I do say, sir." + +"It wasn't his fault, Deborah. Mr. Hay stumbled on a piece of orange +peel and jostled against me. I was taken by surprise, and fell into the +middle of the road just as the motor came along. Mr. Hay was more than +sorry and has come to see me every day with books and fruit and all +manner of things." + +"The least he could do," snapped the servant, "knocking folks into +orspitals with his fine gent airs. I sawr him out of the winder while +you was in the shop, and there he spoke law-de-daw to a brat of a boy as +ought to be in gaol, seeing he smoked a cigar stump an' him but a +ten-year-old guttersnipe. Ses I, oh, a painted maypole you is, I ses, +with a face as hard as bath bricks. A bad un you are, ses I." + +"No, Deborah, you are wrong. Mr. Hay is my friend." + +"Never shall he be my pretty's friend," declared Debby, obstinately, +"for if all the wickedness in him 'ud come out in his face, pimples +would be as thick as smuts in a London fog. No, Mr. Beecot, call him not +what you do call him, meaning friend, for Judas and Julius Cezar ain't +in it with his Belzebubness." + +Beecot saw it was vain to stop this chatterer, so he turned to talk in +whispers to Sylvia, while Debby murmured on like a brook, only she +spoke loud enough at times to drown the whispering of the lovers. + +"Sylvia," said Paul, softly, "I want you to send your father to me." + +"Yes, Paul. Why do you wish to see him?" + +"Because he must be told of our love. I don't think he will be so hard +as you think, and I am ashamed of not having told him before. I like to +act honorably, and I fear, Sylvia darling, we have not been quite fair +to your father." + +"I think so, too, Paul, and I intended to speak when we went home. But +give me your address, so that if we go away unexpectedly I'll be able to +write to you." + +Beecot gave her his Bloomsbury address, and also that of his old home at +Wargrove in Essex. "Write care of my mother," he said, "and then my +father won't get the letter." + +"Would he be angry if he knew?" asked the girl, timidly. + +Paul laughed to himself at the thought of the turkey-cock's rage. "I +think he would, dearest," said he, "but that does not matter. Be true to +me and I'll be true to you." + +Here the nurse came to turn the visitors away on the plea that Paul had +talked quite enough. Debby flared up, but became meek when Sylvia lifted +a reproving finger. Then Paul asked Debby to seek his Bloomsbury +lodgings and bring to him any letters that might be waiting for him. "I +expect to hear from my mother, and must write and tell her of my +accident," said he. "I don't want to trouble Mr. Hay, but you, Debby--" + +"Bless you, Mr. Beecot, it ain't no trouble," said the servant, +cheerfully, "and better me nor that 'aughty peacock, as ain't to be +trusted, say what you will, seeing criminals is a-looking out of his +eyes, hide one though he may with a piece of glarse, and I ses--" + +"You must go now, please," interposed the nurse. + +"Oh, thank you, ma'am, but my own mistress, as is a lady, do I obey +only." + +"Debby, Debby," murmured Sylvia, and after kissing Paul, a farewell +which Debby strove to hide from the nurse by getting in front of her and +blocking the view, the two departed. The nurse laughed as she arranged +Paul's pillows. + +"What a strange woman, Mr. Beecot." + +"Very," assented Paul, "quite a character, and as true as the needle of +the compass." + +Meanwhile, Debby, ignorant of this flattering description, conducted +Sylvia to the draper's shop, and finally fixed on a hideous magenta +gown, which she ordered to be made quite plain. "With none of your +fal-de-lals," commanded Miss Junk, snorting. "Plain sewing and good +stuff is all I arsk for. And if there's any left over you can send home +a 'at of the same, which I can brighten with a cockes feather as my mar +wore at her wedding. There, my own," added Debby, as they emerged from +the shop and took a 'bus to Gwynne Street, "that's as you'll allways see +me dressed--plain and 'omely, with no more trimmings than you'll see on +a washing-day jint, as I know to my cost from my mar's ecomicals." + +"Economy, Debby." + +"It ain't fur me to be using fine words, Miss Sylvia; cockatoos' +feathers on a goose they'd be in my mouth. The 'ole dixionary kin do for +you my flower, but pothooks and 'angers never was my loves, me having +been at the wash-tub when rising eight, and stout at that." + +In this way Debby discoursed all the way home. On arriving in the room +over the shop they found themselves confronted by Aaron, who looked +less timid than usual, and glowered at the pair angrily. "Where have +you been, Sylvia?" he asked. + +The girl could not tell a direct lie, and looked at Debby. That +handmaiden, less scrupulous, was about to blurt forth a garbled account, +when Sylvia stopped her with a resolute expression on her pretty face. +"No, Debby," she commanded, "let me speak. Father, I have been to see +Mr. Beecot at the Charing Cross Hospital." + +"And you couldn't have my flower do less as a good Smart 'un," put in +Debby, anxiously, so as to avert the storm. "Girls is girls whatever you +may think, sir, of them being dolls and dummies and--" + +"Hold your tongue, woman," cried Norman, fiercely, "let me talk. Why is +Mr. Beecot in the hospital?" + +"He was knocked down," said Sylvia, quietly, "and his arm is broken. A +motor car ran over him in Gwynne Street. He wants to see you, to tell +you that he lost something." + +Norman turned even whiter than he was by nature, and the perspiration +suddenly beaded his bald forehead. "The opal serpent!" he cried. + +"Yes--the brooch he showed me." + +"He showed you!" cried Aaron, with a groan. "And what did he tell you +about it?--what--what--what--the truth or--" He became passionate. + +Debby grasped Aaron's arm and whirled him into the middle of the room +like a feather. Then she planted herself before Sylvia, with her arms +akimbo, and glared like a lioness. "You can pinch me, sir, or gives me +black eyes and red noses if you like, but no finger on my precious, if I +die for it." + +Aaron was staggered by this defiance, and looked fierce for the moment. +Then he became timid again and cast the odd, anxious look over his +shoulder. "Leave the room, Deborah," he said in a mild voice. + +The faithful maid replied by sitting down and folding her arms. "Get +your wild horses, sir," she said, breathing heavily, "for only by them +will I be tugged away." And she snorted so loudly that the room shook. + +"Pshaw," said Norman, crossly, "Sylvia, don't be afraid of me." He wiped +his face nervously. "I only want to know of the brooch. I like the +opals--I wanted to buy it from Mr. Beecot. He is poor--he wants money. I +can give it to him, for--the--the brooch." + +He brought out the last word with a gasp, and again glanced over his +shoulder. Sylvia, not at all afraid, approached and took the old man's +hand. The watchful Deborah moved her chair an inch nearer, so as to be +ready for any emergency. "Dear father," said the girl, "Mr. Beecot +doesn't know where the brooch is. It was stolen from him when the +accident happened. If you will see him he can tell you--" + +"Not where the brooch is," interrupted Aaron, trying to appear calm. +"Well, well, it doesn't matter." He glanced anxiously at Sylvia. "You +believe me, child, when I say it doesn't matter." + +A snort from Deborah plainly said that she had her doubts. Sylvia cast a +reproving glance in her direction, whereupon she rose and committed +perjury. "Of course it don't matter, sir," she said in a loud, hearty +voice which made Aaron wince. "My precious believes you, though lie it +might be. But folk so good as you, sir, who go to church when there +ain't anyone to see, wouldn't tell lies without them a-choking of them +in their blessed throats." + +"How do you know I go to church?" asked Norman, with the snarl of a +trapped animal. + +"Bless you, sir, I don't need glarses at my age, though not so young as +I might be. Church you enjiy, say what you may, you being as regular as +the taxes, which is saying much. Lor' save us all!" + +Deborah might well exclaim this. Her master flung himself forward with +outstretched hands clawing the air, and with his lips lifted like those +of an enraged dog. "You she-cat," he said in a painfully hissing voice, +"you're a spy, are you? They've set you to watch--to drag me to the +gallows--" he broke off with a shiver. His rage cooled as suddenly as it +had heated, and staggering to the sofa he sat down with his face hidden. +"Not that--not that--oh, the years of pain and terror! To come to +this--to this--Deborah--don't sell me. Don't. I'll give you money--I am +rich. But if the opal serpent--if the opal--" He rose and began to beat +the air with his hands. + +Sylvia, who had never seen her father like this, shrank back in terror, +but Deborah, with all her wits about her, though she was wildly +astonished, seized a carafe of water from the table and dashed the +contents in his face. The old man gasped, shuddered, and, dripping wet, +sank again on the sofa. But the approaching fit was past, and when he +looked up after a moment or so, his voice was as calm as his face. +"What's all this?" he asked, feebly. + +"Nothing, father," said Sylvia, kneeling beside him; "you must not doubt +Debby, who is as true as steel." + +"Are you, Deborah?" asked Aaron, weakly. + +"I should think so," she declared, putting her arms round Sylvia, "so +long, sir, as you don't hurt my flower." + +"I don't want to hurt her ..." + +"There's feelings as well as bones," said Deborah, hugging Sylvia so as +to keep her from speaking, "and love you can't squash, try as you may, +though, bless you, I'm not given to keeping company myself." + +"Love," said Aaron, vacantly. He seemed to think more of his troubles +than of Sylvia going to visit a young man. + +"Love and Mr. Beecot," said Deborah. "She wants to marry him." + +"Why, then," said Aaron, calmly, "she shall marry him." + +Sylvia fell at his feet. "Oh, father--father, and I have kept it from +you all these months. Forgive me--forgive me," and she wept. + +"My dear," he said, gently raising her, "there is nothing to forgive." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A NOISE IN THE NIGHT + + +Both Deborah and Sylvia were astonished that Aaron should be so +indifferent about their long concealment. They had expected and dreaded +a storm, yet when the secret was told Mr. Norman appeared to take it as +calmly as though he had known about the matter from the first. Indeed, +he seemed perfectly indifferent, and when he raised Sylvia and made her +sit beside him on the sofa he reverted to the brooch. + +"I shall certainly see Mr. Beecot," he said in a dreamy way. "Charing +Cross Hospital--of course. I'll go to-morrow. I had intended to see +about selling the furniture then, but I'll wait till the next day. I +want the brooch first--yes--yes," and he opened and shut his hand in a +strangely restless manner. + +The girl and the servant looked at one another in a perplexed way, for +it was odd Norman should take the secret wooing of his daughter so +quietly. He had never evinced much interest in Sylvia, who had been left +mainly to the rough attentions of Miss Junk, but sometimes he had +mentioned that Sylvia would be an heiress and fit to marry a poor peer. +The love of Paul Beecot overthrew this scheme, if the man intended to +carry it out, yet he did not seem to mind. Sylvia, thinking entirely of +Paul, was glad, and the tense expression of her face relaxed; but +Deborah sniffed, which was always an intimation that she intended to +unburden her mind on an unpleasant subject. + +"Well, sir," she said, folding her arms and scratching her elbow, "I do +think as offspring ain't lumps of dirt to be trod on in this way. I +arsk"--she flung out her hand towards Sylvia--"Is she your own or is she +not?" + +"She is my daughter," said Aaron, mildly. "Why do you ask?" + +"'Cause you don't take interest you should take in her marriage, which +is made in heaven if ever marriage was." + +Norman raised his head like a war-horse at the sound of a trumpet-call. +"Who talks of marriage?" he asked sharply. + +"Dear father," said Sylvia, gently, "did you not hear? I love Paul, and +I want to marry him." + +Aaron stared at her. "He is not a good match for you," was his reply. + +"He is the man I love," cried Sylvia, tapping with her pretty foot. + +"Love," said Norman, with a melancholy smile, "there is no such thing, +child. Talk of hate--for that exists," he clenched his hands again, +"hate that is as cruel as the grave." + +"Well I'm sure, sir, and what 'ave hates to do with my beauty there? As +to love, exist it do, for Bart's bin talked into filling his 'eart with +the same, by me. I got it out of a _Family Herald_," explained Deborah, +incoherently, "where gentry throw themselves on their knees to arsk +'ands in marriage. Bart was down on his hunkers every night for two +weeks before he proposed proper, and I ses, ses I--" + +"Will you hold your tongue?" interrupted Aaron, angrily; "you gabble +gabble till you make my head ache. You confuse me." + +"I want to clear your 'ead," retorted Miss Junk, "seeing you take no +interest in my pretty's livings." + +Norman placed his fingers under Sylvia's chin, and tipped it up so that +he could gaze into her eyes. "Child, do you love him?" he asked gravely. + +"Oh, father!" whispered Sylvia, and said no more. The expression of her +eyes was enough for Aaron, and he turned away with a sigh. + +"You know nothing about him," he said at length. + +"Begging pardon, sir, for being a gabbler," said Deborah, witheringly, +"but know what he is we do--a fine young gent with long descents and +stone figgers in churches, as Bart knows. Beecot's his par's name, as is +fighting with Mr. Paul by reason of contrariness and 'igh living, him +being as stout as stout." + +"Perhaps you will explain, Sylvia," said Aaron, turning impatiently from +the handmaiden. + +"I should have explained before," said the girl, quietly and very +distinctly. "I loved Paul from the moment I saw him enter the shop six +months ago. He came again and again, and we often talked. Then he told +me of his love, and I confessed mine. Deborah wanted to know who he was, +and if he was a good man. From what I learned of Paul's people he seemed +to be all that was good and generous and high-minded and loving. Deborah +sent Bart one holiday to Wargrove in Essex, where Paul's parents live, +and Bart found that Paul had left home because he wanted to be an +author. Paul is very popular in Wargrove, and everyone speaks well of +him. So Deborah thought we might be engaged, and--" + +"And have you a word to say against it, sir?" demanded Deborah, +bristling. + +"No," said Aaron, after a pause, "but you should have told me." + +"We should," admitted Sylvia, quickly, "but Paul and I feared lest you +should say 'No.'" + +"My child," said the old man, gravely, "so long as you wed a kind and +good man I have nothing to say. Sylvia, I have worked hard these many +years and have made much money, which, by will, I have left to you. When +I die you will be rich. He is poor." + +"Paul--yes, he is poor. But what of that?" + +"Many fathers might think that an objection," went on Aaron without +noticing her remark. "But I do not. You shall marry Paul before I go to +America." + +"Lor'!" cried Deborah, "whatever are you a-goin' there for, sir?" + +"That's my business," said Aaron, dryly, "but I go as soon as I can. I +have sold the books; and the furniture of these rooms shall be disposed +of before the end of the week. My gems I take to Amsterdam for sale, and +I go abroad next week. When I return in a fortnight you can marry Mr. +Beecot. He is a good young man. I quite approve of him." + +Deborah snorted. "Seems to me as though you was glad to get quit of my +pretty," she murmured, but too low to be overheard. + +"Oh, father," cried Sylvia, putting her arms round Norman's neck, "how +good you are! I _do_ love him so." + +"I hope the love will continue," said her father, cynically, and +removing the girl's arms, to the secret indignation of Deborah. "I shall +call on Mr. Beecot to-morrow and speak to him myself about the matter. +If we come to an arrangement, for I have a condition to make before I +give my entire consent, I shall allow you a certain sum to live on. Then +I shall go to America, and when I die you will inherit all my +money--when I die," he added, casting the usual look over his shoulders. +"But I won't die for many a long day," he said, with a determined air. +"At least, I hope not." + +"You are healthy enough, father." + +"Yes! Yes--but healthy people die in queer ways." + +Deborah intervened impatiently. "I'm glad you wish to make my lily-queen +happy, sir," said she, nodding, "but change your mind you may if Mr. +Beecot don't fall in." + +"Fall in?" queried Aaron. + +"With this arrangements--what is they?" + +Aaron looked undecided, then spoke impulsively, walking towards the door +as he did so. "Let Mr. Beecot give me that opal serpent," he said, "and +he shall have Sylvia and enough to live on." + +"But, father, it is lost," cried Sylvia, in dismay. + +She spoke to the empty air. Norman had hastily passed through the door +and was descending the stairs quicker than usual. Sylvia, in her +eagerness to explain, would have followed, but Deborah drew her back +with rough gentleness. "Let him go, lily-queen," she said; "let sleeping +dogs lie if you love me." + +"Deborah, what do you mean?" asked Sylvia, breathlessly. + +"I don't mean anything that have a meaning," said Miss Junk, +enigmatically, "but your par's willing to sell you for that dratted +brooch, whatever he wants it for. And you to be put against a brooch my +honey-pot. I'm biling--yes, biling hard," and Deborah snorted in proof +of the extremity of her rage. + +"Never mind, Debby. Father consents that I shall marry Paul, and will +give us enough to live on. Then Paul will write great books, and his +father will ask him home again. Oh--oh!" Sylvia danced round the room +gaily, "how happy I am." + +"And happy you shall be if I die for it," shouted Deborah, screwing up +her face, for she was not altogether satisfied, "though mysteries I +don't hold with, are about. America--what's he going to America for? and +with that brooch, and him locking us up every night to sleep in cellars. +Police-courts and Old Baileys," said Miss Junk, frowning. "I don't like +it, Sunbeam, and when you're married to Mr. Beecot I'll be that happy as +never was." + +Sylvia opened her grey eyes in wide surprise and a little alarm. "Oh, +Debby, you don't think there's anything wrong with father?" + +Miss Junk privately thought there was a good deal wrong, but she folded +Sylvia in her stout arms and dismissed the question with a snort. "No, +lovey, my own, there ain't. It's just my silly way of going on. Orange +buds and brides the sun shines on, is your fortunes, Miss Sylvia, though +how I'm going to call you Mrs. Beecot beats me," and Deborah rubbed her +nose. + +"I shall always be Sylvia to you." + +"Bless you, lady-bird, but don't ask me to live with Mr. Beecot's +frantic par, else there'll be scratchings if he don't do proper what he +should do and don't. So there." Deborah swung her arms like a windmill. +"My mind's easy and dinner's waiting, for, love or no love, eat you +must, to keep your insides' clockwork." + +When Bart heard the joyful news he was glad, but expressed regret that +Norman should go to America. He did not wish to lose his situation, and +never thought the old man would take him to the States also. Deborah +vowed that if Aaron did want to transport Bart--so she put it--she would +object. Then she unfolded a scheme by which, with Bart's savings and her +own, they could start a laundry. "And I knows a drying ground," said +Deborah, while talking at supper to her proposed husband, "as is lovely +and cheap. One of them suburbs on the line to Essex, where my pretty +will live when her husband's frantic par makes it up. Jubileetown's the +place, and Victoria Avenue the street. The sweetest cottage at twenty +pun' a year as I ever set eyes on. And m'sister as is married to a +bricklayer is near to help with the family." + +"The family?" echoed Bart, looking scared. + +"In course--they will come, though it's early to be thinking of names +for 'em. I'll do the washing, Bart, and you'll take round the cart, so +don't you think things 'ull be otherwise." + +"I don't want 'em to," said Bart, affectionately. "I always loved you, +Debby darling." + +"Ah," said Miss Junk, luxuriously, "I've taught you to, in quite a +genteel way. What a scrubby little brat you were, Bart!" + +"Yuss," said Mr. Tawsey, eating rapidly. "I saw myself to-day." + +"In a looking-glarse?" + +"Lor', Debby--no. But there wos a brat all rags and dirty face and sauce +as I was when you saw me fust. He come into the shop as bold as brass +and arsked fur a book. I ses, 'What do you want with a book?' and he +ses, looking at the shelves so empty, 'I sees your sellin' off,' he ses, +so I jumped up to clip him over the 'ead, when he cut. Tray's his name, +Debby, and he's the kid as talked to that cold gent Mr. Beecot brought +along with him when he got smashed." + +"Tray--that's a dog's name," said Deborah, "old dog Tray, and quite good +enough for guttersnipes. As to Mr. Hay, don't arsk me to say he's good, +for that he ain't. What's he want talking with gutter Trays?" + +"And what do gutter Trays want with books?" asked Bart, "though to be +sure 'twas impertinence maybe." + +Deborah nodded. "That it was, and what you'd have done when you was a +scrubby thing. Don't bolt your food, but make every bit 'elp you to +'ealth and long living. You won't 'ave gormandising when we've got the +laundry, I can tell you." + +Next day Aaron went off in the afternoon to Charing Cross Hospital, +after holding a conversation with a broker who had agreed to buy the +derelict furniture. The shop, being empty, was supposed to be closed, +but from force of habit Bart took down the shutters and lurked +disconsolately behind the bare counter. Several old customers who had +not heard of the sale entered, and were disappointed when they learned +that Aaron was leaving. Their lamentations made Bart quite low-spirited. +However, he was polite to all, but his manners broke down when a Hindoo +entered to sell boot-laces. "I ain't got nothing to sell, and don't want +to buy nohow," said Bart, violently. + +The man did not move, but stood impassively in the doorway like a bronze +statue. He wore a dirty red turban carelessly wound round his small +head, an unclean blouse which had once been white, circled by a yellow +handkerchief of some coarse stuff, dark blue trousers and slippers with +curled-up toes on naked feet. His eyes were black and sparkling and he +had a well-trimmed moustache which contrasted oddly with his shabby +attire. "Hokar is poor: Hokar need money," he whined in a monotone, but +with his eyes glancing restlessly round the shop. "Give Hokar--give," +and he held out the laces. + +"Don't want any, I tell you," shouted Bart, tartly. "I'll call a peeler +if you don't git." + +"Ho! ho! who stole the donkey?" cried a shrill voice at the door, and +from behind the hawker was poked a touzelled curly head, and a grinning +face which sadly needed washing. "You leave this cove alone, won't y? +He's a pal o' mine. D'y see?" + +"You git along with your pal then," cried Bart, indignantly. "If he +don't understand King's English, you do, Tray." + +Tray darted into the middle of the shop and made a face at the indignant +shopman by putting his fingers in his mouth to widen it, and pulling +down his eyes. Hokar never smiled, but showed no disposition to move. +Bart, angered at this blocking up the doorway, and by Tray's war dance, +jumped the counter. He aimed a blow at the guttersnipe's head, but +missed it and fell full length. The next moment Tray was dancing on his +body with his tongue out derisively. Then Hokar gave a weird smile. +"Kalee!" he said to himself. "Kalee!" + +How the scene would have ended it is impossible to say, but while Bart +strove to rise and overturn Tray, Aaron walked in past the Indian. +"What's this?" he asked sharply. Tray stopped his dancing on Bart's +prostrate body and gave a shrill whistle by placing two dirty fingers in +his mouth. Then he darted between Norman's legs and made off. Hokar +stood staring at the bookseller, and after a pause pointed with his +finger. "One--eye," he said calmly, "no good!" + +Aaron was about to inquire what he meant by this insult, when the Indian +walked to the counter and placed something thereon, after which he moved +away, and his voice was heard dying away down the street. "Hokar is +poor--Hokar need money. Hokar, Christian." + +"What's this?" demanded Norman, again assisting Bart roughly to his +feet. + +"Blest if I know," replied Tawsey, staring; "they're mad, I think," and +he related the incoming of the Indian and the street arab. "As for that +Tray," said he, growling, "I'll punch his blooming 'ead when I meets him +agin, dancing on me--yah. Allays meddlin' that brat, jus' as he wos +when Mr. Beecot was smashed." + +"You saw that accident?" asked his master, fixing his one eye on him. + +"Yuss," said Bart, slowly, "I did, but Deborah she told me to say +nothink. Mr. Beecot was smashed, and his friend, the cold eye-glarsed +gent, pulled him from under the wheels of that there machine with Tray +to help him, and between 'em they carried him to the pavement." + +"Humph!" said Aaron, resting his chin on his hand and speaking more to +himself than to his assistant, "so Tray was on the spot. Humph!" Bart, +having brushed himself, moved behind the counter and took up what Hokar +had left. "Why, it's brown sugar!" he exclaimed, touching it with his +tongue, "coarse brown sugar--a handful." He stretched out his palm +heaped with the sugar to his master. "What do that furrein pusson mean +by leaving dirt about?" + +"I don't know, nor do I care," snapped Aaron, who appeared to be out of +temper. "Throw it away!" which Bart did, after grumbling again at the +impudence of the street hawker. + +Norman did not go upstairs, but descended to the cellar, where he busied +himself in looking over the contents of the three safes. In these, were +many small boxes filled with gems of all kind, cut and uncut: also +articles of jewellery consisting of necklaces, bracelets, stars for the +hair, brooches, and tiaras. The jewels glittered in the flaring +gaslight, and Aaron fondled them as though they were living things. "You +beauties," he whispered to himself, with his one eye gloating over his +hoard. "I'll sell you, though it goes to my heart to part with lovely +things. But I must--I must--and then I'll go--not to America--oh, dear +no! but to the South Seas. They won't find me there--no--no! I'll be +rich, and happy, and free. Sylvia can marry and live happy. But the +serpent," he said in a harsh tone, "oh, the opal serpent! The +pawnbroker's shop. Stowley--yes--I know it. I know it. Stowley. They +want it back; but they sha'n't. I'll buy it from Beecot by giving him +Sylvia. It's lost--lost." He looked over his shoulder as he spoke in a +terrified whisper. "Perhaps they have it, and then--then," he leaped up +and flung the armful of baubles he held on to the deal table, "and +then--I must get away--away." + +He pulled out three or four coarse sacks of a small size and filled +these with the jewellery. Then he tied a cord round the neck of each +sack and sealed it. Afterwards, with a sigh, he closed the safe and +turned down the gas. He did not leave by the trap, which led through the +shop, but opened and locked the back door of the cellar, ascended the +steps and went out into the street through the side passage. "If they +come," he thought as he walked into the gathering night, "they won't +find these. No! no!" and he hugged the bags closely. + +Sylvia upstairs waited anxiously for the return of her father from the +hospital, as she both wanted to hear how her lover was progressing and +what he said about the permission to marry being given. But Aaron did +not come to supper, as was his usual custom. Bart said, when inquiries +were made, that the master had gone down into the cellar and was +probably there. Meanwhile, according to his usual habit, he put up the +shutters and departed. Sylvia and Deborah ate their frugal meal and +retired to bed, the girl much disturbed at the absence of her father. +Outside, in the street, the passers-by diminished in number, and as the +night grew darker and the lamps were lighted hardly a person remained in +Gwynne Street. It was not a fashionable thoroughfare, and after +nightfall few people came that way. By eleven o'clock there was not a +soul about. Even the one policeman who usually perambulated the street +was conspicuous by his absence. + +Sylvia, in her bed, had fallen into a troubled sleep, and was dreaming +of Paul, but not happily. She seemed to see him in trouble. Then she +woke suddenly, with all her senses alert, and sat up. Faintly she heard +a wild cry, and then came the twelve strokes of the church bells +announcing midnight. Breathlessly she waited, but the cry was not +repeated. In the darkness she sat up listening until the quarter chimed. +Then the measured footsteps of a policeman were heard passing down the +street and dying away. Sylvia was terrified. Why, she hardly knew: but +she sprang from her bed and hurried into Deborah's room. "Wake up," she +said, "there's something wrong." + +Deborah was awake in a moment and lighted the lamp. On hearing Sylvia's +story she went down the stairs followed by the girl. The door at the +bottom, strange to say, was not locked. Deborah opened this, and peering +into the shop gave a cry of alarm and horror. + +Lying on the floor was Aaron, bound hand and foot. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A TERRIBLE NIGHT + + +"Go back!--go back, my precious!" cried Deborah, her first thought being +how to spare Sylvia the sight. + +But the girl, remembering that agonized cry which had awakened her, +faint and far away as it sounded, pushed past the servant and ran into +the middle of the shop. The lamp, held high by Deborah over her head, +cast a bright circle of light on the floor, and in the middle of this +Sylvia saw her father breathing heavily. His hands were bound behind his +back in a painful way, his feet were tightly fastened, and his head +seemed to be attached to the floor. At least, when the body (as it +seemed from its stillness) suddenly writhed, it rolled to one side, but +the head remained almost motionless. The two women hung back, clutching +each other's hands, and were almost too horrified to move at the sight. +"Look! Look!" cried Sylvia, gasping, "the mouth!" Deborah looked and +gave a moan. Aaron's mouth was rigidly closed under a glittering jewel. +Deborah bent down, still moaning, so great did the horror of the thing +paralyse her speech, and saw the lights flash back from many diamonds: +she saw bluish gleams and then a red sparkle like the ray of the setting +sun. It was the opal serpent brooch, and Aaron's lips were fastened +together with the stout pin. On his mouth and across his agonised face +in which the one eye gleamed with terrific meaning the jewelled serpent +seemed to writhe. + +"Oh, poor soul!" cried Deborah, falling on her knees with the lamp still +held above her head. "Sylvia see--" + +The girl gasped again, and impulsively knelt also, trying with nerveless +fingers to unfasten the cruel pin which sealed the man's lips. He still +lived, for they heard him breathing and saw the gleaming eye: but even +as they looked the face grew black: the eye opened and closed +convulsively. Deborah set down the lamp and tried to raise the head. She +could not lift it from the floor. Then the bound feet swung in the air +and fell again with a dull thud. The eye remained wide open, staring in +a glassy, manner: the breathing had stopped: and the body was +motionless. "He's dead," said Deborah, leaping to her feet and catching +away the girl. "Help! Help!" + +Her loud voice rang fiercely through the empty shop and echoed round and +round. But there came no answering cry. Not a sound could be heard in +the street. On the bare floor was the lamp shining on that dreadful +sight: the body with sealed lips, and the glittering jewel, and leaning +against the wall were the two women, Deborah staring at her dead master, +but with Sylvia's eyes pressed against her bosom so that she might not +witness the horror. And the stillness deepened weirdly every moment. + +Sylvia tried to move her head, but Deborah pressed it closer to her +breast. "Don't, my pretty--don't," she whispered harshly. + +"I must--I--ah!" the girl freed her head from those kind arms with a +wrench, and looked at the gruesome sight. She staggered forward a few +steps, and then fell back. Deborah received her in her arms, and, +thankful that Sylvia had fainted, carried her up the stairs to lay the +unconscious girl on her own bed. Then she descended rapidly, locked the +door leading from the shop to the stairs, and again looked at the body. +The time she had been away was about seven or eight minutes, and the +body still remained with the one open eye staring meaninglessly at the +ceiling. Deborah, drawn by fascination like a bird by a serpent, crept +forward and touched the head. It moved, and she again tried to lift it. +This time she found she could do so. The head she lifted against her +breast, and then laid it down with horror when she found the bosom of +her nightgown was stained with blood. Pulling her wits together, for she +felt that she needed them every one, she examined the head and neck. To +her horror she found round the throat a strong thin copper wire, which +disappeared through a hole in the floor. Apparently this had been pulled +so tightly as to keep the head down and to choke the old man, and so +cruelly as to cut deeply into the flesh. With a moan of horror Deborah +dropped the head and ran to the trap-door in the corner. If anywhere, +those who had murdered Aaron Norman were lurking in the cellar. But the +trap-door would not open, and then she remembered that it was closed by +a bolt underneath. She could not reach the midnight assassin that way. + +"The front door," she gasped, and ran to unbolt it. The bolts were +easily removed, but the door was also locked, and Aaron usually had the +key deposited nightly in the cellar by Bart. Repugnant as it was for her +to approach the dead body, Deborah again went forward and felt in the +pockets and loose clothing. The man was completely dressed, even to an +overcoat which he wore. But she could not find the key and wondered what +she was to do. Probably the key had been hung up in the cellar as usual. +Necessity being the mother of invention, she remembered that the +window-glass was fragile, and ran up in the hope of breaking through. +But the stout shutters were up, so Deborah found that she was sealed in +the house. Almost in a state of distraction, for by this time her nerve +had given way, she unlocked the door to the stairs and ran up three +steps at a time to the sitting-room. Here she opened the window and +scrambled out on to the ledge among Sylvia's flower-pots. Just as she +was wondering how she could get down, the measured tread of a policeman +was heard, and by craning her neck Deborah saw him coming leisurely +along the street, swinging his dark lantern on the windows and doors. It +was a moonlight night and the street was extraordinarily well lighted as +the moon shone straightly between the houses. Gathering her strength for +a last effort, Deborah yelled as only she could yell, and saw the +startled officer spinning round, looking up and down and sideways to see +where the shrieks came from. "Up--up--oh, look up, you fool!" screamed +Deborah. "Murder--oh, murder! Burst in the door, call the police, drat +you! Help!--help!" + +By this time she was the centre of a circle of bright light, for the +policeman had located her, and his lantern was flashing on her white +nightgown as she clung to the window-sill. + +"What are you making that noise for?" called up the officer, gruffly. + +"Murder, you fool!" screamed Deborah. "Master's murdered. Number +forty-five--the door's locked--break it open. Police!--police!" + +Before she finished the sentence the officer blew his whistle shrilly +and ran to the door of the shop, against which he placed his shoulder. +Deborah climbed in again by the window, and ran down again, but even +then, in her excitement and horror, she did not forget to lock the door +leading to the stairs, so that Sylvia might not be disturbed. As she +descended she flung a thick shawl over her shoulders, which she had +caught up when leaving her room, though for the rest she had nothing on +but a nightgown. But the poor woman was too terrified to be troubled by +any scruples at the moment, and reached the shop to hear heavy blows on +the door. Between the thuds Deborah could hear footsteps running inward +from every quarter. "I ain't got the key!" she shrieked through the +keyhole; "break in the door, drat you! Murder!--murder!" + +From the noise she made those without concluded that some terrible crime +was taking place within, and redoubled their efforts. Deborah had just +time to leap back after a final scream when the door fell flat on the +floor, and three policemen sprang into the room with drawn batons and +their lights flashing like stars. The lamp was still on the floor +shedding its heavy yellow light on the corpse. "Master!" gasped Deborah, +pointing a shaking finger. "Dead--the--the cellar--the--" and here she +made as to drop. A policeman caught her in his arms, but the woman shook +herself free. "I sha'n't faint--no--I sha'n't faint," she gasped, "the +cellar--look--look--" She ran forward and raised the head of the dead +man. When the officers saw the dangling slack wire disappearing through +a hole in the floor they grasped the situation. "The passage outside!" +cried Deborah, directing operations; "the trap-door," she ran to it, +"fast bolted below, and them murdering people are there." + +"How many are there?" asked a policeman, while several officers ran +round the back through the side passage. + +"Oh, you dratted fool, how should I know!" cried Deborah, fiercely; +"there may be one and there may be twenty. Go and catch them--you're +paid for it. Send to number twenty Park Street, Bloomsbury, for Bart." + +"Who is Bart?" + +"Go and fetch him," cried Deborah, furious at this delay; "number twenty +Park Street, Bloomsbury. Oh, what a night this is! I'm a-goin' to see +Miss Sylvia, who has fainted, and small blame," and she made for the +locked door. An officer came after her. "Go away," shrieked Deborah, +pushing him back. "I've got next to nothink on, and my pretty is ill. Go +away and do your business." + +Seeing she was distracted and hardly knew what she was saying, the man +drew back, and Deborah ran up the stairs to Sylvia's room, where she +found the poor girl still unconscious. + +Meanwhile, an Inspector had arrived, and one of the policemen was +detailing all that had occurred from the time Deborah had given the +alarm at the window. The Inspector listened quietly to everything, and +then examined the body. "Strangled with a copper wire," he said, looking +up. "Go for a doctor one of you. It goes through the floor," he added, +touching the wire which still circled the throat, "and must have been +pulled from below. Examine the cellar." + +Even as he spoke, and while one zealous officer ran off for a medical +man, there was a grating sound and the trap-door was thrown open. A +policeman leaped into the shop and saluted when he saw his superior. By +this time the gas had been lighted. "We've broken down the back door, +sir," said he, "the cellar door--it was locked but not bolted. Nothing +in the cellar, everything in order, but that wire," he pointed to the +means used for strangling, "dangled from the ceiling and a cross piece +of wood is bound to the lower end." + +"Who does the shop belong to?" + +"Aaron Norman," said the policeman whose beat it was; "he's a +second-hand bookseller, a quiet, harmless, timid sort of man." + +"Anyone about?" + +"No, sir. I passed down Gwynne Street at about a quarter past twelve and +all seemed safe. When I come back later--it might have been twenty +minutes and more--say twenty-five--I saw the woman who was down here +clinging to a window on the first floor, and shouting murder. I gave the +summons, sir, and we broke open the door." + +Inspector Prince laid down the dead man's head and rose to his feet with +a nod. "I'll go upstairs and see the woman," he said; "tell me when the +doctor comes." + +Upstairs he examined the sitting-room, and lighted the gas therein; then +he mounted another storey after looking through the kitchen and +dining-room. In a bedroom he found an empty bed, but heard someone +talking in a room near at hand. Flinging open the door he heard a +shriek, and found himself confronted by Deborah, who had hastily flung +on some clothes. "Don't come in," she cried, extending her arm, "for I'm +just getting Miss Sylvia round." + +"Nonsense," said the Inspector, and pushing her roughly aside he stepped +into the room. On the bed lay Sylvia, apparently still unconscious, but +as the man looked at her she opened her eyes with a long sigh. Deborah +put her arms round the girl and began to talk to her in an endearing +way. Shortly Sylvia sat up, bewildered. "What is it?" she asked. Then +her eyes fell on the policeman. "Oh, where is my father?" + +"He's dead, pretty," said Deborah, fondling her. "Don't take on so." + +"Yes--I remember--the body on the floor--the serpent across the +mouth--oh--oh!" and she fainted again. + +"There!" cried Deborah, with bitter triumph, "see what you've done." + +"Come--come," said Inspector Prince, though as gently as possible. "I +am in charge of this case. Tell me what has happened." + +"If you'd use your blessed eyes you'd see murder has happened," said +Miss Junk, savagely. "Let me attend to my pretty." + +Just at this moment a tall young man entered the room. It was the +doctor. "The policemen said you were up here," he said in a pleasant +voice. "I've examined the body, Inspector. The man is quite dead--he has +been strangled--and in a cruel manner with that copper wire, which has +cut into the throat, to say nothing of this," and the doctor held out +the brooch. + +"That, drat it!" cried Deborah, vigorously, "it's the cause of it all, I +do believe, if I died in saying so," and she began to rub Sylvia's hands +vigorously. + +"Who is this young lady?" asked the doctor; "another patient?" + +"And well she may be," said Miss Junk. "Call yourself a doctor, and +don't help me to bring her to." + +"Do what you can," said Prince, "and you," he added to Deborah, "come +down with me. I wish to ask you a few questions." + +Deborah was no fool and saw that the Inspector was determined to make +her do what he wanted. Besides, Sylvia was in the hands of the doctor, +and Deborah felt that he could do more than she, to bring the poor girl +to her senses. After a few parting injunctions she left the room and +went downstairs with the Inspector. The police had made no further +discovery. + +Prince questioned not only the Gwynne Street policeman, who had given +his report, but all others who had been in the vicinity. But they could +tell him nothing. No one suspicious had been seen leaving Gwynne Street +north or south, so, finding he could learn nothing in this direction, +Prince turned his attention to the servant. "Now, then, what do you +know?" he asked. "Don't say anything likely to incriminate yourself." + +"Me!" shouted Deborah, bouncing up with a fiery face. "Don't you be +taking away my character. Why, I know no more who have done it than a +babe unborn, and that's stupid enough, I 'opes, Mr. Policeman. Ho! +indeed, and we pays our taxes to be insulted by you, Mr. Policeman." She +was very aggravating, and many a man would have lost his temper. But +Inspector Prince was a quiet and self-controlled officer, and knew how +to deal with this violent class of women. He simply waited till Deborah +had exhausted herself, and then gently asked her a few questions. +Finding he was reasonable, Deborah became reasonable on her part, and +replied with great intelligence. In a few minutes the Inspector, by +handling her deftly, learned all that had taken place on that terrible +night, from the time Sylvia had started up in bed at the sound of that +far-distant cry of a soul in agony. "And that, from what Miss Sylvia +says," ended Deborah, "was just before the church clock struck the hour +of twelve." + +"You came down a quarter of an hour later?" + +"I did, when Miss Sylvia woke me," said Deborah; "she was frightened out +of her seven senses, and couldn't get up at once. Yes--it was about +twenty minutes after the hour we come down to see--It," and the woman, +strong nerved as she was, shuddered. + +"Humph," said the Inspector, "the assassin had time to escape." + +"Begging your pardon, sir, them, or him, or her, or it as murdered +master was below in the cellar when we saw the corp--not that it was +what you'd call a corp then." + +"Will you say precisely what you mean?" + +Deborah did so, and with such wealth of detail that even the hardened +Inspector felt the creeps down his official back. There was something +terribly merciless about this crime. The man had been bound like a +sheep for the slaughter; his mouth had been sealed with the brooch so +that he could not cry out, and then in the sight of his child and +servant he had been slowly strangled by means of the copper wire which +communicated with the cellar. One of the policemen brought up an auger +which evidently had been used to bore the hole for the wire to pass +through, for the fresh sawdust was still in its whorls. "Who does this +belong to?" Prince asked Deborah. + +"It's Bart's," said Deborah, staring; "he was using it along with other +tools to make some deal boxes for master, who was going away. I expect +it was found in the cellar in the tool-box, for Bart allays brought it +in tidy-like after he'd done his work in the yard, weather being fine, +of course," ended Deborah, sniffing. + +"Where is this Bart?" + +"In bed like a decent man if he's to be my husband, which he is," said +Miss Junk, tartly. "I told one of them idle bobbies to go and fetch him +from Bloomsbury." + +"One has gone," said another policeman. "Bart Tawsey isn't he?" + +"Mr. Bartholemew Tawsey, if you please," said the servant, grandly. "I +only hope he'll be here soon to protect me." + +"You're quite safe," said Prince, dryly, whereat there was a smile on +the faces of his underlings, for Deborah in her disordered dress and +with her swollen, flushed, excited face was not comely. "But what about +this brooch you say is the cause of it all?" + +Deborah dropped with an air of fatigue. "If you kill me I can't talk of +it now," she protested. "The brooch belonged to Mr. Paul Beecot." + +"And where is he?" + +"In the Charing Cross Hospital if you want to know, and as he's engaged +to my pretty you needn't think he done it--so there." + +"I am accusing no one," said the Inspector, grimly, "but we must get to +the bottom of this horrible crime." + +"Ah, well you may call it that," wailed Deborah, "with that serping on +his poor mouth and him wriggling like an eel to get free. But 'ark, +there's my pretty a-calling," and Miss Junk dashed headlong from the +shop shouting comfort to Sylvia as she went. + +Prince looked at the dead man and at the opal serpent which he held in +his hand. "This at one end of the matter, and that at the other. What is +the connecting link between this brooch and that corpse?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE VERDICT OF THE JURY + + +As may be guessed, the murder of Aaron Norman caused a tremendous +sensation. One day the name was unknown, the next and it was in the +mouths of the millions. The strange circumstances of the crime, the +mystery which shrouded it, the abominable cruelty of the serpent brooch +having been used to seal the man's lips while he was being slowly +strangled, deepened the interest immensely. Here, at last was a murder +worthy of Wilkie Collins's or Gaboriau's handling; such a crime as one +expected to read of in a novel, but never could hope to hear of in real +life. Fact had for once poached on the domains of fiction. + +But notwithstanding all the inquiries which were made, and all the +vigilance of the police, and all the newspaper articles, and all the +theories sent by people who knew nothing whatever of the matter, nothing +tangible was discovered likely to lead to a discovery of the assassins +or assassin. It was conjectured that two people at least had been +concerned in the committal of the crime, as, weak physically though he +was, the deceased would surely not have allowed himself to be bound by +one person, however strong that person might be. In such a case there +would certainly have been a scuffle, and as the daughter of the murdered +man heard his cry for help--which was what Sylvia did hear--she would +certainly have heard the noise of a rough-and-tumble struggle such as +Norman would have made when fighting for his life. But that single +muffled cry was all that had been heard, and then probably the brooch +had been pinned on the mouth to seal it for ever. Later the man had been +slowly strangled, and in the sight of his horrified daughter. + +Poor Sylvia received a severe shock after witnessing that awful sight, +and was ill for some days. The faithful Deborah attended to her like a +slave, and would allow no one, save the doctor, to enter the sick-room. +Bart Tawsey, who had been summoned to Gwynne Street from his bed, +remained in the empty shop and attended to any domestic duties which +Miss Junk required to be performed. She made him cook viands for Sylvia +and for herself, and, as he had been trained by her before, to act as an +emergency cook, he did credit to her tuition. Also Bart ran messages, +saw that the house was well locked and bolted at night, and slept on a +hastily-improvised bed under the counter. Even Deborah's strong nerves +were shaken by the horrors she had witnessed, and she insisted that Bart +should remain to protect her and Sylvia. Bart was not over-strong, but +he was wiry, and, moreover, had the courage of a cock sparrow, so while +he was guarding the house Deborah had no fears, and could attend +altogether to her sick mistress. + +One of the first people to call on Miss Norman was a dry, wizen monkey +of a man, who announced himself as Jabez Pash, the solicitor of the +deceased. He had, so he said, executed Aaron's legal business for years, +and knew all his secrets. Yet, when questioned by the police, he could +throw no light on the murder. But he knew of something strange connected +with the matter, and this he related to the detective who was now in +charge of the case. + +This officer was a chatty, agreeable, pleasant-faced man, with brown +eyes, brown hair and brown skin. Also, to match his face, no doubt, he +wore brown clothes, brown boots, a brown hat and a brown tie--in fact, +in body, face and hands and dress he was all brown, and this prevalent +color produced rather a strange effect. "He must ha' bin dyed," said +Miss Junk when she set eyes on him. "But brown is better nor black, Miss +Sylvia, though black you'll have to wear for your poor par, as is gone +to a better land, let us hope, though there's no knowing." + +The brown man, who answered to the name of Hurd, or, as he genially +described himself, "Billy" Hurd, saw Mr. Pash, the lawyer, after he had +examined everyone he could lay hold of in the hopes of learning +something likely to elucidate the mystery. "What do you know of this +matter, sir?" asked the brown man, pleasantly. + +Pash screwed up his face in a manner worthy of his monkey looks. He +would have been an absolute image of one with a few nuts in his cheek, +and as he talked in a chattering sort of way, very fast and a trifle +incoherent, the resemblance was complete. "I know nothing why my +esteemed client should meet with such a death," he said, "but I may +mention that on the evening of his death he called round to see me and +deposited in my charge four bags of jewels. At least he said they were +jewels, for the bags are sealed, and of course I never opened them." + +"Can I see those bags?" asked Hurd, amiably. + +The legal monkey hopped into the next room and beckoned Hurd to follow. +Shortly the two were looking into the interior of a safe wherein reposed +four bags of coarse white canvas sealed and tied with stout cords. "The +odd thing is," said Mr. Pash, chewing his words, and looking so absurdly +like a monkey that the detective felt inclined to call him "Jacko," +"that on the morning of the murder, and before I heard anything about +it, a stranger came with a note from my esteemed client asking that the +bags should be handed over." + +"What sort of a man?" + +"Well," said Pash, fiddling with his sharp chin, "what you might call a +seafaring man. A sailor, maybe, would be the best term. He was stout and +red-faced, but with drink rather than with weather, I should think, and +he rolled on his bow-legs in a somewhat nautical way." + +"What name did he give?" asked Hurd, writing this description rapidly in +his note-book. + +"None. I asked him who he was, and he told me--with many oaths I regret +to say--to mind my own business. He insisted on having the bags to take +back to Mr. Norman, but I doubted him--oh, yes," added the lawyer, +shrewdly, "I doubted him. Mr. Norman always did his own business, and +never, in my experience of him, employed a deputy. I replied to the +unknown nautical man--a sailor--as you might say; he certainly smelt of +rum, which, as we know, is a nautical drink--well, Mr. Hurd, I replied +that I would take the bags round to Mr. Norman myself and at once. This +office is in Chancery Lane, as you see, and not far from Gwynne Street, +so I started with the bags." + +"And with the nautical gentleman?" + +"No. He said he would remain behind until I returned, so as to receive +my apology when I had seen my esteemed client and become convinced of +the nautical gentleman's rectitude. When I reached Gwynne Street I found +that Mr. Norman was dead, and at once took the bags back to replace them +in this safe, where you now behold them." + +"And this sailor?" asked Hurd, eyeing Mr. Pash keenly. + +The lawyer sucked in his cheeks and put his feet on the rungs of his +chair. "Oh, my clerk tells me he left within five minutes of my +departure, saying he could not wait." + +"Have you seen him since?" + +"I have not seen him since. But I am glad that I saved the property of +my client." + +"Was Norman rich?" + +"Very well off indeed, but he did not make his money out of his +book-selling business. In fact," said Pash, putting the tips of his +fingers delicately together, "he was rather a good judge of jewels." + +"And a pawnbroker," interrupted Hurd, dryly. "I have heard all about +that from Bart Tawsey, his shopman. Skip it and go on." + +"I can only go on so far as to say that Miss Norman will probably +inherit a fortune of five thousand a year, beside the jewels contained +in those bags. That is," said Mr. Pash, wisely, "if the jewels be not +redeemed by those who pawned them." + +"Is there a will?" asked Hurd, rising to take his leave. + +Pash screwed up his eyes and inflated his cheeks, and wriggled so much +that the detective expected an acrobatic performance, and was +disappointed when it did not come off. "I really can't be sure on +that point," he said softly. "I have not yet examined the papers +contained in the safe of my deceased and esteemed client. He would +never allow me to make his will. Leases--yes--he has some +house-property--mortgages--yes--investments--yes--he entrusted me with +all his business save the important one of making a will. But a great +many other people act in the same strange way, though you might not +think so, Mr. Hurd. They would never make a lease, or let a house, or +buy property, without consulting their legal adviser, yet in the case of +wills (most important documents) many prefer to draw them up themselves. +Consequently, there is much litigation over wrongly-drawn documents of +that nature." + +"All the better for you lawyers. Well, I'm off to look for your nautical +gentleman." + +"Do you think he is guilty?" + +"I can't say," said Hurd, smiling, "and I never speak unless I am quite +sure of the truth." + +"It will be hard to come at, in this case," said the lawyer. + +Billy the detective smiled pleasantly and shrugged his brown shoulders. +"So hard that it may never be discovered," he said. "You know many +mysteries are never solved. I suspect this Gwynne Street crime will be +one of them." + +Hurd had learned a great deal about the opal brooch from Sylvia and +Deborah, and what they told him resulted in his visiting the Charing +Cross Hospital to see Paul Beecot. The young man was much worried. His +arm was getting better, and the doctors assured him he would be able to +leave the hospital in a few days. But he had received a letter from his +mother, whom he had informed of his accident. She bewailed his danger, +and wrote with many tears--as Paul saw from the blotted state of the +letter--that her domestic tyrant would not allow her to come to London +to see her wounded darling. This in itself was annoying enough, but Paul +was still more irritated and excited by the report of Aaron's terrible +death, which he saw in a newspaper. So much had this moved him that he +was thrown into a high state of fever, and the doctor refused to allow +him to read the papers. Luckily, Paul, for his own sake, had somewhat +calmed down when Hurd arrived, so the detective was permitted to see +him. He sat by the bedside and told the patient who he was. Beecot +looked at him sharply, and then recognized him. + +"You are the workman," he said astonished. + +"Yes, Mr. Beecot, I am. I hear that you have not taken my warning +regarding your friend, Mr. Grexon Hay." + +"Ah! Then you knew his name all the time!" + +"Of course I did. I merely spoke to you to set you on your guard against +him. He'll do you no good." + +"But he was at school with me," said Beecot, angrily. + +"That doesn't make him any the better companion," replied Hurd; "see +here, Mr. Beecot, we can talk of this matter another time. At present, +as I am allowed to converse with you only for a short time, I wish to +ask you about the opal serpent." + +Paul sat up, although Hurd tried to keep him down. "What do you know of +that?--why do you come to me?" + +"I know very little and want to know more. As I told you, my name is +Billy Hurd, and, as I did _not_ tell you, I am the detective whom the +Treasury has placed in charge of this case." + +"Norman's murder?" + +"Yes! Have you read the papers?" + +"A few, but not enough. The doctors took them from me and--" + +"Gently, Mr. Beecot. Let us talk as little as possible. Where did you +get that brooch?" + +"Why do you want to know? You don't suspect me, I hope?" + +Hurd laughed. "No. You have been in this ward all the time. But as the +brooch was used cruelly to seal the dead man's mouth, it seems to me, +and to Inspector Prince, that the whole secret of the murder lies in +tracing it to its original possessor. Now tell me all about it," said +Billy, and spread out his note-book. + +"I will if you'll tell me about Miss Norman. I'm engaged to marry her +and I hear she is ill." + +"Oh, she is much better," said Hurd, pausing pencil in hand, "don't +distress yourself. That young lady is all right; and when you marry her +you'll marry an heiress, as I learn from the lawyer who does the +business of the deceased." + +"I don't care about her being the heiress. Will you take a message to +her from me?" + +"Certainly. What is it?" Hurd spoke quite sympathetically, for even +though he was a detective he was a human being with a kindly heart. + +"Tell her how sorry I am, and that I'll come and see her as soon as I +can leave this confounded hospital. Thanks for your kindness, Mr. Hurd. +Now, what do you wish to know? Oh, yes--about the opal serpent, which, +as you say, and as I think, seems to be at the bottom of all the +trouble. Listen," and Paul detailed all he knew, taking the story up to +the time of his accident. + +Hurd listened attentively. "Oh," said he, with a world of meaning, "so +Mr. Grexon Hay was with you? Hum! Do you suppose he pushed you into the +road on purpose?" + +"No," said Paul, staring, "I'm sure he didn't. What had he to gain by +acting in such a way?" + +"Money, you may be sure," said Hurd. "That gentleman never does anything +without the hope of a substantial reward. Hush! We'll talk of this when +you're better, Mr. Beecot. You say the brooch was lost." + +"Yes. It must have slipped out of my pocket when I fell under the wheels +of that machine. I believe there were a number of loafers and ragged +creatures about, so it is just possible I may hear it has been picked +up. I've sent an advertisement to the papers." + +Hurd shook his head. "You won't hear," he said. "How can you expect to +when you know the brooch was used to seal the dead man's lips?" + +"I forgot that," said Paul, faintly. "My memory--" + +"Is not so good as it was." Hurd rose. "I'll go, as I see you are +exhausted. Good-bye." + +"Wait! You'll keep me advised of how the case goes?" + +"Certainly, if the doctors will allow me to. Good-bye," and Hurd went +away very well satisfied with the information he had obtained. + +The clue, as he thought it was, led him to Wargrove, where he obtained +useful information from Mr. Beecot, who gave it with a very bad grace, +and offered remarks about his son's being mixed up in the case, which +made Hurd, who had taken a fancy to the young fellow, protest. From +Wargrove, Hurd went to Stowley, in Buckinghamshire, and interviewed the +pawnbroker whose assistant had wrongfully sold the brooch to Beecot many +years before. There he learned a fact which sent him back to Mr. Jabez +Pash in London. + +"I says, sir," said Hurd, when again in the lawyer's private room, "that +nautical gentleman of yours pawned that opal serpent twenty years ago +more or less." + +"Never," said the monkey, screwing up his face and chewing. + +"Yes, indeed. The pawnbroker is an old man, but he remembers the +customer quite well, and his description, allowing for the time that has +elapsed, answers to the man who tried to get the jewels from you." + +Mr. Pash chewed meditatively, and then inflated his cheeks. "Pooh," he +said, "twenty years is a long time. A man then, and a man now, would be +quite different." + +"Some people never change," said Hurd, quietly. "You have not changed +much, I suspect." + +"No," cackled the lawyer, rather amused. "I grew old young, and have +never altered my looks." + +"Well, this nautical gentleman may be the same. He pawned the article +under the name of David Green--a feigned one, I suspect." + +"Then you think he is guilty?" + +"I have to prove that the brooch came into his possession again before I +can do that," said Hurd, grimly. "And, as the brooch was lost in the +street by Mr. Beecot, I don't see what I can do. However, it is strange +that a man connected with the pawning of the brooch so many years ago +should suddenly start up again when the brooch is used in connection +with a terrible crime." + +"It is strange. I congratulate you on having this case, Mr. Hurd. It is +an interesting one to look into." + +"And a mighty difficult one," said Hurd, rather depressed. "I really +don't see my way. I have got together all the evidence I can, but I fear +the verdict at the inquest will be wilful murder against some person or +persons unknown." + +Hurd, who was not blind to his own limitations like some detectives, +proved to be a true prophet. The inquest was attended by a crowd of +people, who might as well have stayed away for all they learned +concerning the identity of the assassin. It was proved by the evidence +of Sylvia and Deborah how the murder had taken place, but it was +impossible to show who had strangled the man. It was presumed that the +assassin or assassins had escaped when Deborah went upstairs to shout +murder out of the first-floor window. By that time the policeman on the +Gwynne Street beat was not in sight, and it would have been easy for +those concerned in the crime--if more than one--to escape by the cellar +door, through the passage and up the street to mingle with the people in +the Strand, which, even at that late hour, would not be deserted. Or +else the assassin or assassins might have got into Drury Lane and have +proceeded towards Oxford Street. But in whatever direction they went, +none of the numerous policemen around the neighborhood on that fatal +night had "spotted" any suspicious persons. It was generally assumed, +from the peculiar circumstances of the crime, that more than one person +was inculpated, and these had come out of the night, had committed the +cruel deed, and then had vanished into the night, leaving no trace +behind. The appearance of the fellow whom Mr. Pash called the nautical +gentleman certainly was strange, and led many people to believe that +robbery was the motive for the commission of the crime. "This man, who +was powerful and could easily have overpowered a little creature like +Norman, came to rob," said these wiseacres. "Finding that the jewels +were gone, and probably from a memorandum finding that they were in the +possession of the lawyer, he attempted the next morning to get them--" +and so on. But against this was placed by other people the cruel +circumstances of the crime. No mere robbery would justify the brooch +being used to pin the dead man's lips together. Then, again, the man +being strangled before his daughter's eyes was a refinement of cruelty +which removed the case from a mere desire on the part of the murdered to +get money. Finally, one man, as the police thought, could not have +carried out the abominable details alone. + +So after questions had been asked and evidence obtained, and details +shifted, and theories raised, and pros and cons discussed, the jury was +obliged to bring in the verdict predicted by Mr. Hurd. "Wilful murder +against some person or persons unknown," said the jury, and everyone +agreed that this was the only conclusion that could be arrived at. + +Of course the papers took up the matter and asked what the police were +doing to permit so brutal a murder to take place in a crowded +neighborhood and in the metropolis of the world. "What was civilisation +coming to and--" etc., etc. All the same the public was satisfied that +the police and jury had done their duty. So the inquest was held, the +verdict was given, and then the remains of Aaron Norman were committed +to the grave; and from the journals everyone knew that the daughter left +behind was a great heiress. "A million of money," said the Press, and +lied as usual. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +CASTLES IN THE AIR + + +So Aaron Norman, the second-hand bookseller of Gwynne Street, was dead +and buried, and, it may be said, forgotten. Sylvia and those connected +with her remembered the old man and his unhappy end, but the public +managed to forget all about the matter in a wonderfully short space of +time. Other events took place, which interested the readers of the +newspapers more, and few recalled the strange Gwynne Street crime. Many +people, when they did think, said that the assassins would never be +discovered, but in this they were wrong. If money could hunt down the +person or persons who had so cruelly murdered Aaron Norman, his daughter +and heiress was determined that money could not be better spent. And +Billy Hurd, knowing all about the case and taking a profound interest in +it by reason of the mystery which environed it, was selected to follow +up what clues there were. + +But while London was still seething with the tragedy and strangeness of +the crime, Mr. Jabez Pash came to the heterogeneously-furnished +sitting-room in Gwynne Street to read the will. For there was a will +after all. Deborah, and Bart, who had witnessed it at the request of +their master, told Mr. Pash of its existence, and he found it in one of +the three safes in the cellar. It proved to be a short, curt document, +such as no man in his senses would think of making when disposing of +five thousand a year. Aaron was a clever business man, and Pash was +professionally disgusted that he had left behind him such a loose +testament. + +"Why didn't he come to me and have it properly drawn up?" he asked as he +stood in the cellar before the open safe with the scrap of paper in his +hand. + +Deborah, standing near, with her hands on her haunches, laughed +heartily. "I think master believed he's spent enough money with you, +sir. Lor' bless you, Mr. Pash, so long as the will's tight and fair what +do it matter? Don't tell me as there's anything wrong and that my pretty +won't come into her forting?" + +"Oh, the will's right enough," said Pash, screwing up his cheeks; "let +us go up to the sitting-room. Is Miss Sylvia there?" + +"That she are, sir, and a-getting back her pretty color with Mr. Paul." + +Pash looked suspiciously at the handmaiden. "Who is he?" + +"Nobody to be spoke of in that lump of dirt way," retorted Deborah. +"He's a gentleman who's going to marry my pretty." + +"Oh, the one who had the accident! I met him, but forgot his name." + +Miss Junk nodded vigorously. "And a mercy it was that he wasn't smashed +to splinters, with spiled looks and half his limbses orf," she said. +"Why, bless you, Mr. Pash, could I let my sunbeam marry a man as wasn't +all there, 'eart of gold though he may have? But the blessing of +Providence kept him together," shouted Deborah in a burst of gratitude, +"and there he sits upstairs with arms to put about my lily-queen for the +drying of her dear eyes." + +Mr. Pash was not at all pleased at this news and rubbed his nose hard. +"If a proper will had only been made," he said aggressively, "a proper +guardian might have been appointed, and this young lady would not have +been permitted to throw herself away." + +"Beggin' your parding, Mr. Pash," said Deborah, in an offended tone, +"but this marriage is of my making, to say nothing of Heaven, which +brought him and my pretty together. Mr. Beecot ain't got money, but his +looks is takin', and his 'eart is all that an angel can want. My +pretty's chice," added the maiden, shaking an admonitory finger, "and my +pretty's happiness, so don't you go a-spilin' of it." + +"I have nothing to say, save to regret that a young lady in possession +of five thousand a year should make a hasty contract like this," said +Mr. Pash, dryly, and hopping up the cellar stairs. + +"It wasn't hasty," cried Deborah, following and talking all the time; +"six months have them dears billed and cooed lovely, and if my queen +wants to buy a husband, why not? Just you go up and read the will proper +and without castin' cold water on my beauty's warm 'eart, or trouble +will come of your talkin'. I'm mild," said Deborah, chasing the little +lawyer up the stairs leading to the first floor, "mild as flat beer if +not roused: but if you make me red, my 'and flies like a windmill, +and--" + +Mr. Jabez Pash heard no more. He stopped his legal ears and fled into +the sitting-room, where he found the lovers seated on a sofa near the +window. Sylvia was in Paul's embrace, and her head was on his shoulder. +Beecot had his arm in a sling, and looked pale, but his eyes were as +bright as ever, and his face shone with happiness. Sylvia also looked +happy. To know that she was rich, that Paul was to be her husband, +filled the cup of her desires to the brim. Moreover, she was beginning +to recover from the shock of her father's death, and was feverishly +anxious to escape from Gwynne Street, and from the house where the +tragedy had taken place. + +"Well," said Mr. Pash, drawing a long breath and sucking in his cheeks, +"you lose no time, young gentleman." + +Paul laughed, but did not change his position. Sylvia indeed blushed and +raised her head, but Paul still held her with his uninjured arm, defying +Mr. Pash and all the world. "I am gathering rosebuds while I may, Mr. +Pash," said he, misquoting Herrick's charming line. + +"You have plucked a very pretty one," grinned the monkey; "but may I +request the rosebud's attention?" + +Sylvia extricated herself from her lover's arm with a heightened color, +and nodded gravely. Seeing it was business, she had to descend from +heaven to earth, but she secretly hoped that this dull little lawyer, +who was a bachelor and had never loved in his dry little life, would +soon go away and leave her alone with Prince Charming. Deborah guessed +these thoughts with the instinct of fidelity, and swooped down on her +young mistress. + +"It's the will, poppet," she whispered loudly, "but if it do make your +dear head ache Mr. Beecot will listen." + +"I wish Mr. Beecot to listen in any case," said Pash, dryly, "if he is +to marry my young and esteemed client." + +"We are engaged with the consent of my poor father," said Sylvia, taking +Paul's hand. "I shall marry no one but Paul." + +"And Paul will marry an angel," said that young man, with a tender +squeeze, "although he can't keep her in bread-and-butter." + +"Oh, I think there will be plenty of bread-and-butter," said the lawyer. +"Miss Norman, we have found the will if," added Mr. Pash, disdainfully, +"this," he held out the document with a look of contempt, "can be called +a will." + +"It's all right, isn't it?" asked Sylvia, anxiously. + +"I mean the form and the writing and the paper, young lady. It is a good +will in law, and duly signed and witnessed." + +"Me and Bart having written our names, lovey," put in Deborah. + +Pash frowned her into silence. "The will," he said, looking at the +writing, "consists of a few lines. It leaves all the property of the +testator to 'my daughter.'" + +"Your daughter!" screamed Deborah. "Why, you ain't married." + +"I am reading from the will," snapped Pash, coloring, and read again: "I +leave all the real and personal property of which I may die possessed of +to my daughter." + +"Sylvia Norman!" cried Deborah, hugging her darling. + +"There you are wrong," corrected Pash, folding up the so-called will, +"the name of Sylvia isn't mentioned." + +"Does that make any difference?" asked Paul, quietly. + +"No. Miss Norman is an only daughter, I believe." + +"And an only child," said Deborah, "so that's all right. My pretty, you +will have them jewels and five thousand a year." + +"Oh, Paul, what a lot of money!" cried Sylvia, appalled. "Whatever will +we do with it all?" + +"Why, marry and be happy, of course," said Paul, rejoicing not so much +on account of the money, although that was acceptable, but because this +delightful girl was all his very--very own. + +"The question is," said Mr. Pash, who had been reflecting, and now +reproduced the will from his pocket, "as to the name?" + +"What name?" asked Sylvia, and Deborah echoed the question. + +"Your name." Pash addressed the girl direct. "Your father's real name +was Krill--Lemuel Krill." + +Sylvia looked amazed, Deborah uttered her usual ejaculation, "Lor'!" but +Paul's expression did not change. He considered that this was all of a +piece with the murder and the mystery of the opal brooch. Undoubtedly +Mr. Lemuel Krill, _alias_ Aaron Norman, must have had good reason to +change his name and to exhibit terror at the sight of the brooch. And +the reason he dreaded, whatever it might be, had been the cause of his +mysterious and tragic death. But Paul said nothing of these thoughts and +there was silence for a few minutes. + +"Lor,'" said Deborah again, "and I never knew. Do he put that name to +that, mister?" she asked, pointing to the will. + +"Yes! It is signed Lemuel Krill," said Pash. "I wonder you didn't notice +it at the moment." + +"Why, bless you, Mr. Pash, there weren't no moment," said Deborah, her +hands on her hips as usual. "Master made that there will only a short +time before he was killed." + +Pash nodded. "I note the date," said he, "all in order--quite." + +"Master," went on Deborah, looking at Paul, "never got over that there +fainting fit you gave him with the serping brooch. And he writes out +that will, and tells Bart and me to put our names to it. But he covered +up his own name with a bit of red blotting-paper. I never thought but +that he hadn't put Aaron Norman, which was his name." + +"It was not his name," said Pash. "His real name I have told you, and +for years I have known the truth." + +"Do you know why he changed his name?" asked Beecot, quickly. + +"No, sir, I don't. And if I did, I don't know if it would be legal +etiquette to reveal the reason to a stranger." + +"He's not a stranger," cried Sylvia, annoyed. + +"Well, then, to a young gentleman whom I have only seen twice. Why do +you ask, Mr. Beecot?" + +"I was wondering if the change of name had anything to do with the +murder," said Paul, hesitating. + +"How could it," said Pash, testily, "when the man never expected to be +murdered?" + +"Beggin' your parding, Mr. Pash, but you're all out," said Deborah. +"Master did expect to have his throat cut, or his 'ead knocked orf, or +his inside removed--" + +"Deborah," cried Paul, hastily, "you are making Sylvia nervous." + +"Don't you worrit, pretty," said the maiden, "it's only silly old +Debby's way. But master, your par as was, my pretty, went to church and +prayed awful against folk as he never named, to say nothin' of lookin' +over the left shoulder blade and sleepin' in the cellar bolted and +barred, and always with his eye on the ground sad like. Old Baileys and +police-courts was in his mind, say what you like." + +"I say nothing," rejoined Pash, putting on his hat and hopping to the +door. "Mr. Lemuel Krill did not honor me with his confidence so far. He +came here, over twenty years ago and began business. I was then younger +than I am, and he gave me his business because my charges were moderate. +I know all about him as Aaron Norman," added Pash, with emphasis, "but +as Lemuel Krill I, knowing nothing but the name, can say nothing. Nor do +I want to. Young people," ended the lawyer, impressively, "let sleeping +dogs lie." + +"What do you mean?" asked Sylvia, looking startled. + +"Nothing--he means nothing," interposed Paul hastily, for the girl had +undergone quite enough torments. "What about the change of name?" + +"Ah yes!" said the lawyer, inquiringly. "Will you call yourself Krill or +Norman, Miss Sylvia?" + +"Seein' her name's to be changed to Beecot in a jiffy," cried Deborah, +"it don't matter, and it sha'n't matter. You leave Krill and its old +Baileys, if old Baileys there are in it, alone, my lovey, and be Miss +Norman till the passon and the clark, and the bells and the ringers, and +the lawr and the prophets turn you into the loveliest bride as ever +was," and Deborah nodded vigorously. + +"I wish father had mentioned my name in his will," said Sylvia, in a low +voice, "and then I should know what to call myself." + +Paul addressed the lawyer. "I know little about the legal aspect of this +will"-- + +"This amateur will," said Pash, slightingly. + +"But I should like to know if there will be any difficulty in proving +it?" + +"I don't think so. I have not gone through all the safes below, and may +come across the marriage certificate of Miss Krill's--I beg pardon, Miss +Norman's--mother and father. Then there's the birth certificate. We must +prove that Miss Sylvia is the daughter of my late esteemed client." + +"What's that?" shouted Deborah. "Why, I knowed her mother as died. She's +the daughter right enough, and--" + +"There's no need to shout," chattered Pash, angrily. "I know that as +well as you do; I must act, however, as reason dictates. I'll prove the +will and see that all is right." Then, dreading Deborah's tongue he +hastily added "Good-day," and left the room. But he was not to escape so +easily. Deborah plunged after him and made scathing remarks about legal +manners all the way down to the door. + +Paul and Sylvia left alone looked and smiled and fell into one another's +arms. The will had been read and the money left to the girl, thereby the +future was all right, so they thought that Pash's visit demanded no +further attention. "He'll do all that is to be done," said Paul. "I +don't see the use of keeping a dog and having to bark yourself." + +"And I'm really a rich woman, Paul," said Sylvia, gladly. + +"Really and truly, as I am a pauper. I think perhaps," said Beecot, +sadly, "that you might make a better match than--" + +Sylvia put her pretty hand over his moustache. "I won't hear it, Paul," +she cried vehemently, with a stamp of her foot. "How dare you? As if you +weren't all I have to love in the world now poor father--is--is de-a-d," +and she began to weep. "I did not love him as I ought to have done, +Paul." + +"My own, he would not let you love him very much." + +"N-o-o," said Sylvia, drying her eyes on Paul's handkerchief, which he +produced. "I don't know why. Sometimes he was nice, and sometimes he +wasn't. I never could understand him, and you know, Paul, we didn't +treat him nicely." + +"No," admitted Beecot, frankly, "but he forgave us." + +"Oh, yes, poor dear, he did! He was quite nice when he said we could +marry and he would allow us money. You saw him?" + +"I did. He came to the hospital. Didn't he tell you when he returned, +Sylvia?" + +"I never saw him," she wept. "He never came upstairs, but went out, and +I went to bed. He left the door leading to the stairs open, too, on that +night, a thing he never did before. And then the key of the shop. Bart +used to hang it on a nail in the cellar and father would put it into his +pocket after supper. Deborah couldn't find it in his clothes, and when +she went afterwards to the cellar it was on the nail. On that night, +Paul, father did everything different to what he usually did." + +"He seems to have had some mental trouble," said Paul, gently, "and I +believe it was connected with that brooch. When he spoke to me at the +hospital he said he would let you marry me, and would allow us an +income, if I gave him the serpent brooch to take to America." + +"But why did he want the brooch?" asked Sylvia, puzzled. + +"Ah!" said Beecot, with great significance, "if we could find out his +reason we would learn who killed him and why he was killed." + +Sylvia wept afresh on this reference to the tragedy which was yet fresh +in her memory: but as weeping would not bring back the dead, and Paul +was much distressed at the sight of her tears, she dried her eyes for +the hundredth time within the last few days and sat again on the sofa by +her lover. There they built castles in the air. + +"I tell you what, Sylvia," said Paul, reflectively; "after this will +business is settled and a few weeks have elapsed, we can marry." + +"Oh, Paul, not for a year! Think of poor father's memory." + +"I do think of it, my darling, and I believe I am saying what your +father himself would have said. The circumstances of the case are +strange, as you are left with a lot of money and without a protector. +You know I love you for yourself, and would take you without a penny, +but unless we marry soon, and you give me a husband's right, you will be +pestered by people wanting to marry you." Paul thought of Grexon Hay +when he made this last remark. + +"But I wouldn't listen to them," cried Sylvia, with a flush, "and Debby +would soon send them away. I love you dearest, dear." + +"Then marry me next month," said Paul, promptly. "You can't stop here in +this dull house, and it will be awkward for you to go about with +Deborah, faithful though she is. No, darling, let us marry, and then we +shall go abroad for a year or two until all this sad business is +forgotten. Then I hope by that time to become reconciled to my father, +and we can visit Wargrove." + +Sylvia reflected. She saw that Paul was right, as her position was +really very difficult. She knew of no lady who would chaperon her, and +she had no relative to act as such. Certainly Deborah could be a +chaperon, but she was not a lady, and Pash could be a guardian, but he +was not a relative. Paul as her husband would be able to protect her, +and to look after the property which Sylvia did not think she could do +herself. These thoughts made her consent to an early marriage. "And I +really don't think father would have minded." + +"I am quite sure we are acting as he would wish," said Beecot, +decisively. "I am so thankful, Sylvia sweetest, that I met you and loved +you before you became an heiress. No one can say that I marry you for +anything save your own sweet self. And I am doubly glad that I am to +marry you and save you from all the disagreeable things which might have +occurred had you not been engaged to me." + +"I know, Paul. I am so young and inexperienced." + +"You are an angel," said he, embracing her. "But there's one thing we +must do"--and his voice became graver--"we must see Pash and offer a +reward for the discovery of the person who killed your father." + +"But Mr. Pash said let sleeping dogs lie," objected Sylvia. + +"I know he did, but out of natural affection, little as your poor father +loved you, we must stir up this particular dog. I suggest that we offer +a reward of five hundred pounds." + +"To whom?" asked Sylvia, thoroughly agreeing. + +"To anyone who can find the murderer. I think myself, that Hurd will be +the man to gain the money. Apart from any reward he has to act on behalf +of the Treasury, and besides, he is keen to discover the mystery. You +leave the matter to me, Sylvia. We will offer a reward for the discovery +of the murderer of--" + +"Aaron Norman," said Sylvia, quickly. + +"No," replied her lover, gravely, "of Lemuel Krill." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A BOLT FROM THE BLUE + + +Paul's reason for advertising the name of Lemuel Krill was a very +natural one. He believed that in the past of the dead man was to be +found his reason for changing his name and living in Gwynne Street. And +in that past before he became a second-hand bookseller and a secret +pawnbroker might be found the motive for the crime. Therefore, if a +reward was offered for the discovery of the murderer of Lemuel Krill, +_alias_ Aaron Norman, something might come to light relative to the +man's early life. Once that was known, the clue might be obtained. Then +the truth would surely be discovered. He explained this to Hurd. + +"I think you're right, Mr. Beecot," said the detective, in his genial +way, and looking as brown as a coffee bean. "I have made inquiries from +the two servants, and from the neighbors, and from what customers I +could find. Aaron Norman certainly lived a very quiet and respectable +life here. But Lemuel Krill may have lived a very different one, and the +mere fact that he changed his name shows that he had something to +conceal. When we learn that something we may arrive at the motive for +the murder, and, given that, the assassin may be caught." + +"The assassin!" echoed Paul. "Then you think there was only one." + +Hurd shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows?" he said. "I speak generally. +From the strange circumstances of the crime I am inclined to think that +there is more than one person concerned in this matter. However, the +best thing to be done is to have hand-bills printed offering the five +hundred pounds reward. People will do a lot to earn so much money, and +someone may come forward with details about Mr. Krill which will solve +the mystery of Norman's death." + +"I hope you will gain the reward yourself, Hurd." + +The detective nodded. "I hope so too. I have lately married the sweetest +little wife in the world, and I want to keep her in the way she has been +accustomed to be kept. She married beneath her, as I'm only a +thief-catcher, and no very famous one either." + +"But if you solve this mystery it will do you a lot of good." + +"That it will," agreed Billy, heartily, "and it will mean advancement +and extra screw: besides the reward if I can get it. You may be very +sure, Mr. Beecot, that I'll do my best. Oh, by the way," he added, "have +you heard that Mr. Pash is being asked for many of those jewels?" + +"No. Who are asking for them? Not that nautical man?" + +Hurd shook his head. "He's not such a fool," said he. "No! But the +people who pledged the jewels are getting them back--redeeming them, in +fact. Pash is doing all the business thoroughly well, and will keep what +jewels remain for the time allowed by law, so that all those who wish to +redeem them can do so. If not, they can be sold, and that will mean more +money to Miss Norman--by the way, I presume she intends to remain Miss +Norman." + +"Until I make her Mrs. Beecot," said Paul, smiling. + +"Well," replied Hurd, very heartily, "I trust you will both be happy. I +think Miss Norman will get a good husband in you, and you will gain the +sweetest wife in the world bar one." + +"Everyone thinks his own crow the whitest," laughed Beecot. "But now +that business is ended and you know what you are to do, will you tell me +plainly why you warned me against Grexon Hay?" + +"Hum," said the detective, looking at Paul with keen eyes, "what do you +know about him, sir?" + +Beecot detailed his early friendship with Hay at Torrington, and then +related the meeting in Oxford Street. "And so far as I have seen," added +Paul, justly, "there's nothing about the man to make me think he is a +bad lot." + +"It is natural you should think well of him as you know no wrong, Mr. +Beecot. All the same, Grexon Hay is a man on the market." + +"You made use of that expression before. What does it mean?" + +"Ask Mr. Hay. He can explain best." + +"I did ask him, and he said it meant a man who was on the marriage +market." + +Hurd laughed. "Very ingenious and untrue." + +"Untrue!" + +"Certainly. Mr. Hay knows better than that. If that were all he wouldn't +think a working man would warn anyone against him." + +"He guessed you were not a working man," said Paul, "and intimated that +he had a _liaison_ with a married woman, and that the husband had set +you to watch." + +"Wrong again. My interest in Mr. Hay doesn't spring from divorce +proceedings. He paints himself blacker than he is in that respect, Mr. +Beecot. My gentleman is too selfish to love, and too cautious to commit +himself to a divorce case where there would be a chance of damages. No! +He's simply a man on the market, and what that is no one knows better +than he does." + +"Well, I am ignorant." + +"You shall be enlightened, sir, and I hope what I tell you will lead you +to drop this gentleman's acquaintance, especially now that you will be a +rich man through your promised wife." + +"Miss Norman's money is her own," said Paul, with a quick flush. "I +don't propose to live on what she inherits." + +"Of course not, because you are an honorable man. But I'll lay anything +you like that Mr. Hay won't have your scruples, and as soon as he finds +your wife is rich he'll try and get money from her through you." + +"He'll fail then," rejoined Beecot, calmly. "I am not up to your London +ways, perhaps, but I am not quite such a fool. Perhaps you will +enlighten me as you say." + +Hurd nodded and caught his smooth chin with his finger and thumb. "A man +on the market," he explained slowly, "is a social highwayman." + +"I am still in the dark, Hurd." + +"Well, to be more particular, Hay is one of those well-dressed +blackguards who live on mugs. He has no money--" + +"I beg your pardon, he told me himself that his uncle had left him a +thousand a year." + +"Pooh, he might as well have doubled the sum and increased the value of +the lie. He hasn't a penny. What he did have, he got through pretty +quickly in order to buy his experience. Now that he is hard up he +practises on others what was practised on himself. Hay is well-bred, +good-looking, well-dressed and plausible. He has well-furnished rooms +and keeps a valet. He goes into rather shady society, as decent people, +having found him out, won't have anything to do with him. But he is a +card-sharper and a fraudulent company-promoter. He'll borrow money from +any juggins who is ass enough to lend it to him. He haunts Piccadilly, +Bond Street and the Burlington Arcade, and is always smart, and bland, +and fascinating. If he sees a likely victim he makes his acquaintance in +a hundred ways, and then proceeds to fleece him. In a word, Mr. Beecot, +you may put it that Mr. Hay is Captain Hawk, and those he swindles are +pigeons." + +Paul was quite startled by this revelation, and it was painful to hear +it of an old school friend. "He does not look like a man of that sort," +he remonstrated. + +"It's not his business to look like a man of that sort," rejoined the +detective. "He masks his batteries. All the same he is one of the most +dangerous men on the market at the present in town. A young peer whom he +plucked two years ago lost everything to him, and got into trouble over +some woman. It was a nasty case and Hay was mixed up in it. The +relatives of the victim--I needn't give his title--asked me to put +things right. I got the young nobleman away, and he is now travelling to +acquire the sense he so sadly needed. I have given Mr. Hay a warning +once or twice, and he knows that he is being watched by us. When he +slips, as he is bound to do, sooner or later, then he'll have to deal +with me. Oh I know how he hunts for clients in fashionable hotels, smart +restaurants, theatres and such-like places. He is clever, and although +he has fleeced several lambs since he plucked the pigeon I saved, he +has, as yet, been too clever to be caught. When I saw you with him, Mr. +Beecot, I thought it just as well to put you on your guard." + +"I fear he'll get little out of me," said Paul. "I am too poor." + +"You are rich now through your promised wife, and Hay will find it out." + +"I repeat that Miss Norman's money has nothing to do with me. And I may +mention that as soon as the case is in your hands, Mr. Hurd--" + +"Which it is now," interpolated the detective. + +"I intend to marry Miss Norman and then we will travel for a time." + +"That's very wise of you. Give Hay a wide berth. Of course, if you meet +him, you needn't tell him what I have told you. But when he tries to +come Captain Hawk over you, be on your guard." + +"I shall, and thanks for the warning." + +So the two parted. Hurd went away to have the bills printed, and Paul +returned to Gwynne Street to arrange with Sylvia about their early +marriage. Deborah was in the seventh heaven of delight that her young +mistress would soon be in a safe haven and enjoy the protection of an +honorable man. Knowing that she would soon be relieved from care, she +told Bart Tawsey that they would be married at the same time as the +young couple, and that the laundry would be started as soon as Mr. and +Mrs. Beecot left for the Continent. Bart, of course, agreed--he always +did agree with Deborah--and so everything was nicely arranged. + +Meanwhile Pash worked to prove the will, pay the death-duties, and to +place Sylvia in full possession of her property. He found in one of the +safes the certificate of the girl's birth, and also the marriage +certificate of Aaron Norman in the name of Lemuel Krill. The man +evidently had his doubts of the marriage being a legal one if contracted +under his _alias_. He had married Lillian Garner, who was described as a +spinster. But who she was and where she came from, and what her position +in life might be could not be discovered. Krill was married in a quiet +city church, and Pash, having searched, found everything in order. Mrs. +Krill--or Norman as she was known--lived only a year or two after her +marriage, and then died, leaving Sylvia to the care of her husband. +There were several nurses in succession, until Deborah grew old enough +to attend alone on her young mistress. Then Norman dismissed the nurse, +and Deborah had been Sylvia's slave and Aaron's servant until the tragic +hour of his death. So, everything being in order, there was no +difficulty in placing Sylvia in possession of her property. + +Pash was engaged in this congenial work for several weeks, and during +that time all went smoothly. Paul paid daily visits to the Gwynne Street +house, which was to be vacated as soon as he made Sylvia his wife. +Deborah searched for her laundry and obtained the premises she wanted at +a moderate rental. Sylvia basked in the sunshine of her future husband's +love, and Hurd hunted for the assassin of the late Mr. Norman without +success. The hand-bills with his portrait and real name, and a +description of the circumstances of his death, were scattered broadcast +over the country from Land's End to John-O'Groats, but hitherto no one +had applied for the reward. The name of Krill seemed to be a rare one, +and the dead man apparently had no relatives, for no one took the +slightest interest in the bills beyond envying the lucky person who +would gain the large reward offered for the conviction of the murderer. + +Then, one day Deborah, while cleaning out the cellar, found a piece of +paper which had slipped down behind one of the safes. These had not been +removed for many years, and the paper, apparently placed carelessly on +top, had accidentally dropped behind. Deborah, always thinking something +might reveal the past to Sylvia and afford a clue to the assassin, +brought the paper to her mistress. It proved to be a few lines of a +letter, commenced but never finished. But the few lines were of deep +interest. + +"My dear daughter," these ran, "when I die you will find that I married +your mother under the name of Lemuel Krill. That is my real name, but I +wish you to continue to call yourself Norman for necessary reasons. If +the name of Krill gets into the papers there will be great trouble. Keep +it from the public. I can tell you where to find the reasons for this as +I have written--" Here the letter ended abruptly without any signature. +Norman apparently was writing it when interrupted, and had placed it +unfinished on the top of the safe, whence it had fallen behind to be +discovered by Deborah. And now it had strangely come to light, but too +late for the request to be carried out. + +"Oh, Paul," said Sylvia, in dismay, when they read this together, "and +the bills are already published with the real name of my father." + +"It is unfortunate," admitted Paul, frowning. "But, after all, your +father may have been troubled unnecessarily. For over the fortnight the +bills have been out and no one seems to take an interest in the matter." + +"But I think we ought to call the bills in," said Sylvia, uneasily. + +"That's not such an easy matter. They are scattered broadcast, and it +will be next to impossible to collect them. Besides, the mischief is +done. Everyone knows by this time that Aaron Norman is Lemuel Krill, so +the trouble whatever it may be, must come." + +"What can it be?" asked the girl anxiously. + +Paul shook his head. "Heaven only knows," said he, with a heavy heart. +"There is certainly something in your father's past life which he did +not wish known and which led to his death. But since the blow has fallen +and he is gone, I do not see how the matter can affect you, my darling. +I'll show this to Pash and see what he says. I expect he knows more +about your father's past than he will admit." + +"But if there should be trouble, Paul--" + +"You will have me to take it off your shoulders," he replied, kissing +her. "My dearest, do not look so pale. Whatever may happen you will +always have me to stand by you. And Deborah also. She is worth a +regiment in her fidelity." + +So Sylvia was comforted, and Paul, putting the unfinished letter in his +pocket, went round to see Pash in his Chancery Lane office. He was +stopped in the outer room by a saucy urchin with an impudent face and a +bold manner. "Mr. Pash is engaged," said this official, "so you'll 'ave +to wait, Mr. Beecot." + +Paul looked down at the brat, who was curly-headed and as sharp as a +needle. "How do you know my name?" he asked. "I never saw you before." + +"I'm the new office-boy," said the urchin, "wishin' to be respectable +and leave street-'awking, which ain't what it was. M'name's Tray, an' +I've seen you afore, mister. I 'elped to pull you out from them wheels +with the 'aughty gent as guv me a bob fur doin' it." + +"Oh, so you helped," said Paul, smiling. "Well, here is another +shilling. I am much obliged to you, Master Tray. But from what Deborah +Junk says you were a guttersnipe. How did you get this post?" + +"I talked m'self int' it," said Tray, importantly. "Newspapers ain't +good enough, and you gets pains in wet weather. So I turns a good +boy"--he grinned evilly--"and goes to a ragged kids' school to do the +'oly. The superintendent ses I'm a promising case, and he arsked Mr. +Pash, as is also Sunday inclined, to 'elp me. The orfice-boy 'ere went, +and I come." Tray tossed the shilling and spat on it for luck as he +slipped it into the pocket of quite a respectable pair of trousers. "So +I'm on m'waiy to bein' Lord Mayor turn agin Wittington, as they ses in +the panymine." + +"Well," said Beecot, amused, "I hope you will prove yourself worthy." + +Tray winked. "Ho! I'm straight es long es it's wuth m'while. I takes +m'sal'ry 'ome to gran, and don't plaiy pitch an' torse n'more." He +winked again, and looked as wicked a brat as ever walked. + +Paul had his doubts as to what the outcome of Mr. Pash's charity would +be, and, being amused, was about to pursue the conversation, when the +inner door opened and Pash, looking troubled, appeared. When he saw Paul +he started and came forward. + +"I was just about to send Tray for you," said he, looking anxious. +"Something unpleasant has come to light in connection with Krill." + +Beecot started and brought out the scrap of paper. "Look at that," he +said, "and you will see that the man warned Sylvia." + +Pash glanced hurriedly over the paper. "Most unfortunate," he said, +folding it up and puffing out his cheeks; "but it's too late. The name +of Krill was in those printed bills--a portrait also, and now--" + +"Well, what?" asked Paul, seeing the lawyer hesitated. + +"Come inside and you'll see," said Pash, and conducted Beecot into the +inner room. + +Here sat two ladies. The elder was a woman of over fifty, but who looked +younger, owing to her fresh complexion and plump figure. She had a firm +face, with hard blue eyes and a rather full-lipped mouth. Her hair was +white, and there was a great deal of it. Under a widow's cap it was +dressed _a la_ Marie Antoinette, and she looked very handsome in a +full-blown, flowery way. She had firm, white hands, rather large, and, +as she had removed her black gloves, these, Paul saw, were covered with +cheap rings. Altogether a respectable, well-dressed widow, but evidently +not a lady. + +Nor was the girl beside her, who revealed sufficient similarity of +features to announce herself the daughter of the widow. There was the +same fresh complexion, full red lips and hard blue eyes. But the hair +was of a golden color, and fashionably dressed. The young woman--she +likewise was not a lady--was also in black. + +"This," said Pash, indicating the elder woman, who smiled, "is Mrs. +Lemuel Krill." + +"The wife of the man who called himself Aaron Norman," went on the +widow; "and this," she indicated her daughter, "is his heiress." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A CUCKOO IN THE NEST + + +Paul looked from the fresh-colored woman who spoke so smoothly and so +firmly to the apish lawyer hunched in his chair with a sphinx-like look +on his wrinkled face. For the moment, so taken aback was he by this +astounding announcement, that he could not speak. The younger woman +stared at him with her hard blue eyes, and a smile played round her full +lips. The mother also looked at him in an engaging way, as though she +rather admired his youthful comeliness in spite of his well-brushed, +shabby apparel. + +"I don't know what you mean," said Beecot at length, "Mr. Pash?" + +The lawyer aroused himself to make a concise statement of the case. "So +far as I understand," he said in his nervous, irritable way, "these +ladies claim to be the wife and daughter of Lemuel Krill, whom we knew +as Aaron Norman." + +"And I think by his real name also," said the elder woman in her deep, +smooth contralto voice, and with the display of an admirable set of +teeth. "The bills advertising the reward, and stating the fact of the +murder, bore my late husband's real name." + +"Norman was not your husband, madam," cried Paul, indignantly. + +"I agree with you, sir. Lemuel Krill was my husband. I saw in the +newspapers, which penetrate even into the quiet little Hants village I +live in, that Aaron Norman had been murdered. I never thought he was +the man who had left me more than twenty years ago with an only child to +bring up. But the bills offering the reward assured me that Norman and +Krill are one and the same man. Therefore," she drew herself up and +looked piercingly at the young man, "I have come to see after the +property. I understand from the papers that my daughter is an heiress to +millions." + +"Not millions," said Pash, hastily. "The newspapers have exaggerated the +amount. Five thousand a year, madam, and it is left to Sylvia." + +"Who is Sylvia?" asked Mrs. Krill, in the words of Shakespeare's song. + +"She is the daughter of Mr. Norman," said Paul, quickly, "and is engaged +to marry me." + +Mrs. Krill's eyes travelled over his shabby suit from head to foot, and +then back again from foot to head. She glanced sideways at her +companion, and the girl laughed in a hard, contemptuous manner. "I fear +you will be disappointed in losing a rich wife, sir," said the elder +woman, sweetly. + +"I have not lost the money yet," replied Paul, hotly. "Not that I care +for the money." + +"Of course not," put in Mrs. Krill, ironically, with another look at his +dress. + +"But I _do_ care for Sylvia Norman--" + +"With whom I have nothing to do." + +"She is your husband's daughter." + +"But not mine. This is my daughter, Maud--the legal daughter of Lemuel +and myself," she added meaningly. + +"Good heavens, madam," cried Beecot, his face turning white, "what do +you mean?" + +Mrs. Krill raised her thick white eyebrows, and shrugged her plump +shoulders, and made a graceful motion with her white, be-ringed hand. +"Is there any need for me to explain?" she said calmly. + +"I think there is every need," cried Beecot, sharply. "I shall not allow +Miss Norman to lose her fortune or--" + +"Or lose it yourself, sir. I quite understand. Nevertheless, I am +assured that the law of the land will protect, through me, my daughter's +rights. She leaves it in my hands." + +"Yes," said the girl, in a voice as full and rich and soft as her +smooth-faced mother, "I leave it in her hands." + +Paul sat down and concealed his face with a groan. He was thinking not +so much of the loss of the money, although that was a consideration, as +of the shame Sylvia would feel at her position. Then a gleam of hope +darted into his mind. "Mr. Norman was married to Sylvia's mother under +his own name. You can't prove the marriage void." + +"I have no wish to. When did this marriage take place?" + +Beecot looked at the lawyer, who replied. "Twenty-two years ago," and he +gave the date. + +Mrs. Krill fished in a black morocco bag she carried and brought out a +shabby blue envelope. "I thought this might be needed," she said, +passing it to Pash. "You will find there my marriage certificate. I +became the wife of Lemuel Krill thirty years ago. And, as I am still +living, I fear the later marriage--" She smiled blandly and shrugged her +shoulders again. "Poor girl!" she said with covert insolence. + +"Sylvia does not need your pity," cried Beecot, stung by the +insinuation. + +"Indeed, sir," said Mrs. Krill, sadly, and with the look of a +treacherous cat, "I fear she needs the pity of all right-thinking +people. Many would speak harshly of her, seeing what she is, but my +troubles have taught me charity. I repeat that I am sorry for the girl." + +"And again I say there is no need," rejoined Paul, throwing back his +head; "and you forget, madam, there is a will." + +Mrs. Krill's fresh color turned to a dull white, and her hard eyes shot +fire. "A will," she said slowly. "I shall dispute the will if it is not +in my favor. I am the widow of this man and I claim full justice. +Besides," she went on, wetting her full lips with her tongue, "I +understood from the newspapers that the money was left to Mr. Krill's +daughter." + +"Certainly. To Sylvia Krill." + +"Norman, sir. She has no right to any other name. But I really do not +see why I should explain myself to you, sir. If you choose to give this +girl your name you will be doing a good act. At present the poor +creature is--nobody." She let the last word drop from her lips slowly, +so as to give Paul its full sting. + +Beecot said nothing. He could not dispute what she said. If this woman +could prove the marriage of thirty years ago, then Krill, or Norman as +he called himself, had committed bigamy, and, in the hard eyes of the +law, Sylvia was nobody's child. And that the marriage could be proved +Paul saw well enough from the looks of the lawyer, who was studying the +certificate which he had drawn from the shabby blue envelope. "Then the +will--the money is left to Sylvia," he said with obstinacy. "I shall +defend her rights." + +"Of course," said Mrs. Krill, significantly. "I understand that a wife +with five thousand--" + +"I would marry Sylvia without a penny." + +"Indeed, sir, that is the only way in which you can marry her. If you +like I shall allow her twenty pounds for a trousseau." + +Paul rose and flung back his head again. "You have not got the money +yet, madam," he said defiantly. + +Not at all disturbed, Mrs. Krill smiled her eternal smile. "I am here +to get it. There is a will, you say," she added, turning to Pash. "And I +understand from this gentleman," she indicated Beecot slightly, "that +the money is left to Mr. Krill's daughter. Does he name Maud or Sylvia?" + +Pash slapped down the certificate irritably. "He names no one. The will +is a hasty document badly worded, and simply leaves all the testator +died possessed of to--my daughter." + +"Which of course means Maud here. I congratulate you, dear," she said, +turning to the girl, who looked happy and flushed. "Your father has made +up to us both for his cruelty and desertion." + +Seeing that there was nothing to be said, Paul went to the door. But +there his common sense left him and he made a valedictory speech. "I +know that Mr. Krill left the money to Sylvia." + +"Oh, no," said the widow, "to his daughter, as I understand the wording +of the will runs. In that case this nameless girl has nothing." + +"Pash!" cried Beecot, turning despairingly to the little solicitor. + +The old man shook his head and sucked in his cheeks. "I am sorry, Mr. +Beecot," said he, in a pitying tone, "but as the will stands the money +must certainly go to the child born in wedlock. I have the certificate +here," he laid his monkey paw on it, "but of course I shall make +inquiries." + +"By all means," said Mrs. Krill, graciously. "My daughter and myself +have lived for many years in Christchurch, Hants. We keep the inn +there--not the principal inn, but a small public-house on the outskirts +of the village. It will be a change for us both to come into five +thousand a year after such penury. Of course, Mr. Pash, you will act for +my daughter and myself." + +"Mr. Pash acts for Sylvia," cried Paul, still lingering at the door. The +lawyer was on the horns of a dilemma. "If what Mrs. Krill says is true +I can't dispute the facts," he said irritably, "and I am unwilling to +give up the business. Prove to me, ma'am, that you are the lawful widow +of my late client, and that this is my late esteemed client's lawful +daughter, and I will act for you." + +Mrs. Krill's ample bosom rose and fell and her eyes glittered +triumphantly. She cast a victorious glance at Beecot. But that young man +was looking at the solicitor. "Rats leave the sinking ship," said he, +bitterly; "you will not prosper, Pash." + +"Everyone prospers who protects the widow and the orphan," said Pash, in +a pious tone, and so disgusted Paul that he closed the door with a bang +and went out. Tray was playing chuck-farthing at the door and keeping +Mr. Grexon Hay from coming in. + +"You there, Beecot?" said this gentleman, coldly. "I wish you would tell +this brat to let me enter." + +"Brat yourself y' toff," cried Tray, pocketing his money. "Ain't I +a-doin' as my master tells me? He's engaged with two pretty women"--he +leered in a way which made Paul long to box his ears--"so I don't spile +sport. You've got tired of them, Mr. Beecot?" + +"How do you know Mr. Beecot's name?" asked Hay, calmly. + +"Lor', sir. Didn't you and me pull him from under the wheels?" + +"Oh," said Grexon, suddenly enlightened, "were you the boy? Since you +have washed your face I didn't recognize you. Well, Beecot, you look +disturbed." + +"I have reason to. And since you and this boy pulled me from under the +wheels of the motor," said Paul, glancing from one to the other, "I +should like to know what became of the brooch." + +"I'm sure I don't know," said Grexon, quietly. "We talked of this +before. I gave it as my opinion, if you remember, that it was picked up +in the street by the late Aaron Norman and was used to seal his mouth. +At least that is the only way in which I can conjecture you lost it." + +"You never saw it drop from my pocket?" + +"I should have picked it up and returned it had I seen it," said Hay, +fixing his eye-glass. "Perhaps this boy saw it." + +"Saw what?" asked Tray, who was listening with both his large ears. + +"An old blue-velvet case with a brooch inside," said Beecot, quickly. + +Tray shook his head vigorously. "If I'd seen it I' ha' nicked it," he +said impudently; "catch me givin' it back t' y', Mr. Beecot. There's a +cove I knows--a fence that is--as 'ud give me lots fur it. Lor'," said +Tray, with deep disappointment, "to think as that dropped out of your +pocket and I never grabbed it. Wot crewel luck--ho!" and he spat. + +Paul looked hard at the boy, who met his gaze innocently enough. +Apparently he spoke in all seriousness, and really lamented the lost +chance of gaining a piece of jewellery to make money out of. Moreover, +had he stolen the brooch, he would hardly have talked so openly of the +fence he alluded to. Hay the young man could not suspect, as there was +positively no reason why he should steal so comparatively trifling an +article. Sharper as he was, Hay flew at higher game, and certainly would +not waste his time, or risk his liberty, in stealing what would bring +him in only a few shillings. + +"Why don't you ask the detectives to search for the brooch," said Hay, +smiling. + +"It is in the detective's possession," said Paul, sullenly; "but we want +to know how it came to pin Norman's lips together." + +"I can't imagine, unless he picked it up. If lost at all it must have +been lost in the street the old man lived in, and you told me he wanted +the brooch badly." + +"But he wasn't on the spot?" + +"Wot," cried Tray, suddenly, "the one-eyed cove? Ho, yuss, but warn't +he? Why, when they was a-gitin' the ambulance, an' the peelers wos +a-crowdin' round, he come dancing like billeo out of his shorp." + +Beecot thought this was strange, as he understood from Deborah and Bart +and Sylvia that Norman had known nothing of the accident at the time. +Then again Norman himself had not mentioned it when he paid that visit +to the hospital within a few hours of his death. "I don't think that's +true," he said to Tray sharply. + +"Oh, cuss it," said that young gentleman, "wot d' I care. Th' ole cove +come an' danced in the mud, and then he gits int' his shorp again. Trew +is trew, saiy wot y' like, mister--ho." + +Beecot turned his back on the boy. After all, he was not worth arguing +with, and a liar by instinct. Still, in this case he might have spoken +the truth. Norman might have appeared on the scene of the accident and +have picked up the brooch. Paul thought he would tell Hurd this, and, +meantime, held out his hand to Hay. In spite of the bad character he had +heard of that young man, he saw no reason why he should not be civil to +him, until he found him out. Meantime, he was on his guard. + +"One moment," said Grexon, grasping the outstretched hand. "I have +something to say to you," and he walked a little way with Paul. "I am +going in to see Pash on business which means a little money to me. I was +the unfortunate cause of your accident, Beecot, so I think you might +accept twenty pounds or so from me." + +"No, thank you all the same," said Paul gratefully, yet with a certain +amount of caution. "I can struggle along. After all, it was an +accident." + +"A very unfortunate one," said Hay, more heartily than usual. "I shall +never forgive myself. Is your arm all right?" + +"Oh, much better. I'll be quite cured in a week or so." + +"And meantime how do you live?" + +"I manage to get along," replied Paul, reservedly. He did not wish to +reveal the nakedness of the land to such a doubtful acquaintance. + +"You are a hard-hearted sort of chap," said Hay coldly, but rather +annoyed at his friendly advances being flouted. "Well, then, if you +won't accept a loan, let me help you in another way. Come and dine at my +rooms. I have a young publisher coming also, and if you meet him he will +be able to do something for you. He's under obligations to me, and you +may be certain I'll use all my influence in your favor. Come now--next +Tuesday--that's a week off--you can't have any engagement at such a long +notice." + +Paul smiled. "I never do have any engagements," he said with his boyish +smile, "thank you. I'll look in if I can. But I am in trouble, +Grexon--very great trouble." + +"You shouldn't be," said Hay, smiling. "I know well enough why you will +not accept my loan. The papers say Sylvia, your Dulcinea, has inherited +a million. You are to marry her. Unless," said Hay, suddenly, "this +access of wealth has turned her head and she has thrown you over. Is she +that sort of girl?" + +"No," said Paul quietly, "she is as true to me as I am to her. But you +are mistaken as to the million. It is five thousand a year, and she may +not even inherit that." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I am not at liberty to say. But with regard to your dinner," added +Paul, hastily changing the conversation, "I'll come if I can get my +dress-suit out of pawn." + +"Then I count on you," said Hay, blandly, "though you will not let me +help you to obtain the suit. However, this publisher will do a lot for +you. By Jove, what a good-looking girl." + +He said this under his breath. Miss Maud Krill appeared on the doorstep +where the two young men stood and stumbled against Grexon in passing. +His hat was off at once, and he apologized profusely. Miss Krill, who +seemed a young woman of few words, as Paul thought from her silence in +the office, smiled and bowed, but passed on, without saying a "thank +you." Mrs. Krill followed, escorted by the treacherous Pash who was all +smiles and hand-washings and bows. Apparently he was quite convinced +that the widow's story was true, and Paul felt sick at the news he would +have to tell Sylvia. Pash saw the young man, and meeting his indignant +eyes darted back into his office like a rabbit into its burrow. The +widow sailed out in her calm, serene way, without a look at either Paul +or his companion. Yet the young man had an instinct that she saw them +both. + +"That's the mother I expect," said Hay, putting his glass firmly into +his eye; "a handsome pair. Gad, Paul, that young woman--eh?" + +"Perhaps you'd like to marry her," said Paul, bitterly. + +Hay drew himself up stiffly. "I don't marry stray young women I see on +the street, however attractive," he said in his cold voice. "I don't +know either of these ladies." + +"Pash will introduce you if you make it worth his while." + +"Why the deuce should I," retorted Hay, staring. + +"Well," said Beecot, impulsively telling the whole of the misfortune +that had befallen him, "that is the wife and that is the daughter of +Aaron Norman, _alias_ Krill. The daughter inherits five thousand a year, +so marry her and be happy." + +"But your Dulcinea?" asked Grexon, dropping his eye-glass in amazement. + +"She has me and poverty," said Paul, turning away. Nor could the quiet +call of Hay make him stop. But at the end of the street he looked back, +and saw Grexon entering the office of the lawyer. If Hay was the man +Hurd said he was, Paul guessed that he would inquire about the heiress +and marry her too, if her banking account was large and safe. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE NEW LIFE + + +For obvious reasons Beecot did not return to Gwynne Street. It was +difficult to swallow this bitter pill which Providence had administered. +In place of an assured future with Sylvia, he found himself confronted +with his former poverty, with no chance of marrying the girl, and with +the obligation of telling her that she had no right to any name. Paul +was by no means a coward, and his first impulse was to go at once and +inform Sylvia of her reverse of fortune. But it was already late, and he +thought it would be only kind to withhold the bad news till the morrow, +and thus avoid giving the disinherited girl a tearful and wakeful night. +Therefore, after walking the Embankment till late, Paul went to his +garret. + +To the young man's credit it must be said that he cared very little for +the loss of the money, although he grieved on Sylvia's account. Had he +been able to earn a small income, he would have married the girl and +given her the protection of his name without the smallest hesitation. +But he was yet unknown to fame; he was at variance with his father, and +he could scarcely bring Sylvia to share his bitter poverty--which might +grow still more bitter in that cold and cheerless garret. + +Then there was another thing to consider. Paul had written to his father +explaining the circumstances of his engagement to Sylvia, and asking +for the paternal blessing. To gain this, he mentioned that his promised +wife had five thousand a year. Bully and tyrant as Beecot senior was, he +loved money, and although well off, was always on the alert to have more +brought into the family. With the bribe of a wealthy wife, Paul had +little doubt but what the breach would be healed, and Sylvia welcomed as +the sweetest and most desirable daughter-in-law in the world. Then Paul +fancied the girl would be able to subdue with her gentle ways the +stubborn heart of his father, and would also be able to make Mrs. Beecot +happy. Indeed, he had received a letter from his mother congratulating +him on his wealthy match, for the good lady wished to see Paul +independent of the domestic tyrant. Also Mrs. Beecot had made many +inquiries about Sylvia's goodness and beauty, and hoped that he had +chosen wisely, and hinted that no girl living was worthy of her son, +after the fashion of mothers. Paul had replied to this letter setting +forth his own unworthiness and Sylvia's perfections, and Mrs. Beecot had +accepted the good news with joy. But the letter written to Beecot senior +was yet unanswered, and Paul began to think that not even the chance of +having a rich daughter-in-law would prevail against the obstinacy of the +old gentleman. + +But when he reached his garret, after that lonely and tormenting walk on +the Embankment, he found a letter from his father, and opened it with +some trepidation. It proved to contain joyful news. Mr. Beecot thanked +Heaven that Paul was not such a fool as he had been of yore, and hinted +that this sudden access of sense which had led him to engage himself to +a wealthy girl had come from his father and not from his mother. +He--Beecot senior--was aware that Paul had acted badly, and had not +remembered what was due to the best of fathers; but since he was +prepared to settle down with a rich wife, Beecot senior nobly forgave +the past and Paul's many delinquences (mentioned in detail) and would be +glad to welcome his daughter-in-law. Then Beecot, becoming the tyrant +again, insisted that the marriage should take place in Wargrove, and +that the fact of Sylvia's father being murdered should be suppressed. In +fact, the old gentleman left nothing to the young couple, but arranged +everything in his own selfish way, even to choosing, in Wargrove, the +house they would inhabit. The house, he mentioned, was one of his own +which could not be let on account of some trivial tale of a ghost, and +Mr. Beecot would give this as a marriage gift to Paul, thus getting rid +of an unprofitable property and playing the part of a generous father at +one and the same time. In spite of his bucolic ways and pig-headed +obstinacy and narrow views, Beecot senior possessed a certain amount of +cunning which Paul read in every line of the selfish letter before him. + +However, the main point was, that the old gentleman seemed ready to +overlook the past and to receive Sylvia. Paul wanted to return to his +home, not so much on account of his father, as because he wished to +smooth the remaining years of his mother, and he knew well that Sylvia +with her gentle ways and heart of gold would make Mrs. Beecot happy. So +long as Paul loved the girl he wished to marry, the mother was happy; +but Beecot senior had an eye to the money, and thus was ready to be +bribed into forgiveness and decent behavior. Now all this was altered. +From the tone of the letter, Paul knew his father would never consent to +his marrying a girl not only without a name, but lacking the fortune +which alone rendered her desirable in his eyes. Still, the truth would +have to be told, and if Beecot senior refused to approve of the +marriage, the young couple would have to do without his sanction. The +position, thought Paul, would only make him work the harder, so that +within a reasonable time he might be able to provide a home for Sylvia. + +So, the young man facing the situation, bravely wrote to his father and +explained how the fortune had passed from Sylvia, but declared, with all +the romance of youth, that he intended to marry the girl all the same. +If Beecot senior, said Paul, would permit the marriage, and allow the +couple a small income until the husband could earn enough to keep the +pot boiling, the writer would be grateful. If not, Paul declared firmly +that he would work like a slave to make a home for his darling. But +nothing in the world would make him give up Sylvia. This was the letter +to his father, and then Paul wrote one to his mother, detailing the +circumstances and imploring her to stand by him, although in his own +sinking heart he felt that Mrs. Beecot was but a frail reed on which to +lean. He finished these letters and posted them before midnight. Then he +went to bed and dreamed that the bad news was all moonshine, and that +Sylvia and he were a happy rich married pair. + +But the cold grey searching light of dawn brought the actual state of +things again to his mind and so worried him that he could hardly eat any +breakfast. He spent the morning in writing a short tale, for which he +had been promised a couple of sovereigns, and took it to the office of +the weekly paper which had accepted it, on his way to Gwynne Street. +Paul's heart was heavy, thinking of what he had to tell, but he did not +intend to let Sylvia see that he was despondent. On turning down the +street he raised his head, assumed a smile and walked with a confident +step into the shop. + +As he entered he heard a heavy woman plunge down the stairs, and found +his arm grasped by Deborah, very red-faced and very furious, the moment +he crossed the threshold. Bart could be heard knocking boxes together in +the cellar, as he was getting Deborah's belongings ready for removal to +Jubileetown, where the cottage, and the drying ground for the laundry, +had already been secured through Pash. But Paul had no time to ask what +was going on. A glance at the hand-maiden's tearful face revealed that +she knew the worst, in which case Sylvia must also have heard the news. + +"Yes," cried Deborah, seeing the sudden whiteness of Paul's cheeks, and +shaking him so much as to hurt his injured arm, "she knows, she do--oh, +lor', bless us that things should come to this--and there she's settin' +a-crying out her beautiful eyes for you, Mr. Beecot. Thinking of your +throwin' her over, and if you do," shouted Deborah, with another shake, +"you'd better ha' bin smashed to a jelly than face me in my presingt +state. Seein' you from the winder I made bold to come down and arsk your +intentings; for if them do mean no marriage and the breaking of my +pretty's 'eart, never shall she set eyes agin on a double-faced Jonah, +and--and--" Here Deborah gasped for breath and again shook Paul. + +"Deborah," he said, in a quiet voice, releasing himself, "I love Sylvia +for herself and not for her money." + +Deborah threw her brawny arms in the air and her apron over her red +head. "I knowed it--oh, yuss, indeed," she sobbed in muffled tones. "Ses +I, I ses, Mr. Paul's a gentleman whatever his frantic par may be and +marry you, my own lovey, he will, though not able to afford the marriage +fees, the same as will come out of Debby's pocket, though the laundry go +by the board. 'Eaven knows what we'll live on all the same, pore wurkhus +ijets as me an' Bart are, not bein' able to make you an' Miss Sylvia +'appy. Miss Sylvia Krill an' Norman both," ended Deborah with emphasis, +"whatever that smooth cat with the grin and the clawses may say, drat +her fur a slimy tabby--yah!" + +"I see you know all," said Paul, as soon as he could slip in a word. + +"Know all," almost yelled Deborah, dragging down the apron and revealing +flashing eyes, "and it's a mussy I ain't in Old Bailey this very day for +scratching that monkey of a Pash. Oh, if I'd known wot he wos never +should he 'ave got me the laundry, though the same may have to go, worse +luck. Ho, yuss! he come, and she come with her kitting, as is almost as +big a cat as she is. Mrs. Krill, bless her, oh, yuss, Mrs. Krill, the +sneakin', smiling Jezebel." + +"Did she see Sylvia?" asked Beecot, sharply. + +"Yuss, she did," admitted Deborah, "me lettin' her in not knowin' her +scratchin's. An' the monkey an' the kitting come too--a-spyin' out the +land as you may say. W'en I 'eard the noos I 'owled Mr. Paul, but my +pretty she turned white like one of them plaster stateys as boys sell +cheap in the streets, and ses she, she ses, 'Oh Paul'--if you'll forgive +me mentioning your name, sir, without perliteness." + +"Bless her, my darling. Did she think of me," said Beecot, tenderly. + +"Ah, when do she not think of you, sir? 'Eart of gold, though none in +her pocket by means of that Old Bailey woman as is a good match fur my +Old Bailey master. Ho! he wos a bad 'un, and 'ow Miss Sylvia ever come +to 'ave sich a par beats me. But I thank 'eaven the cat ain't my +pretty's mar, though she do 'ave a daughter of her own, the painted, +stuck-up parcel of bad bargains." + +Paul nodded. "Calling names won't do any good, Deborah," he said sadly; +"we must do the best we can." + +"There ain't no chance of the lawr gettin' that woman to the gallers I +'spose, sir?" + +"The woman is your late master's lawful wife. Pash seems to think so and +has gone over to the enemy"--here Deborah clenched her mighty fists and +gasped. "Sylvia's mother was married later, and as the former wife is +alive Sylvia is--" + +"No," shouted Deborah, flinging out her hand, "don't say it." + +"Sylvia is poor," ended Paul, calmly. "What did you think I was about to +say, Deborah?" + +"What that cat said, insulting of my pretty. But I shoved her out of the +door, tellin' her what she were. She guv me and Bart and my own sunbeam +notice to quit," gasped Deborah, almost weeping, "an' quit we will this +very day, Bart bein' a-packin' at this momingt. 'Ear 'im knocking, and I +wish he wos a-knockin' at Mrs. Krill's 'ead, that I do, the flauntin' +hussy as she is, drat her." + +"I'll go up and see Sylvia. No, Deborah, don't you come for a few +minutes. When you do come we'll arrange what is to be done." + +Deborah nodded acquiescence. "Take my lovely flower in your arms, sir," +she said, following him to the foot of the stairs, "and tell her as your +'eart is true, which true I knowed it would be." + +Beecot was soon in the sitting-room and found Sylvia on the sofa, her +face buried in her hands. She looked up when she recognized the beloved +footsteps and sprang to her feet. The next moment she was sobbing her +heart out on Paul's faithful breast, and he was comforting her with all +the endearing names he could think of. + +"My own, my sweet, my dearest darling," whispered Paul, smoothing the +pretty brown hair, "don't weep. You have lost much, but you have me." + +"Dear," she wept, "do you think it is true?" + +"I am afraid it is, Sylvia. However, I know a young lawyer, who is a +friend of mine, and I'll speak to him." + +"But Paul, though my mother may not have been married to my father--" + +"She _was_, Sylvia, but Mrs. Krill was married to him earlier. Your +father committed bigamy, and you, poor child, have to pay the penalty." + +"Well, even if the marriage is wrong, the money was left to us." + +"To you, dear," said Beecot, leading her to the sofa, "that is, the +money was left in that loosely-worded will to 'my daughter.' We all +thought it was you, but now this legal wife has come on the scene, the +money must go to her daughter. Oh, Sylvia," cried Paul, straining her to +his breast, "how foolish your father was not to say the money was left +to 'my daughter Sylvia.' Then everything would have been right. But the +absence of the name is fatal. The law will assume that the testator +meant his true daughter." + +"And am I not his true daughter?" she asked, her lips quivering. + +"You are my own darling, Sylvia," murmured Paul, kissing her hair; +"don't let us talk of the matter. I'll speak to my lawyer friend, but I +fear from the attitude of Pash that Mrs. Krill will make good her claim. +Were there a chance of keeping you in possession of the money, Pash +would never have left you so easily." + +"I am so sorry about the money on your account, Paul." + +"My own," he said cheerily, "money is a good thing, and I wish we could +have kept the five thousand a year. But I have you, and you have me, and +although we cannot marry for a long time yet--" + +"Not marry, Paul! Oh, why not?" + +"Dearest, I am poor, I cannot drag you down to poverty." + +Sylvia looked at him wide-eyed. "I am poor already." She looked round +the room. "Nothing here is mine. I have only a few clothes. Mr. Pash +said that Mrs. Krill would take everything. Let me marry you, darling," +she whispered coaxingly, "and we can live in your garret. I will cook +and mend, and be your own little wife." + +Beecot groaned. "Don't tempt me, Sylvia," he said, putting her away, "I +dare not marry you. Why, I have hardly enough to pay the fees. No, dear, +you must go with Debby to her laundry, and I'll work night and day to +make enough for us to live on. Then we'll marry, and--" + +"But your father, Paul?" + +"He won't do anything. He consented to our engagement, but solely, I +believe, because he thought you were rich. Now, when he knows you are +poor--and I wrote to tell him last night--he will forbid the match." + +"Paul!" She clung to him in sick terror. + +"My sweetest"--he caught her in his arms--"do you think a dozen fathers +would make me give you up? No, my love of loves--my soul, my heart of +hearts--come good, come ill, we will be together. You can stay with +Debby at Jubileetown until I make enough to welcome you to a home, +however humble. Dear, be hopeful, and trust in the God who brought us +together. He is watching over us, and, knowing that, why need we fear? +Don't cry, darling heart." + +"I'm not crying for crying," sobbed Sylvia, hiding her face on his +breast and speaking incoherently; "but I'm so happy--" + +"In spite of the bad news?" asked Paul, laughing gently. + +"Yes--yes--to think that you should still wish to marry me. I am +poor--I--I--have--no name, and--" + +"Dearest, you will soon have my name." + +"But Mrs. Krill said--" + +"I don't want to hear what she said," cried Paul, impetuously; "she is a +bad woman. I can see badness written all over her smiling face. We +won't think of her. When you leave here you won't see her again. My own +dear little sweetheart," whispered Paul, tenderly, "when you leave this +unhappy house, let the bad past go. You and I will begin a new life. +Come, don't cry, my pet. Here's Debby." + +Sylvia looked up, and threw herself into the faithful servant's arms. +"Oh, Debby, he loves me still; he's going to marry me whenever he can." + +Deborah laughed and wiped Sylvia's tears away with her coarse apron, +tenderly. "You silly flower," she cried caressingly; "you foolish queen +of 'oney bees, of course he have you in his 'eart. You'll be bride and +I'll be bridesmaid, though not a pretty one, and all will be 'oney and +sunshine and gates of pearl, my beauty." + +"Debby--I'm--I'm--so happy!" + +Deborah placed her young mistress in Paul's arms. "Then let 'im make you +'appier, pretty lily of the valley. Lor', as if anything bad 'ud ever +come to you two while silly old Debby have a leg to stan' on an' arms to +wash. Though the laundry--oh, lor'!" and she rubbed her nose till it +grew scarlet, "what of it, Mr. Beecot, I do ask?" + +"Have you enough money to pay a year's rent?" + +"Yes, me and Bart have saved one 'undred between us. Rent and furniture +and taxes can come out of it, sure. And my washin's what I call +washin'," said Deborah, emphatically; "no lost buttings and tored sheets +and ragged collars. I'd wash ag'in the queen 'erself, tho' I ses it as +shouldn't. Give me a tub, and you'll see if the money don't come in." + +"Well, then, Deborah, as I am too poor to marry Sylvia now, I want her +to stop with you till I can make a home for her." + +"An' where else should she stop but with her own silly, foolish Debby, +I'd like to know? My flower, you come an' be queen of the laundry." + +"I'll keep the accounts, Debby," said Sylvia, now all smiling. + +"You'll keep nothin' but your color an' your dear 'eart up," retorted +Debby, sniffing; "me an' Bart 'ull do all. An' this blessed day we'll go +to Jubileetown with our belongings. And you, Mr. Beecot?" + +"I'll come and see you settled, Deborah, and then I return to earn an +income for Sylvia. I won't let you keep her long." + +"She'll stop as long as she have the will," shouted Debby, hugging +Sylvia; "as to that Krill cat--" + +"She can take possession as soon as she likes. And, Deborah," added +Paul, significantly, "for all that has happened, I don't intend to drop +the search for your late master's murderer." + +"It's the Krill cat as done it," said Debby, "though I ain't got no +reason for a-sayin' of such a think." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE DETECTIVE'S VIEWS + + +As Paul expected, the next letter from his father contained a revocation +of all that had pleased him in the former one. Beecot senior wrote many +pages of abuse--he always did babble like a complaining woman when +angered. He declined to sanction the marriage and ordered his son at +once--underlined--to give up all thought of making Sylvia Norman his +wife. It would have been hard enough, wrote Beecot, to have received her +as a daughter-in-law even with money, seeing that she had no position +and was the daughter of a murdered tradesman, but seeing also that she +was a pauper, and worse, a girl without a cognomen, he forbade Paul to +bestow on her the worthy name of Beecot, so nobly worn by himself. There +was much more to the same effect, which Paul did not read, and the +letter ended grandiloquently in a command that Paul was to repair at +once to the Manor and there grovel at the feet of his injured father. + +To this despotic epistle the young man answered in a few lines. He said +that he intended to marry Sylvia, and that nothing would make him give +her up, and that he would not meet his father again until that father +remembered that his son was an Englishman and not a slave. Paul signed +his letter without the usual "your affectionate son," for he felt that +he had small love for this imperious old man who declined to control his +passions. So he now, knew the worst. The breach between himself and his +father was wider than ever, and he had only his youth and his brains to +depend upon, in making a living for himself and a home for Sylvia. +Strange to say, Paul's spirits rose, and he braced himself bravely to do +battle with fortune for his beloved. + +Sylvia, under the charge of Deborah, and escorted by Bart Tawsey, had +duly left Gwynne Street, bag and baggage, and she was now established in +Rose Cottage, Jubileetown. The house was a small one, and there was not +a single rose in the garden around it. Indeed, as the cottage had been +newly erected, there was not even a garden, and it stood amidst a bare +acre with a large drying-ground at the back. But the cottage, on the +outskirts of the new suburb, was, to all intents and purposes, in the +country, and Sylvia's weary eyes were so gladdened by green fields and +glorious trees that she forgot the nakedness of her immediate +surroundings. She was assigned the best room in the small abode, and one +of the first things she did was to write a letter to Paul asking him to +repair to Rose Cottage to witness the marriage of Deborah and Bart. The +handmaiden thought this was necessary, so that she could make full use +of her intended husband. + +"If he wasn't here allays," said the bride-elect, "he'd be gadding about +idling. I know him. An' me getting a business together won't be easy +unless I've got him at 'and, as you may say, to take round the bills, +let alone that he ought to sleep in the 'ouse in case burgulars gits in. +And sleep in the 'ouse without the blessin' of matrimony he can't, my +pretty, so that's all about it." + +Deborah, as an American would say, was a "hustler," and having made up +her mind, she did not let grass grow under her feet. She called on the +vicar of the parish and explained herself at great length, but +suppressed the fact that she had formerly lived in Gwynne Street. She +did not want the shadow of the murder to cast a gloom over her new home, +and therefore said nothing about the matter. All the vicar, good, easy +soul, knew, was that Deborah had been a servant in a respectable family +(whereabouts not mentioned); that the father and mother had died, and +that she had brought the only daughter of the house to live with her and +be treated like a lady. Then Deborah demanded that the banns should be +put up, and arranged that Bart should take up his abode in the parish +for the necessary time. This was done, and for three Sundays Deborah had +the pleasure of hearing the banns announced which foretold that Bart +Tawsey and herself would soon be man and wife. Then the marriage took +place. + +The future Mrs. Tawsey had no relatives, but Bart produced a snuffy old +grandmother from some London slum who drank gin during the +wedding-feast, much to the scandal of the bride. Paul acted as best man +to Bart, and Sylvia, in her plain black dress, was bridesmaid. Mrs. +Purr, the grandmother, objected to the presence of black at a wedding, +saying it was unlucky, and told of many fearful incidents which had +afterwards occurred to those who had tolerated such a funeral garb. But +Deborah swept away all opposition. + +"What!" she shouted in her usual style, "not 'ave my own sweet pretty to +arsk a blessing on my marriage, and she not able to git out of 'er +blacks? I'm astonished at you, Mrs. Purr, and you an old woman as +oughter know better. I doubt if you're Bart's granny. I've married into +an ijit race. Don't talk to me, Mrs. Purr, if you please. Live clean an' +work 'ard, and there's no trouble with them 'usbands. As 'as to love, +honor and obey you."--And she sniffed. + +"Them words you 'ave t' saiy," mumbled Mrs. Purr. + +"Ho," said Deborah, scornfully, "I'd like to see me say 'em to sich a +scrub as Bart." + +But say them she did at the altar, being compelled to do so by the +vicar. But when the ceremony was over, the newly-made Mrs. Tawsey took +Bart by the arm and shook him. He was small and lean and of a nervous +nature, so he quivered like a jelly in his wife's tremendous grip. +Deborah was really ignorant of her own strength. + +"You 'ark to me, Bart," said she, while the best man and bridesmaid +walked on ahead talking lovingly. "I said them words, which you oughter +'ave said, 'cause you ain't got no memory t' speak of. But they ain't my +beliefs, but yours, or I'll know the reason why. Jes' you say them now. +Swear, without Billingsgate, as you'll allays love, honor an' obey your +lovin' wife." + +Bart, still being shaken, gasped out the words, and then gave his arm to +the lady who was to rule his life. Deborah kissed him in a loud, hearty +way, and led him in triumph to the cottage. Here Mrs. Purr had prepared +a simple meal, and the health of the happy pair was proposed by Paul. +Mrs. Purr toasted them in gin, and wept as she did so. A dismal, tearful +old woman was Mrs. Purr, and she was about to open her mouth, in order +to explain what she thought would come of the marriage, when Mrs. Tawsey +stopped her. + +"None of them groans," cried Deborah, with vigor. "I won't have my +weddings made funerals. 'Old your tongue, Mrs. Purr, and you, Bart, jes' +swear to love, honor an' obey my pretty as you would your own lawful +wife, and the ceremonies is hoff." + +Bart performed the request, and then Paul, laughing at the oddity of it +all, took his leave. On walking to the gate, he was overtaken by Mrs. +Purr, who winked mysteriously. "Whatever you do, sir," said the lean old +creature, with many contortions of her withered face, "don't have +nothin' to do with Tray." + +"Tray," echoed Paul in surprise. "Mr. Pash's office boy?" + +"Him and none other. I knows his grandmother, as 'as bin up for drunk +two hundred times, and is proud of it. Stretchers is as common to her, +sir, as kissings is to a handsome young gent like you. An' the boy takes +arter her. A deep young cuss," whispered Granny Purr, significantly. + +"But why should I beware of him?" asked Beecot, puzzled. + +"A nod's a wink to a blind 'un," croaked Mrs. Purr, condensing the +proverb, and turning away. "Jus' leave that brat, Tray, to his own +wickedness. They'll bring him to the gallers some day." + +"But I want to know--" + +"Ah, well, then, you won't, sir. I ses what I ses, and I ses no more nor +I oughter say. So good-night, sir," and Mrs. Purr toddled up the +newly-gravelled path, and entered the cottage, leaving an odor of gin +behind her. + +Beecot had half a mind to follow, so strange was the hint she had given +him. Apparently, she knew something which connected him with Tray, and +Paul wondered for the fiftieth time, if the boy had picked up the opal +brooch. However, he decided to leave the matter alone for the present. +Mrs. Purr, whom Deborah had engaged to iron, was always available, and +Paul decided, that should anything point to Tray's being implicated in +the finding of the opal serpent, that he would hand him over to Hurd, +who would be better able to deal with such a keen young imp of the +gutter. Thus making up his mind, Paul dismissed all thought of Mrs. +Purr's mysterious utterance, and walked briskly to the nearest +bus-stand, where he took a blue vehicle to the Bloomsbury district. All +the way to his garret he dreamed of Sylvia, and poor though was the +home he had left her in, he was thankful that she was there in the safe +shelter of Mrs. Deborah Tawsey's arms. + +It was five o'clock when Paul arrived at the door of the stairs leading +to his attic, and here he was touched on the shoulder by no less a +person than Mr. Billy Hurd. Only when he spoke did Paul recognize him by +his voice, for the gentleman who stood before him was not the brown +individual he knew as the detective. Mr. Hurd was in evening dress, with +the neatest of patent boots and the tightest of white gloves. He wore a +brilliantly-polished silk hat, and twirled a gold-headed cane. Also he +had donned a smart blue cloth overcoat with a velvet collar and cuffs. +But though his voice was the voice of Hurd, his face was that of quite a +different person. His hair was dark and worn rather long, his moustache +black and large, and brushed out _a la Kaiser_, and he affected an +eye-glass as immovable as that of Hay's. Altogether a wonderfully +changed individual. + +"Hurd," said Paul, starting with surprise. + +"It's my voice told you. But now--" he spoke a tone higher in a shrill +sort of way and with a foreign accent--"vould you me discover, mon ami?" +he inquired, with a genuine Parisian shrug. + +"No. Why are you masquerading as a Frenchman, Hurd?" + +"Not Hurd in this skin, Mr. Beecot. Comte de la Tour, a votre service," +and he presented a thin glazed card with a coronet engraved on it. + +"Well, Count," said Beecot, laughing, "what can I do for you?" + +"Come up to your room," said the pseudo count, mounting the stairs; +"there's something to be talked over between us." + +"No bad news, I hope?" + +"Ah, my poor friend," said the detective, in his usual genial voice, +"you have had enough bad news, I am aware. To lose a lovely wife and a +fine fortune at once. Eh, what a pity!" + +"I have lost the money, certainly," said Beecot, lighting his lamp, "but +the wife will be mine as soon as I can save sufficient to give her a +better home than this." + +Monsieur le Comte de la Tour sat down and gracefully flung open his +overcoat, so as to expose a spotless shirt front. "What?" he asked, +lifting his darkened eyebrows, "so you mean to marry that girl?" + +"Of course," said Paul, angrily; "do you think I'm a brute?" + +"But the money?" + +"What does that matter. I love her, not the money." + +"And the name. Her birth--" + +"I'll give her my own name and then we'll see who will dare to say a +word against my wife." + +Hurd stretched out his hand, and, grasping that of Beecot's, shook it +warmly. "Upon my word you are a man, and that's almost better than being +a gentleman," he said heartily. "I've heard everything from Mr. Pash, +and I honor you Mr. Beecot--I honor you." + +Paul stared. "You must have been brought up in a queer way, Hurd," he +said drily, "to express this surprise because a man acts as a man and +not as a blackguard." + +"Ah, but you see in my profession I have mixed with blackguards, and +that has lowered my moral tone. It's refreshing to meet a straight, +honorable man such as you are, Mr. Beecot. I liked you when first I set +eyes on you, and determined to help you to discover the assassin of +Aaron Norman--" + +"Lemuel Krill you mean." + +"I prefer to call him by the name we both know best," said Hurd, "but +as I was saying, I promised to help you to find out who killed the man; +now I'll help you to get back the money." + +Paul sat down and stared. "What do you mean?" he asked. "The money can't +be got back. I asked a legal friend of mine, and put the case to him, +since that monkey of a Pash has thrown us over. My friend said that as +no name was mentioned in the will, Maud Krill would undoubtedly inherit +the money. Besides, I learn that the certificate of marriage is all +right. Mrs. Krill undoubtedly married Aaron Norman under his rightful +name thirty years ago." + +"Oh, yes, that's all right," said Hurd, producing a dainty silver +cigarette case, which was part of his "get-up." "Mrs. Krill is the widow +of the murdered man, and the silly way in which the will has been made +gives the five thousand a year to her daughter, whom Mrs. Krill has +under her thumb. It's all right as I say. But I shouldn't be surprised +to learn that there were circumstances in Aaron Norman's past life which +led him to leave his wife, and which may lead Mrs. Krill into buying +silence by giving Miss Norman half the income. You could live on two +thousand odd a year, eh?" + +"Not obtained in that way," said Beecot, filling his pipe and passing a +match to Hurd. "If the money comes legally to Sylvia, well and good; +otherwise she will have nothing to do with it." + +Hurd looked round the bleak garret expressively and shrugged his +shoulders again. "I think you are wrong, Mr. Beecot. You can't bring her +here." + +"No. But I may make enough money to give her a better home." + +"Can I help you?" + +"I don't see how you can. I want to be an author." + +"Well," said Hurd, whose British speech was in strange contrast to his +foreign appearance, "it's not a bad game to be an author if you get a +good serial connection. Oh, don't look surprised. I know about +newspapers and publishers as I know about most things. See here, Mr. +Beecot, have you ever tried your hand at a detective story?" + +"No. I write on a higher level." + +"You won't write on a more paying level," replied Hurd, coolly. "I know +a newspaper which will give you--if I recommend you, mind--one hundred +pounds for a good detective yarn. You apply for it." + +"But I couldn't make up one of those plots--so intricate." + +"Pooh. It's a trick. You set your puppets in such and such a way and +then mix them up. I'll give you the benefit of my experience as a 'tec, +and with my plot and your own writing we'll be able to knock up a story +for the paper I talk of. Then, with one hundred pounds you'll have a +nest-egg to start with." + +"I accept with gratitude," said Beecot, moved, "but I really don't know +why you should trouble about me." + +"Because you're a white man and an honorable gentleman," said the +detective, emphatically. "I've got a dear little wife of my own, and +she's something like this poor Miss Norman. Then again, though you +mightn't think so, I'm something of a Christian, and believe we should +help others. I had a hard life, Mr. Beecot, before I became a detective, +and many a time have I learned that prayers can be answered. But this is +all beside the question," went on Hurd quickly, and with that nervous +shame with which an Englishman masks the better part of himself. "I'll +see about the story for you. Meanwhile, I am going to a card-party to +meet, incidentally, Mr. Grexon Hay." + +"Ah! You still suspect him?" + +"I do, and with good reason. He's got another mug in tow. Lord George +Sandal, the son of Lord--well I needn't mention names, but Hay's trying +to clear the young ass out, and I'm on the watch. Hay will never know me +as the Count de la Tour. Not he, smart as he is. I'm fly!" + +"Do you speak French well?" + +"Moderately. But I play a silent part and say little. I shut my mouth +and open my eyes. But what I came here to say is, that I intend to find +out the assassin of Aaron Norman." + +"I can't offer you a reward, Hurd," said Paul, with a sigh. + +"Oh, that's all right. The widow, by the advice of Pash, has doubled the +reward. One thousand pounds it is now--worth winning, eh?" + +"Humph!" said Paul, moodily, "I shouldn't think she loved her husband so +much as that." + +Hurd's brown eyes shot a red flame which showed that he was excited, +though he was cool enough externally. "Yes," he admitted in a careless +manner, "she certainly does act the weeping widow in rather an +exaggerated fashion. However, she's got the cash now--or at least her +daughter has, which is the same thing. The two have taken up their +quarters in a fashionable hotel in the West End, and are looking for a +house. The old woman manages everything, and she will be one too many +for Mr. Hay." + +"What? Does he know Mrs. Krill? He said he didn't." + +"Quite right. He didn't when the ladies went first to Pash's office. But +Hay, on the look-out for a rich wife, got Pash to introduce him to the +ladies, who were charmed with him. He's making up to the daughter, even +in the few weeks that have elapsed, and now is assisting them to find a +house. The daughter loves him I fancy, but whether the mother will +allow the marriage to take place I can't say." + +"Surely not on such a short acquaintance." + +Hurd bent forward as about to say something, then changed his mind. +"Really, I don't know--Hay is fascinating and handsome. Have you been to +see him yet?" + +"No. He asked me, but all these troubles have put him out of my head. +Why do you ask?" + +"Because next time he invites you, go." + +"You warned me against him." + +"And I warn you again," said the detective, dryly. "Don't ask me to +explain, for I can't. But you go to see Hay when he invites you, and +make yourself agreeable, especially to Mrs. Krill." + +"Am I likely to meet her?" asked Paul, with repugnance. + +"Yes, I fancy so. After all, you are engaged to the daughter of the dead +man, and Mrs. Krill--I don't count Maud, who is a tool--is a deucedly +clever woman. She will keep her eye on you and Miss Norman." + +"Why? She has the money and need take no further notice." + +Hurd closed one eye in a suggestive manner. "Mrs. Krill may not be so +sure of the money, even though possession is nine points of the law. You +remember that scrap of paper found by the maid?" + +"In which Norman warned Sylvia against allowing his real name to become +known? Yes." + +"Well, the letter wasn't finished. The old man was interrupted, I +suppose. But in the few lines of writing Norman says," here Hurd took a +scrap of paper--a copy--out of his book and read, "'If the name of Krill +gets into the papers there will be great trouble. Keep it from the +public, I can tell you where to find the reasons for this as I have +written'--and then," said Hurd, refolding the paper, "the writing ends. +But you can see that Aaron Norman wrote out an account of his reasons, +which could not be pleasant for Mrs. Krill to hear." + +"I still don't understand," said Paul, hopelessly puzzled. + +"Well," said the detective, rising and putting on his smart hat, "it's +rather a muddle, I confess. I have no reason to suspect Mrs. Krill--" + +"Good heavens, Hurd, you don't think she killed her husband?" + +"No. I said that I have no reason to suspect her. But I don't like the +woman at all. Norman left his wife for some unpleasant reason, and that +reason, as I verily believe, has something to do with his death. I don't +say that Mrs. Krill killed him, but I do believe that she knows of +circumstances which may lead to the detection of the criminal." + +"In that case she would save her thousand pounds." + +"That's just where it is. If she does know, why does she double the +reward? A straightforward woman would speak out, but she's a crooked +sort of creature; I shouldn't like to have her for my enemy." + +"It seems to me that you do suspect her," said Paul dryly, but puzzled. + +Hurd shrugged his shoulders. "No, but I'm in a fix, that's a truth," +said he, and sauntered towards the door. "I can't see my way. There's +the clue of Mrs. Krill's past to be followed up, and the hint contained +in this scrap of paper. The old man may have left a document behind +likely to solve the whole business. He hints as much here." + +"True enough, but nothing was found." + +"Then again," went on Hurd, "the request for the jewels to be delivered +to that sailor chap was in Norman's handwriting and signed with his +name." + +"A forgery." + +"No. Pash, who knows his writing better than any other man, says the +document is genuine. Now then, Mr. Beecot, what made Aaron Norman write +and sign those lines giving up his property--or a part of it--just +before his death?" + +"It may have been done in good faith." + +"No. If so, the messenger would not have cleared out when Pash started +for Gwynne Street. That nautical gent knew what the lawyer would find at +the house, and so made himself scarce after trying to get the jewels. +This scrap of paper," Hurd touched his breast, "and that request for the +jewels in Pash's possession. Those are my clues." + +"And the opal serpent?" asked Paul. + +Hurd shook his head gloomily. "It's connection with the matter is beyond +me," he confessed. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MR. HAY'S LITTLE DINNER + + +The detective was as good as his word. In a few days Paul was introduced +to the editor of a weekly publication and obtained a commission for a +story to be written in collaboration with Mr. Hurd. It seemed that the +editor was an old acquaintance of Hurd's and had been extricated by him +from some trouble connected with cards. The editor, to show his +gratitude, and because that Hurd's experiences, thrown into the form of +a story, could not fail to interest the public, was only too willing to +make a liberal arrangement. Also Paul was permanently engaged to supply +short stories, to read those that were submitted to the editor, and, in +fact, he permanently became that gentleman's right hand. He was a kind, +beery Bohemian of an editor, Scott by name, and took quite a fancy to +Paul. + +"I'll give you three pounds a week," said Scott, beaming through his +large spectacles and raking his long gray beard with tobacco-stained +fingers, "you can live on that, and to earn it you can give me your +opinion on the stories. Then between whiles you can talk to Hurd and +write this yarn which I am sure will be interesting. Hurd has had some +queer experiences." + +This was quite true. Hurd had ventured on strange waters, but the +strangest he ever sailed on were those connected with the Gwynne Street +case. These latter experiences he did not tell to Scott, who was +incapable of holding his tongue, and secrecy, as the detective impressed +on Paul, was absolutely necessary to the conduct of the case. "If we +keep matters quiet," argued Hurd, "and let those concerned in the matter +fancy the case has been dropped, we'll be able to throw them off their +guard, and then they may betray themselves." + +"I wish you would say if you think there is one person or two," said +Paul, irritably, for his nerves were wearing thin under the strain. "You +first talk of the assassin and then of the assassins." + +"Well," drawled Hurd, smiling, "I'm in the dark, you see, and being only +a flesh and blood human being, instead of a creation of one of you +authors, I can only grope in the dark and look in every direction for +the light. One person, two persons, three, even four may be engaged in +this affair for all I know. Don't you be in a hurry, Mr. Beecot. I +believe in that foreign chap's saying, 'Without haste without rest.'" + +"Goethe said that." + +"Then Goethe is a sensible man, and must have read his Bible. 'Make no +haste in time of trouble,' says the Scriptures." + +"Very good," assented Beecot; "take your own time." + +"I intend to," said Hurd, coolly. "Bless you, slow and sure is my motto. +There's no hurry. You are fixed up with enough to live on, and a +prospect of making more. Your young lady is happy enough with that +grenadier of a woman in spite of the humbleness of the home. Mrs. Krill +and her daughter are enjoying the five thousand a year, and Mr. Grexon +Hay is fleecing that young ass, Lord George Sandal, as easily as +possible. I stand by and watch everything. When the time comes I'll +pounce down on--" + +"Ah," said Paul, "that's the question. On whom?" + +"On one or two or a baker's dozen," rejoined Hurd, calmly. "My chickens +ain't hatched yet, so I don't count 'em. By the way, is your old +school-fellow as friendly as ever?" + +"Yes. Why, I can't understand; as he certainly will make no money out of +me. He's giving a small dinner to-morrow night at his rooms and has +asked me." + +"You go," said the detective, emphatically; "and don't let on you have +anything to do with me." + +"See here, Hurd, I won't play the spy, if you mean that." + +"I don't mean anything of the sort," replied Hurd, earnestly, "but if +you do chance to meet Mrs. Krill at this dinner, and if she does chance +to drop a few words about her past, you might let me know." + +"Oh, I don't mind doing that," said Beecot, with relief. "I am as +anxious to find out the truth about this murder as you are, if not more +so. The truth, I take it, is to be found in Krill's past, before he took +the name of Norman. Mrs. Krill will know of that past, and I'll try and +learn all I can from her. But Hay has nothing to do with the crime, and +I won't spy on him." + +"Very good. Do what you like. But as to Hay, having nothing to do with +the matter, I still think Hay stole that opal brooch from you when you +were knocked down." + +"In that case Hay must know who killed Norman," cried Paul, excited. + +"He just does," rejoined Hurd, calmly; "and now you can understand +another reason why I take such an interest in that gentleman." + +"But you can't be certain?" + +"Quite so. I am in the dark, as I said before. But Hay is a dangerous +man and would do anything to rake in the dollars. He has something to do +with the disappearance of that brooch I am sure, and if so, he knows +more than he says. Besides"--here Hurd hesitated--"No! I'll tell you +that later." + +"Tell me what?" + +"Something about Hay that will astonish you and make you think he has +something to do with the crime. Meanwhile, learn all you can from Mrs. +Krill." + +"If I meet her," said Paul, with a shrug. + +Undoubtedly Hurd knew more than he was prepared to admit, and not even +to Paul, staunch as he knew him to be, would he speak confidentially. +When the time came the detective would speak out. At present he held his +tongue and moved in clouds like a Homeric deity. But his eyes were on +all those connected with the late Aaron Norman, indirectly or directly, +although each and every one of them were unaware of the scrutiny. + +Paul had no scruples in learning all he could from Mrs. Krill. He did +not think that she had killed her husband, and probably might be +ignorant of the person or persons who had slain the poor wretch in so +cruel a manner. But the motive of the crime was to be found in Norman's +past, and Mrs. Krill knew all about this. Therefore, Paul was very +pleased when he found that Mrs. Krill and her daughter were the guests +at the little dinner. + +Hay's rooms were large and luxuriously furnished. In effect, he occupied +a small flat in the house of an ex-butler, and had furnished the place +himself in a Sybarite fashion. The ex-butler and his wife and servants +looked after Hay, and in addition, that languid gentleman possessed a +slim valet, with a sly face, who looked as though he knew more than was +good for him. Indeed, the whole atmosphere of the rooms was shady and +fast, and Paul, simple young fellow as he was, felt the bad influence +the moment he stepped into the tiny drawing-room. + +This was furnished daintily and with great taste in color and +furnishing. It was more like a woman's room, and Mr. Hay had spared no +cost in making it pleasing to the eye and comfortable to the body. The +prevailing tone was pale yellow, and the electric light suffused itself +through lemon-shaded globes. The Louis Quinze furniture was upholstered +in primrose, and there were many Persian praying mats and Eastern +draperies about the place. Water-color pictures decked the walls, and +numerous mirrors reflected the dainty, pretty apartment. A brisk fire +was burning, although the evening was not cold, and everything looked +delightfully pleasant. Paul could not help contrasting all this luxury +and taste with his bare garret. But with Sylvia's love to warm his +heart, he would not have changed places with Grexon Hay for all his +splendor. + +Two ladies were seated by the fire. Mrs. Krill in black, majestic and +calm as usual. She wore diamonds on her breast and jewelled stars in her +gray hair. Although not young, she was a wonderfully well-preserved +woman, and her arms and neck were white, gleaming and beautifully +shaped. From the top of her head to the sole of her rather large but +well-shod foot, she was dressed to perfection, and waved a languid fan +as she welcomed Paul, who was presented to her by the host. "I am glad +to see you, Mr. Beecot," she said in her deep voice; "we had rather an +unhappy interview when last we met. How is Miss Norman?" + +"She is quite well," replied Paul, in as cordial a tone as he could +command. For the sake of learning what he could, he wished to be +amiable, but it was difficult when he reflected that this large, suave, +smiling woman had robbed Sylvia of a fortune and had spoken of her in a +contemptuous way. But Beecot, swallowing down his pride, held his little +candle to the devil without revealing his repugnance too openly. And +apparently Mrs. Krill believed that his composure was genuine enough, +for she was quite at her ease in his presence. + +The daughter was dressed like the mother, save that she wore pearls in +place of diamonds. She talked but little, as usual, and sat smiling, the +young image of the older woman. Hay also introduced Paul to a handsome +young fellow of twenty-one with rather a feeble face. This was Lord +George Sandal, the pigeon Hay was plucking, and although he had charming +manners and an assumption of worldly wisdom, he was evidently one of +those who had come into the world saddled and bridled for other folk's +riding. + +A third lady was also present, who called herself Aurora Qian, and Hay +informed his friend in a whisper that she was an actress. Paul then +remembered that he had seen her name in the papers as famous in light +comedy. She was pretty and kittenish, with fluffy hair and an eternal +smile. It was impossible to imagine a greater contrast to the massive +firmness of Mrs. Krill than the lively, girlish demeanor of the little +woman, yet Paul had an instinct that Miss Qian, in spite of her +profession and odd name and childish giggle, was a more shrewd person +than she looked. Everyone was bright and merry and chatty: all save Maud +Krill who smiled and fanned herself in a statuesque way. Hay paid her +great attention, and Paul knew very well that he intended to marry the +silent woman for her money. It would be hardly earned he thought, with +such a firm-looking mother-in-law as Mrs. Krill would certainly prove to +be. + +The dinner was delightful, well cooked, daintily served, and leisurely +eaten. A red-shaded lamp threw a rosy light on the white cloth, the +glittering crystal and bright silver. The number of diners was less than +the Muses, and more than the Graces, and everyone laid himself or +herself out to make things bright. And again Maud Krill may be +mentioned as an exception. She ate well and held her tongue, merely +smiling heavily when addressed. Paul, glancing at her serene face across +the rosy-hued table, wondered if she really was as calm as she looked, +and if she really lacked the brain power her mother seemed to possess. + +"I am glad to see you here, Beecot," said Hay, smiling. + +"I am very glad to be here," said Paul, adapting himself to +circumstances, "especially in such pleasant company." + +"You don't go out much," said Lord George. + +"No, I am a poor author who has yet to win his spurs." + +"I thought of being an author myself," said the young man, "but it was +such a fag to think about things." + +"You want your material supplied to you perhaps," put in Mrs. Krill in a +calm, contemptuous way. + +"Oh, no! If I wrote stories like the author johnnies I'd rake up my +family history. There's lots of fun there." + +"Your family mightn't like it," giggled Miss Qian. "I know lots of +things about my own people which would read delightfully if Mr. Beecot +set them down, but then--" she shrugged her dainty shoulders, "oh, dear +me, what a row there would be!" + +"I suppose there is a skeleton in every cupboard," said Hay, suavely, +and quite ignoring the shady tenant in his own. + +"There's a whole dozen cupboards with skeletons to match in my family," +said the young lord. "Why, I had an aunt, Lady Rachel Sandal, who was +murdered over twenty years ago. Now," he said, looking triumphantly +round the table, "which of you can say there's a murder in your +family--eh, ladies and gentlemen?" + +Paul glanced sideways at Mrs. Krill, wondering what she would say, and +wondering also how it was that Lord George did not know she was the +widow of the murdered Lemuel Krill, whose name had been so widely +advertised. But Hay spoke before anyone could make a remark. "What an +unpleasant subject," he said, with a pretended shudder, "let us talk of +less melodramatic things." + +"Oh, why," said Mrs. Krill, using her fan. "I rather like to hear about +murders." + +Lord George looked oddly at her, and seemed about to speak. Paul thought +for the moment that he did know about the Gwynne Street crime and +intended to remark thereon. But if so his good taste told him that he +would be ill-advised to speak and he turned to ask for another glass of +wine. Miss Aurora Qian looked in her pretty shrewd way from one to the +other. "I just love the Newgate Calendar," she said, clasping her hands. +"There's lovely plots for dramas to be found there. Don't you think so, +Mr. Beecot?" + +"I don't read that sort of literature, Miss Qian." + +"Ah, then you don't know what people are capable of in the way of +cruelty, Mr. Beecot." + +"I don't want to know," retorted Paul, finding the subject distasteful +and wondering why the actress pressed it, as she undoubtedly did. "I +prefer to write stories to elevate the mind." + +Miss Qian made a grimace and shot a meaning look at him. "It doesn't +pay," she said, tittering, "and money is what we all want." + +"I fear I don't care for money overmuch." + +"No," said Mrs. Krill to him in an undertone, "I know that from the way +you spoke in Mr. Pash's office." + +"I was standing up for the rights of another." + +"You will be rewarded," she replied meaningly, but what she did mean +Paul could not understand. + +The rest of the dinner passed off well enough, as the subject was +changed. Lord George began to talk of racing, and Hay responded. Mrs. +Krill alone seemed shocked. "I don't believe in gambling," she said +icily. + +"I hope you are not very down on it," said Hay. "Lord George and I +propose to play bridge with you ladies in the next room." + +"Maud can play and Miss Qian," said the widow. "I'll talk to Mr. Beecot, +unless he prefers the fascination of the green cloth." + +"I would rather talk to you," replied Paul, bowing. + +Mrs. Krill nodded, and then went out of the room with the younger +ladies. The three gentlemen filled their glasses with port, and Hay +passed round a box of cigars. Soon they were smoking and chatting, in a +most amicable fashion. Lord George talked a great deal about racing and +cards, and his bad luck with both. Hay said very little and every now +and then cast a glance at Paul, to see how he was taking the +conversation. At length, when Sandal became a trifle vehement on the +subject of his losses, Hay abruptly changed the subject, by refilling +his glass and those of his companions. "I want you to drink to the +health of my future bride," he said. + +"What," cried Paul, staring, "Miss Krill?" + +"The same," responded Hay, coldly. "You see I have taken your advice and +intend to settle. Pash presented me to the ladies when next they came to +his office, and since then I have been almost constantly with them. Miss +Krill's affections were disengaged, and she, therefore, with her +mother's consent, became my promised wife." + +"I wish you joy," said Lord George, draining his glass and filling +another, "and, by Jove! for your sake, I hope she's got money." + +"Oh, yes, she's well off," said Hay, calmly, "and you, Paul?" + +"I congratulate you, of course," stammered Beecot, dazed; "but it's so +sudden. You haven't known her above a month." + +"Five weeks or so," said Hay, smiling, and sinking his voice lower, he +added, "I can't afford to let grass grow under my feet. This young ass +here might snap her up, and Mrs. Krill would only be too glad to secure +a title for Maud." + +"I say," said Lord George suddenly, and waking from a brown study, "who +is Mrs. Krill? I've heard the name." + +"It's not an uncommon name," said Hay, untruthfully and quickly. "She is +a rich widow who has lately come to London." + +"Where did she come from?" + +"I can't tell you that. From the wilds of Yorkshire I believe. You had +better ask her." + +"Oh, by Jove, no, I wouldn't be so rude. But I seem to know the name." +Paul privately thought that if he read the papers, he ought certainly to +know the name, and he was on the point of making, perhaps an injudicious +remark, but Hay pointedly looked at him in such a meaning way, that he +held his tongue. More, when they left their wine for the society of the +ladies, Hay squeezed his friend's arm in the passage. + +"Don't mention the death," he said, using a politer word by preference. +"Sandal doesn't connect Mrs. Krill with the dead man. She wants to live +the matter down." + +"In that case she ought to leave London for a time." + +"She intends to. When I make Maud my wife, we will travel with her +mother for a year or two, until the scandal of the murder blows over. +Luckily the name of Lemuel Krill was not mentioned often in the papers, +and Sandal hasn't seen a hand-bill that I know of. I suppose you agree +with me that silence is judicious?" + +"Yes," assented Paul, "I think it is." + +"And you congratulate me on my approaching marriage?" + +"Certainly. Now, perhaps, you will live like Falstaff when he was made a +knight." + +Hay did not understand the allusion and looked puzzled. However, he had +no time to say more, as they entered the drawing-room. Almost as soon as +they did, Mrs. Krill summoned Paul to her side. + +"And now," she said, "let us talk of Miss Norman." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A NEW CLUE + + +"I don't wish to talk of Miss Norman," said Paul, bluntly. + +"Then you can be no true lover," retorted the widow. + +"I disagree with you. A true lover does not talk to all and sundry +concerning the most sacred feelings of his heart. Moreover, your remarks +at our last meeting were not to my taste." + +"I apologize," said Mrs. Krill, promptly, "and will not offend in that +way again. I did not know you then, but since Mr. Hay has spoken about +you to me, I know and appreciate you, Mr. Beecot." + +But Paul was not to be cajoled in this manner. The more suave the woman +was, the more he felt inclined to be on his guard, and he very wisely +obeyed the prompting of his instinct. "I fear you do _not_ know me, Mrs. +Krill," said he as coldly as Hay could have spoken, "else you would +hardly ask me to discuss with you, of all people, the lady whom I intend +to make my wife." + +"You are rather a difficult man to deal with," she replied, drawing her +thick white eyebrows together. "But I like difficult men. That is why I +admire Mr. Hay: he is not a silly, useless butterfly like that young +lord there." + +"Silly he is not, but I doubt his being useful. So far as I can see Hay +looks after himself and nobody else." + +"He proposes to look after my daughter." + +"So I understand," replied Beecot, politely, "but that is a matter +entirely for your own consideration." + +Mrs. Krill still continued to smile in her placid way, but she was +rather nonplussed all the same. From the appearance of Beecot, she had +argued that he was one of those many men she could twist round her +finger. But he seemed to be less easily guided than she expected, and +for the moment she was silent, letting her hard eyes wander towards the +card-table, round which sat the four playing an eager and engrossing +game of bridge. "You don't approve of that perhaps?" + +"No," said Paul, calmly, "I certainly do not." + +"Are you a Puritan may I ask?" + +Beecot shook his head and laughed. "I am a simple man, who tries to do +his duty in this world," said he, "and who very often finds it difficult +to do that same duty." + +"How do you define duty, Mr. Beecot?" + +"We are becoming ethical," said Paul, with a smile. "I don't know that I +am prepared with an answer at present." + +"Then the next time we meet. For I hope," said Mrs. Krill, smoothing her +face to a smile--it had grown rather sombre--"that we shall often meet +again. You must come and see us. We have taken a house in Kensington." + +"Chosen by Mr. Hay?" + +"Yes! He is our mentor in London Society. I don't think," added Mrs. +Krill, studying his face, "that you like Mr. Hay." + +"As I am Mr. Hay's guest," said Paul, dryly, "that is rather an unkind +question to ask." + +"I asked no question. I simply make a statement." + +Beecot found the conversation rather embarrassing. In place of his +pumping Mrs. Krill, she was trying to pump him, which reversal of his +design he by no means approved of. He changed the subject of +conversation by drawing a powerfully attractive red herring across the +trail. "You wish to speak to me about Miss Norman," he remarked. + +"I do," answered Mrs. Krill, who saw through his design, "but apparently +that subject is as distasteful as a discussion about Mr. Hay." + +"Both subjects are rather personal, I admit, Mrs. Krill. However, if you +have anything to tell me, which you would like Miss Norman to hear, I am +willing to listen." + +"Ah! Now you are more reasonable," she answered in a pleased tone. "It +is simply this, Mr. Beecot: I am very sorry for the girl. Through no +fault of her own, she is placed in a difficult position. I cannot give +her a name, since her father sinned against her as he sinned in another +way against me, but I can--through my daughter, who is guided by +me--give her an income. It does not seem right that I should have all +this money--" + +"That your daughter should have all this money," interpolated Beecot. + +"My daughter and I are one," replied Mrs. Krill, calmly; "when I speak +for myself, I speak for her. But, as I say, it doesn't seem right we +should be in affluence and Miss Norman in poverty. So I propose to allow +her five hundred a year--on conditions. Will she accept, do you think, +Mr. Beecot?" + +"I should think her acceptance would depend upon the conditions." + +"They are very simple," said Mrs. Krill in her deep tones, and looking +very straightly at Paul. "She is to marry you and go to America." + +Beecot's face did not change, since her hard eyes were on it. But he was +puzzled under his mask of indifference. Why did this woman want Sylvia +to marry him, and go into exile? He temporized. "With regard to your +wish that Miss Norman should marry me," said he, quietly, "it is of +course very good of you to interest yourself in the matter. I fail to +understand your reason, however." + +"Yet the reason is patent," rejoined Mrs. Krill, just as quietly and +quite as watchful as before. "Sylvia Norman is a young girl without much +character----" + +"In that I disagree with you." + +"Well, let us admit she has character, but she certainly has no +experience. In the world, she is exposed to much trouble and, perhaps, +may be, to temptation. Since her position is the fault of her father, +and she is entirely innocent, I want her to have a happy life. For that +reason I wish her to marry you." + +Paul bowed, not believing a word of this philanthropic speech. "Again, I +say it is good of you," said he with some irony; "but even were I out of +the way, her nurse, Deborah Tawsey, would look after her. As matters +stand, however, she will certainly become my wife as soon as we can +afford a home." + +"You can afford it to-morrow," said Mrs. Krill, eagerly, "if you will +accept my offer." + +"A home in America," said Paul, "and why?" + +"I should think both of you would like to be away from a place where you +have seen such a tragedy." + +"Indeed." Paul committed himself to no opinion. "And, supposing we +accept your offer, which I admit is a generous one, you suggest we +should go to the States." + +"Or to Canada, or Australia, or--in fact--you can go anywhere, so long +as you leave England. I tell you, Mr. Beecot, even at the risk of +hurting your feelings, that I want that girl away from London. My +husband treated me very badly--he was a brute always--and I hate to +have that girl before my eyes." + +"Yet she is innocent." + +"Have I not said that a dozen times," rejoined Mrs. Krill, impatiently. +"What is the use of further discussion. Do you accept my offer?" + +"I will convey it to Miss Norman. It is for her to decide." + +"But you have the right since you are to be her husband." + +"Pardon me, no. I would never take such a responsibility on me. I shall +tell Miss Norman what you say, and convey her answer to you." + +"Thank you," said Mrs. Krill, graciously. But she was annoyed that her +golden bait had not been taken immediately, and, in spite of her +suavity, Paul could see that she was annoyed, the more so when she began +to explain. "Of course you understand my feelings." + +"I confess I don't quite. Naturally, the fact that you are connected +with the murder in the public eyes--" + +"Pardon me," said the woman, swiftly, "but I am not. The name of Krill +has hardly been noticed. The public know that Aaron Norman was murdered. +No one talks of Lemuel Krill, or thinks that I am the widow of the +murdered man. Possibly I may come across some people who will connect +the two names, and look askance at me, but the majority of people--such +as Lord George there," she pointed with her fan, "do not think of me in +the way you say. As he did, they will think they remember the name--" + +"Lord George did not say that to you," said Paul, swiftly. + +"No. But he did to Mr. Hay, who told me," rejoined Mrs. Krill, quite as +swiftly. + +"To-night?" asked Beecot, remembering that Hay had not spoken privately +to Mrs. Krill since they came in from the dining-room. + +"Oh, no--on another occasion. Lord George has several times said that he +has a faint recollection of my name. Possibly the connection between me +and the murder may occur to his mind, but he is really so very stupid +that I hope he will forget all about the matter." + +"I wonder you don't change your name," said Paul, looking at her. + +"Certainly not, unless public opinion forces me to change it," she said +defiantly. "My life has always been perfectly open and above board, not +like that of my husband." + +"Why did he change his name?" asked Beecot, eagerly--too eagerly, in +fact, for she drew back. + +"Why do you ask?" she inquired coldly. + +Paul shrugged his shoulders. "An idle question, Mrs. Krill. I have no +wish to force your confidence." + +"There is no forcing in the matter," responded the woman. "I have taken +quite a fancy to you, Mr. Beecot, and you shall know what I do." + +"Pray do not tell me if you would rather not." + +"But I would rather," said Mrs. Krill, bluntly; "it will prevent your +misconception of anything you may hear about us. My husband's real name +was Lemuel Krill, and he married me thirty years ago. I will be frank +with you and admit that neither of us were gentlefolks. We kept a +public-house on the outskirts of Christchurch in Hants, called 'The Red +Pig.'" She looked anxiously at him as she spoke. + +"A strange name." + +"Have you never heard of it before?" + +"No. Had I heard the name it would have remained in my memory, from its +oddity." + +Paul might have been mistaken, but Mrs. Krill certainly seemed relieved. +Yet if she had anything to conceal in connection with "The Red Pig," +why should she have mentioned the name. + +"It is not a first-class hotel," she went on smoothly, and again with +her false smile. "We had only farm laborers and such like as customers. +But the custom was good, and we did very well. Then my husband took to +drink." + +"In that respect he must have changed," said Paul, quickly, "for all the +time I knew him--six months it was--I never saw him the worse for drink, +and I certainly never heard from those who would be likely to know that +he indulged in alcohol to excess. All the same," added Paul, with an +after-thought of his conversation with Sylvia in the Embankment garden, +"I fancied, from his pale face and shaking hands, and a tightness of the +skin, that he might drink." + +"Exactly. He did. He drank brandy in large quantities, and, strange to +say, he never got drunk." + +"What do you mean exactly?" asked Beecot, curiously. + +"Well," said Mrs. Krill, biting the top of her fan and looking over it, +"Lemuel--I'll call him by the old name--never grew red in the face, and +even after years of drinking he never showed any signs of intemperance. +Certainly his hands would shake at times, but I never noticed +particularly the tightness of the skin you talk of." + +"A certain shiny look," explained Paul. + +"Quite so. I never noticed it. But he never got drunk so as to lose his +head or his balance," went on Mrs. Krill; "but he became a demon." + +"A demon?" + +"Yes," said the woman, emphatically, "as a rule he was a timid, nervous, +little man, like a frightened rabbit, and would not harm a fly. But +drink, as you know, changes a nature to the contrary of what it actually +is." + +"I have heard that." + +"You would have seen an example in Lemuel," she retorted. "When he drank +brandy, he became a king, a sultan. From being timid he became bold; +from not harming anyone he was capable of murder. Often in his fits did +he lay violent hands on me. But I managed to escape. When sober, he +would moan and apologize in a provokingly tearful manner. I hated and +despised him," she went on, with flashing eyes, but careful to keep her +voice from reaching the gamblers. "I was a fool to marry him. My father +was a farmer, and I had a good education. I was attracted by the good +looks of Lemuel, and ran away with him from my father's farm in +Buckinghamshire." + +"That's where Stowley is," murmured Paul. + +"Stowley?" echoed Mrs. Krill, whose ears were very sharp. "Yes, I know +that town. Why do you mention it?" + +"The opal serpent brooch with which your husband's lips were fastened +was pawned there." + +"I remember," said Mrs. Krill, calmly. "Mr. Pash told me. It has never +been found out how the brooch came to fasten the lips--so horrible it +was," she shuddered. + +"No. My father bought the brooch from the Stowley pawnbroker, and gave +it to my mother, who sent it to me. When I had an accident, I lost it, +but who picked it up I can't say." + +"The assassin must have picked it up," declared Mrs. Krill, decisively, +"else it would not have been used in that cruel way; though why such a +brooch should have been used at all I can't understand. I suppose my +husband did not tell you why he wanted to buy the brooch?" + +"Who told you that he did?" asked Paul, quickly. + +"Mr. Pash. He told me all about the matter, but not the reason why my +husband wanted the brooch." + +"Pash doesn't know," said Beecot, "nor do I. Your husband fainted when +I first showed him the brooch, but I don't know why. He said nothing." + +Again Mrs. Krill's face in spite of her care showed a sense of relief at +his ignorance. "But I must get back to my story," she said, in a hard +tone, "we have to leave soon. I ran away with Lemuel who was then +travelling with jewellery. He knew a good deal about jewellery, you +know, which he turned to account in his pawnbroking." + +"Yes, and amassed a fortune, thereby." + +"I should never have credited him with so much sense," said Mrs. Krill, +contemptuously. "While at Christchurch he was nothing but a drunkard, +whining when sober, and a furious beast when drunk. I managed all the +house, and looked after my little daughter. Lemuel led me a dog's life, +and we quarrelled incessantly. At length, when Maud was old enough to be +my companion, Lemuel ran away. I kept on 'The Red Pig,' and waited for +him to return. But he never came back, and for over twenty years I heard +nothing of him till I saw the hand-bills and his portrait, and heard of +his death. Then I came to see Mr. Pash, and the rest you know." + +"But why did he run away?" asked Paul. + +"I suppose he grew weary of the life and the way I detested him," was +her reply. "I don't wonder he ran away. But there, I have told you all, +so make what you can of it. Tell Miss Norman of my offer, and make her +see the wisdom of accepting it. And now"--she rose, and held out her +hand--"I must run away. You will call and see us? Mr. Hay will give you +the address." + +"What's that," said Hay, leaving the card-table, "does Beecot want your +address? Certainly." He went to a table and scribbled on a card. "There +you are. Hunter Street, Kensington, No. 32A. Do come, Beecot. I hope +soon to call on your services to be my best man," and he cast a coldly +loving look on Maud, who simply smiled as usual. + +By this time the card-party had broken up. Maud had lost a few pounds, +and Lord George a great deal. But Miss Qian and Hay had won. + +"What luck," groaned the young lord. "Everything seems to go wrong with +me." + +"Stop and we'll try another game when the ladies have gone," suggested +Hay, his impassive face lighting up, "then Beecot--" + +"I must go," said the young gentleman, who did not wish to be called +upon as a witness in a possible card scandal. + +"And I'll go too," said Lord George. "Whenever I play with you, Hay, I +always seem to lose." + +"What do you mean by that?" asked Grexon, fiercely. + +"Oh, he doesn't mean anything," said Miss Qian, sweetly, and putting her +cloak round her. "Mr. Beecot, just take me to my cab." + +"I'll take you to your carriage," said Hay, offering an arm to Mrs. +Krill, which she accepted graciously. + +Lord George followed, grumbling, with the ever-smiling Maud. Miss Qian +skipped into a hansom, and offered Paul a drive back to town which he +refused. As the cab was driving off she bent down and whispered, "Be +careful," with a side-glance at Hay. + +Paul laughed. Everyone seemed to doubt Hay. But that gentleman handed +Mrs. Krill and her daughter into their carriage, and looked towards Lord +George. "You don't want your revenge to-night?" he asked. + +"No, confound you!" said the young man, sulkily. + +"In that case I'll drive into Kensington with Mrs. Krill, and borrow her +carriage for a trip to Piccadilly. Good-night, Sandal. Good-night, +Beecot." + +He waved his hand, and the ladies waved theirs, and then the three drove +away. Lord George lighted a cigar, and putting his arm within that of +Beecot, strolled down the road. "Come to my club," he said. + +"No, thank you," answered Paul, politely, "I must get home." + +"But I wish you'd come. I hate being by myself and you seem such a good +sort of chap." + +"Well," said Beecot, thinking he might say a word in season to this +young fool, "I don't gamble." + +"Oh, you cry down that, do you?" + +"Well, I think it's foolish." + +"It is," assented Lord George, frankly, "infernally foolish. And Hay has +all the luck. I wonder if he plays square." + +This was dangerous ground, and Paul shied. "I really can't say," he said +coldly, "I don't play cards." + +"But what do you know of Hay?" asked Sandal. + +"Only that he was at school with me at Torrington. We met by accident +the other day, and he asked me to dinner." + +"Torrington. Yes. I had a brother at that school once," said Lord +George, "but you and Hay wouldn't get on well together, I should think. +You're straight, and he's--" + +"You forget, we have been dining with him," said Paul, quickly. + +"What of that. I've dined often and have paid pretty dearly for the +privilege. I must have lost at least five thousand to him within the +last few months." + +"In that case I should advise you to play cards no more. The remedy is +easy," said Paul, dryly. + +"It isn't so easy to leave off cards," rejoined Sandal, gloomily. "I'm +that fond of gambling that I only seem to live when I've got the cards +or dice in my hand. I suppose it's like dram-drinking." + +"If you take my advice, Lord George, you'll give up card-playing." + +"With Hay, do you mean?" asked the other, shrewdly. + +"With anyone. I know nothing about Hay beyond what I have told you." + +"Humph," said Sandal, "I don't think you're a chap like him at all. I +may look a fool, but I ain't, and can see through a brick wall same as +most Johnnies." + +"Who can't see at all," interpolated Paul, dryly. + +"Ha! ha! that's good. But I say about this Hay. What a queer lot he had +there to-night." + +"I can't discuss that," said Paul, stiffly. He was not one to eat a +man's bread and salt and then betray him. + +Sandal went on as though he hadn't heard him. "That actress is a jolly +little woman," said he. "I've seen her at the Frivolity--a ripping fine +singer and dancer she is. But those other ladies?" + +"Mrs. and Miss Krill." + +The young lord stopped short in the High Street. "Where have I heard +that name?" he said, looking up to the stars; "somewhere--in the country +maybe. I go down sometimes to the Hall--my father's place. I don't +suppose you'd know it. It's three miles from Christchurch." + +"In Hants," said Paul, feeling he was on the verge of a discovery. + +"Yes. Have you been there?" + +"No. But I have heard of the place. There's an hotel there called 'The +Red Pig,' which I thought--" + +"Ha!" cried young Sandal, stopping again, and with such a shout that +passers-by thought he was drunk. "I remember the name. 'The Red Pig'; a +woman called Krill kept that." + +"She can hardly be the same," said Paul, not wishing to betray the lady. + +"No. I guess not. She'd hardly have the cheek to sit down with me if she +did. But Krill. Yes, I remember--my aunt, you know." + +"Your aunt?" + +"Yes," said Sandal, impatiently, "she was murdered, or committed suicide +in that 'Red Pig' place. Rachel Sandal--with her unlucky opals." + +"Her unlucky opals! What do you mean?" + +"Why, she had a serpent set with opals she wore as a brooch, and it +brought her bad luck." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Sylvia's theory + + +It was close upon midnight when Paul reached his garret. Sandal drove +him in a hansom as far as Piccadilly Circus, and from that place Beecot +walked through Oxford Street to Bloomsbury. He had not been able to +extract further information of any importance from the young lord. It +appeared that Lady Rachel Sandal, in love with an inferior, had +quarrelled with her father, and had walked to Christchurch one night +with the intention of joining the man she wished to marry in London. But +the night was stormy and Lady Rachel was a frail woman. She took refuge +in "The Red Pig," intending to go the next morning. But during the night +she was found strangled in the bedroom she had hired. Sandal could give +no details, as the events happened before he was born, and he had only +heard scraps of the dreadful story. + +"Some people say Lady Rachel was murdered," explained Sandal, "and +others that she killed herself. But the opal brooch, which she wore, +certainly disappeared. But there was such a scandal over the affair that +my grandfather hushed it up. I can't say exactly what took place. But I +know it happened at a small pub kept by a woman called Krill. Do you +think this woman is the same?" + +"It's hardly likely," said Paul, mendaciously. "How could a woman who +kept a small public house become suddenly rich?" + +"True," answered Lord George, as they stopped in the Circus, "and she'd +have let on she knew about my name had she anything to do with the +matter. All the same, I'll ask her." + +"Do so," said Paul, stepping out of the cab. He was perfectly satisfied +that Mrs. Krill was quite equal to deceiving Sandal. The wonder was, +that she had not held her peace to him about "The Red Pig." + +"You won't come on to my club?" asked Sandal, leaning out of the cab. + +"No, thank you," replied Paul. "Good-night," and he walked away. + +The fact is Beecot wished to put on paper all that he had heard that +night and send it to Hurd. As soon as he reached his attic he set to +work and wrote out a detailed account of the evening. + + "You might find out if Lady Rachel committed suicide or whether she + was strangled by someone else," ended Beecot. "Certainly the + mention of the serpent brooch is curious. This may be the event in + Norman's past life which led him to change his name." + +Paul wrote much more and then went out to post the letter. It was after +midnight when he did, so there was not much chance of Hurd getting the +letter before the second or third post the next day. But Paul felt that +he had done his duty, and had supplied the information as speedily as +possible, so he went to sleep with a quiet mind, in spite of the +excitement of the evening. But next morning he was unable to sit down to +his desk as usual, and felt disinclined to go to the newspaper office, +so he walked to Jubileetown to see how Sylvia was getting along. Deborah +met him at the gate. + +"Well I never, Mr. Beecot," said Mrs. Tawsey, with her red arms akimbo +in her usual attitude; "this is a sight for sore eyes. Won't my pretty +be 'appy this day, say what you may. She's a-makin' out bills fur them +as 'ad washin' done, bless her 'eart for a clever beauty." + +"How is business?" asked Paul, entering the gate, which Deborah opened. + +"Bless you, Mr. Beecot, I'll be a lady of forting soon," answered the +proprietress of the laundry, "the way washing 'ave come in is jest +amazin'. One 'ud think folk never 'ad no linen done up afore, and that +they never did 'ave," said Deborah, rubbing her nose hard, "in my way, +which _is_ a way. If you'd only send along your shirts, Mr. Beecot, I'd +be proud to show you what can be done with fronts, an' no thumbnails +down them to spile their loveliness." + +Paul did not reply to this, but laughed absently. He was wondering if +Deborah had ever heard her master drop any hint as to his having come +from the place where Mrs. Krill resided, and asked the question on the +spur of the moment. + +"Do you know Christchurch in Hants?" + +Deborah rubbed her nose harder and looked at him doubtfully. + +"Me as said as I'd no relatives must tell the truth now, as I 'ave," +said she rather incoherently, "for my sister, Tilly Junk, worked for +someone in that there place for years. But we never got on well, she +being upsettin' and masterful, so arsk her to my weddin' I didn't, and +denied relatives existing, which they do, she bein' alive ten years ago +when she larst wrote." + +"You have not heard from her since?" asked Paul, inquisitively. + +"Sir, you may burn me or prison me or put me in pillaries," said Mrs. +Tawsey, "but deceive you I won't. Me an' Tilly not bein' of 'appy +matchin' don't correspond. We're Londing both," exclaimed Deborah, +"father 'avin' bin a 'awker, but why she went to the country, or why I +stopped in Gwynne Street, no one knows. And may I arsk, Mr. Beecot, why +you arsk of that place?" + +"Your late master came from Christchurch, Mrs. Tawsey. Did you never +hear him mention it?" + +"That I never did, for close he was, Mr. Beecot, say what you like. I +never knowed but what he'd pawned and sold them bookses all his blessed +life, for all the talkin' he did. If I'd ha' knowd," added Deborah, +lifting her red finger, "as he'd bin maried afore and intended to cast +out my lovely queen, I'd ha' strangled him myself." + +"He had no intention of casting out Sylvia," said Paul, musingly; "he +certainly left the money to her." + +"Then why 'ave that other got it?" + +"Sylvia's name wasn't mentioned, and Miss Krill is legally entitled as +the legitimate daughter." + +"Call her what you like, she's a cat as her mother is afore her," said +Mrs. Tawsey, indignantly, "and not young at that. Thirty and over, as +I'm a livin' woman." + +"Oh, I don't think Miss Krill is as old as that." + +"Being a man you wouldn't, sir, men bein' blind to wrinklings and paint. +But paint she do, the hussey, and young she ain't. Over thirty--if I die +for the sayin' of it." + +"But Mrs. Krill was married to your master only thirty years ago." + +"Then more shame to 'er," snapped Deborah, masterfully; "for she ain't +an honest woman if the signs of age is believing. Will I write to my +sister Tilly, as I don't love Mr. Beecot, and arsk if she knowed master +when he wos in that there place, which she can't 'ave, seeing she's bin +there but ten year, and he away twenty?" + +"No, Deborah, you'd better say nothing. The case is in Hurd's hands. +I'll tell him what you say, and leave the matter to him. But you must be +deceived about Miss Krill's age." + +"I've got two eyes an' a nose," retorted Mrs. Tawsey, "so don't talk of +deceivin's. Thirty and more she is, the hussey, let her Jezebel of a mar +lie as she like, an' can say what you will, Mr. Beecot. But there's my +pretty smilin' from the winder and the tub's a-waitin'; so you go in and +smooth 'er to affections, while I see that Mrs. Purr irons the shirts, +which she do lovely there's no denyin'. Hoh!" and Deborah plunged round +the corner of the house, rampant and full of corn. + +Paul walked through the newly-created garden, in which he saw many +proofs of Sylvia's love for flowers, and reached the door in time to +take the girl in his arms. She was flushed and joyful, and her eyes were +as bright as stars. "Paul, darling," she said, as they entered the +sitting-room, where she was struggling with the accounts, "I'm so glad +you are here. What's nine times nine?" + +"Eighty-one," said Paul, looking at the long list of figures Sylvia had +been trying to add up. "Why do you make your head ache with these +accounts, darling?" + +"I must help Debby, Paul, and I get on very well with the aid of an +arithmetic." And she pointed to a small school book which she had +evidently been studying. + +"Let me take the burden from your shoulders," said her lover, smiling, +and sat down at the table which was strewn with bills. In about an hour +he had arranged all these, and had made them out neatly to Deborah's +various customers. Then he directed the envelopes, and Sylvia sealed +them up. All the time they laughed and chatted, and despite the dull +toil thoroughly enjoyed themselves. "But I am glad to see, Sylvia," said +Beecot, pointing to three library volumes lying on the sofa, "that you +enjoy yourself occasionally." + +"Oh!" said Sylvia, pouncing on these, "I'm so glad you spoke, Paul; I +wanted to say something to you. _The Confessions of a Thug_," she read +out, and looked at Paul. "Have you read it?" + +Beecot nodded. "By Colonel Meadows Taylor. A very interesting book, but +rather a bloodthirsty one for you, dearest." + +"Debby got it," confessed Miss Norman, "along with some other books from +a literary customer who could not pay his bill. It is very strange, +Paul, that _The Confessions of a Thug_ should be amongst the books." + +"Really I don't see why," smiled Beecot, fingering the old-fashioned +volumes. + +"It's the finger of Fate, Paul," said Sylvia, solemnly. Then seeing her +lover look puzzled, "I mean, that I should find out what goor is?" + +"Goor?" Paul looked more puzzled than ever. + +"It's an Indian word," explained Sylvia, "and means coarse sugar. The +Thugs eat it before they strangle anyone." + +"Oh," laughed Beecot, "and you think your father was strangled by a +Thug? My dear child, the Thugs were stamped out years ago. You'll read +all about it in the preface of that book, if I remember. But it's long +since I read the work. Besides, darling," he added, drawing her to him +caressingly, "the Thugs never came to England." + +"Paul," said Sylvia, still more solemnly and resenting the laugh, "do +you remember the Thug that came into the shop--" + +"Oh, you mean the street-hawker that Bart spoke of. Yes, I remember that +such an Indian entered, according to Bart's tale, and wanted to sell +boot-laces, while that young imp, Tray, was dancing on poor Bart's body. +But the Indian wasn't a Thug, Sylvia." + +"Yes, he was," she exclaimed excitedly. "Hokar, he said he was, and +Hokar was a Thug. Remember the handful of coarse brown sugar he left on +the counter? Didn't Bart tell you of that?" + +Paul started. "Yes, by Jove! he did," was his reply. + +"Well, then," said Sylvia, triumphantly, "that sugar was goor, and the +Thugs eat it before strangling anyone, and father was strangled." + +Beecot could not but be impressed. "It is certainly very strange," he +said, looking at the book. "And it was queer your father should have +been strangled on the very night when this Indian Hokar left the sugar +on the counter. A coincidence, Sylvia darling." + +"No. Why should Hokar leave the sugar at all?" + +"Well, he didn't eat it, and therefore, if he was a Thug, he would have +done so, had he intended to strangle your father." + +"I don't know," said Sylvia, with a look of obstinacy on her pretty +face. "But remember the cruel way in which my father was killed, Paul. +It's just what an Indian would do, and then the sugar--oh, I'm quite +sure this hawker committed the crime." + +Beecot shook his head and strove to dissuade her from entertaining this +idea. But Sylvia, usually so amenable to reason, refused to discard her +theory, and indeed Paul himself thought that the incident of the sugar +was queer. He determined to tell Hurd about the matter, and then the +hawker might be found and made to explain why he had left the goor on +the counter. "But the sect of the Thugs is extinct," argued Paul, +quickly; "it can't be, Sylvia." + +"But it is," she insisted, "I'm sure." And from this firm opinion he +could not move her. Finally, when he departed, he took the books with +him, and promised to read the novel again. Perhaps something might come +of Sylvia's fancy. + +The lovers spent the rest of the time in talking over their future, and +Beecot looked hopefully towards making sufficient money to offer Sylvia +a home. He also described to her how he had met Mrs. Krill and related +what she was prepared to do. "Do you think we should accept the five +hundred a year, Paul," said Sylvia, doubtfully; "it would put everything +right, and so long as I am with you I don't care where we live." + +"If you leave the decision to me, darling," said Paul, "I think it will +be best to refuse this offer. Something is wrong, or Mrs. Krill would +not be so anxious to get you out of the country." + +"Oh, Paul, do you think she knows anything about the murder?" + +"No, dear. I don't think that. Mrs. Krill is far too clever a woman to +put her neck in danger. But there may be a chance of her daughter losing +the money. Sylvia," he asked, "you saw Maud Krill. How old would you +take her to be?" + +"Oh, quite old, Paul," said Sylvia, decisively; "she dresses well and +paints her face; but she's forty." + +"Oh, Sylvia, not so much as that." + +"Well, then, thirty and over," insisted Sylvia. "Debby thinks the same +as I do." + +"Don't you think Debby's zeal may lead her to exaggerate?" + +"It doesn't lead me to exaggerate," said Sylvia, slightly offended; "and +I have eyes in my head as well as Debby. That girl, or that woman, I +should say, is over thirty, Paul." + +"In that case," said Beecot, his color rising, "I fancy I see the reason +of Mrs. Krill's desire to get you out of the country. Maud," he added +deliberately, "may not be your father's daughter after all." + +"What makes you think that?" + +"Well. According to the marriage certificate, and to Mrs. Krill's +admission, she was married to your father thirty years ago. If Maud is +over thirty--can't you see, Sylvia?" + +"Yes." Sylvia colored. "You mean she may be the same as I am?" + +"Not exactly, dear," replied Paul, soothing her. "I mean that Mrs. Krill +may have been a widow and have had her little girl with her when she +married your father. In that case Maud certainly could not get the +money, and so Mrs. Krill wants you to leave England." + +"In case I would get it," said Sylvia, excited. + +Paul looked puzzled and rather sad. "I can't say, dear," he replied +doubtfully. "Certainly the money is left to 'my daughter,' but as the +marriage with your mother unfortunately is void, I fear you would not +inherit. However," he said grimly, "there would be a certain pleasure in +taking the money from that woman. Maud is a mere puppet in her hands," +he laughed. "And then Hay would marry a poor bride," he ended +maliciously. + +Sylvia could not quite understand all this, and gave up trying to solve +the problem with a pretty gesture of indifference. "What will you do, +Paul?" she asked. + +"I'll see Hurd and tell him what you and Deborah say about the age of +Maud Krill." + +"Why not see Mr. Pash?" + +"Because he is a traitor," replied Beecot, darkly, "and, knowing he has +lost your confidence, he will certainly try and give Maud Krill +possession of the money. No, I'll speak to Hurd, who is my friend and +yours. He is clever and will be able to unravel this tangle." + +"Tell him about the goor also, Paul." + +"Yes. I'll explain everything I can, and then I'll get him to go down to +Christchurch and see what happened there, when your father lived with +Maud's mother." + +"What did happen, Paul?" asked Sylvia, anxiously. + +"Nothing," he replied with an assumption of carelessness, for he did not +want to tell the girl about the fate of Lady Rachel Sandal, "but we may +find in your father's past life what led to his murder." + +"Do you think Mrs. Krill had anything to do with it?" + +"My own, you asked that question before. No, I don't. Still, one never +knows. I should think Mrs. Krill is a dangerous woman, although I fancy, +too clever to risk being hanged. However, Hurd can find out if she was +in town on the night your father was killed." + +"That was on the sixth of July," said Sylvia. + +"Yes. And he was murdered at twelve." + +"After twelve," said Sylvia. "I heard the policeman on his beat at a +quarter-past, and then I came down. Poor father was strangled before our +very eyes," she said, shuddering. + +"Hush, dear. Don't speak of it," said Paul, rising. "Let us talk of more +interesting subjects." + +"Paul, I can think of nothing till I learn who killed my poor father, +and why he was killed so cruelly." + +"Then we must wait patiently, Sylvia. Hurd is looking after the matter, +and I have every confidence in Hurd. And, by Jove!" added Beecot, with +an after-thought, "Mrs. Krill doubled the reward. Were she concerned in +the matter she would not risk sharpening the wits of so clever a man as +Hurd. No, Sylvia, whosoever strangled your father it was not Mrs. +Krill." + +"It was this Indian," insisted Sylvia, "and he's a Thug." + +Paul laughed although he was far from thinking she might be wrong. Of +course it seemed ridiculous that a Thug should strangle the old man. In +the first place, the Thugs have been blotted out; in the second, if any +survived, they certainly would not exercise their devilish religion in +England, and in the third, Hokar, putting aside his offering strangled +victims to Bhowanee, the goddess of the sect, had no reason for slaying +an unoffending man. Finally, there was the sailor to be accounted +for--the sailor who had tried to get the jewels from Pash. Paul wondered +if Hurd had found out anything about this individual. "It's all very +difficult," sighed Beecot, "and the more we go into the matter the more +difficult does it get. But we'll see light some day. Hurd, if anyone, +will unravel the mystery," and Sylvia agreed with him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +HURD'S INFORMATION + + +For the next day or two Paul was kept closely to work in the office, +reading a number of tales which were awaiting his judgment. After hours, +he several times tried to see Billy Hurd, but was unable to meet him. He +left a note at the Scotland Yard office, asking if Hurd had received his +communication regarding Mrs. Krill, and if so, what he proposed to do +concerning it. Hurd did not reply to this note, and Paul was growing +puzzled over the silence of the detective. At length the answer came, +not in writing, but in the person of Hurd himself, who called on Beecot. + +The young man had just finished his frugal meal and was settling down to +an evening's work when there came a knock to the door. Hurd, dressed in +his usual brown suit, presented himself, looking cool and composed. But +he was more excited than one would imagine, as Paul saw from the +expression of his eyes. The detective accepted a cup of coffee and +lighted his pipe. Then he sat down in the arm-chair on the opposite side +of the fireplace and prepared to talk. Paul heaped on coals with a +lavish hand, little as he could afford this extravagance, as the night +was cold and he guessed that Hurd had much to say. So, on the whole, +they had a very comfortable and interesting conversation. + +"I suppose you are pleased to see me?" asked Hurd, puffing meditatively +at his briar. + +Paul nodded. "Very glad," he answered, "that is, if you have done +anything about Mrs. Krill?" + +"Well," drawled the detective, smiling, "I have been investigating that +murder case." + +"Lady Rachel Sandal's?" said Beecot, eagerly. "Is it really murder?" + +"I think so, though some folks think it suicide. Curious you should have +stumbled across that young lord," went on Hurd, musingly, "and more +curious still that he should have been in the room with Mrs. Krill +without recollecting the name. There was a great fuss made about it at +the time." + +"Oh, I can understand Lord George," said Beecot, promptly. "The murder, +if it is one, took place before he was born, and as there seems to have +been some scandal in the matter, the family hushed it up. This young +fellow probably gathered scraps of information from old servants, but +from what he said to me in the cab, I think he knows very little." + +"Quite enough to put me on the track of Lemuel Krill's reason for +leaving Christchurch." + +"Is that the reason?" + +"Yes. Twenty-three years ago he left Christchurch at the very time Lady +Rachel was murdered in his public-house. Then he disappeared for a time, +and turned up a year later in Gwynne Street with a young wife whom he +had married in the meantime." + +"Sylvia's mother?" + +"Exactly. And Miss Norman was born a year later. She's nearly +twenty-one, isn't she?" + +"Yes. She will be twenty-one in three months." + +Hurd nodded gravely. "The time corresponds," said he. "As the crime was +committed twenty-three years back and Lord George is only twenty, I can +understand how he knows so little about it. But didn't he connect Mrs. +Krill with the man who died in Gwynne Street?" + +"No. She explained that. The name of Krill appeared only a few times in +the papers, and was principally set forth with the portrait, in the +hand-bills. I shouldn't think Lord George was the kind of young man to +bother about hand-bills." + +"All the same, he might have heard talk at his club. Everyone isn't so +stupid." + +"No. But, at all events, he did not seem to connect Mrs. Krill with the +dead man. And even with regard to the death of his aunt, he fancied she +might not be the same woman." + +"What an ass he must be," said Hurd, contemptuously. + +"I don't think he has much brain," confessed Paul, shrugging his +shoulders; "but he asked me if I thought Mrs. Krill was the same as the +landlady of 'The Red Pig,' and I denied that she was. I don't like +telling lies, but in this case I hope the departure from truth will be +pardoned." + +"You did very right," said the detective. "The fewer people know about +these matters the better--especially a chatterbox like this young fool." + +"Do you know him?" + +"Yes, under the name of the Count de la Tour. But I know of him in +another way, which I'll reveal later. Hay is still fleecing him?" + +"He is. But Lord George seems to be growing suspicious of Hay," and Paul +related the conversation he had with the young man. + +Hurd grunted. "I'm sorry," he said. "I want to catch Hay red-handed, and +if Lord George grows too clever I may not be able to do so." + +"Well," said Paul, rather impatiently, "never mind about that fellow +just now, but tell me what you have discovered." + +"Oh, a lot of interesting things. When I got your letter, of course I at +once connected the opal serpent with Aaron Norman, and his change of +name with the murder. I knew that Norman came to Gwynne Street over +twenty years ago--that came out in the evidence connected with his +death. Therefore, putting two and two together, I searched in the +newspapers of that period and found what I wanted." + +"A report of the case?" + +"Precisely. And after that I hunted up the records at Scotland Yard for +further details that were not made public. So I got the whole story +together, and I am pretty certain that Aaron Norman, or as he then was, +Lemuel Krill, murdered Lady Rachel for the sake of that precious +brooch." + +"Ah," said Paul, drawing a breath, "now I understand why he fainted when +he saw it again. No wonder, considering it was connected in his mind +with the death of Lady Rachel." + +"Quite so. And no wonder the man kept looking over his shoulder in the +expectation of being tapped on the shoulder by a policeman. I don't +wonder also that he locked up the house and kept his one eye on the +ground, and went to church secretly to pray. What a life he must have +led. Upon my soul, bad as the man was, I'm sorry for him." + +"So am I," said Paul. "And after all, he is Sylvia's father." + +"Poor girl, to have a murderer for a father!" + +Beecot turned pale. "I love Sylvia for herself," he said, with an +effort, "and if her father had committed twenty murders I would not let +her go. But she must never know." + +"No," said Hurd, stretching his hand across and giving Paul a friendly +grip, "and I knew you'd stick to her. It wouldn't be fair to blame the +girl for what her father did before she was born." + +"We must keep everything from her, Hurd. I'll marry her and take her +abroad sooner than she should learn of this previous murder. But how did +it happen?" + +"I'll tell you in a few minutes." Hurd rose and began to pace the narrow +limits of the attic. "By the way, do you know that Norman was a secret +drinker of brandy?" + +Paul nodded, and told the detective what he had learned from Mrs. Krill. +Hurd was much struck with the intelligence. "I see," said he; "what Mrs. +Krill says is quite true. Drink does change the ordinary nature into the +opposite. Krill sober was a timid rabbit; Krill drunk was a murderer and +a thief. Good lord, and how he drank!" + +"How do you know?" + +"Well," confessed Hurd, nursing his chin, "Pash and I went to search the +Gwynne Street house to find, if possible, the story alluded to in the +scrap of paper Deborah Junk found. We couldn't drop across anything of +that sort, but in Norman's bedroom, which nobody ever entered, we found +brandy bottles by the score. Under the bed, ranged along the walls, +filling cupboards, stowed away in boxes. I had the curiosity to count +them. Those we found, ran up to five hundred, and Lord knows how many +more he must have got rid of when he found the bottles crowding him +inconveniently." + +"I expect he got drunk every night," said Paul, thinking. "When he +locked up Sylvia and Deborah in the upper room--I can understand now why +he did so--he could go to the cellar and take possession of the shop key +left on the nail by Bart. Then, free from all intrusion, he could drink +till reeling. Not that I think he ever did reel," went on Beecot, +mindful of what Mrs. Krill had said; "he could stand a lot, and I expect +the brandy only converted him into a demon." + +"And a clever business man," said Hurd. "You know Aaron Norman was not +clever over the books. Bart sold those, but from all accounts he was a +Shylock when dealing, after seven o'clock, in the pawnbroking way. I +understand now. Sober, he was a timid fool; drunk, he was a bold, clever +villain." + +"My poor Sylvia, what a father," sighed Paul; "but this crime--" + +"I'll tell you about it. Lemuel Krill and his wife kept 'The Red Pig' at +Christchurch, a little public house it is, on the outskirts of the town, +frequented by farm-laborers and such-like. The business was pretty good, +but the couple didn't look to making their fortune. Mrs. Krill was a +farmer's daughter." + +"A Buckinghamshire farmer," said Paul. + +"How do you know? oh!"--on receiving information--"Mrs. Krill told you +so? Well, considering the murder of Lady Rachel, she would have done +better to hold her tongue and have commenced life with her dead +husband's money under a new name. She's a clever woman, too," mused +Hurd, "I can't understand her being so unnecessarily frank." + +"Never mind, go on," said Paul, impatiently. + +Hurd returned to his seat and re-filled his pipe. "Well, then," he +continued, "Krill got drunk and gave his wife great trouble. Sometimes +he thrashed her and blacked her eyes, and he treated their daughter +badly too." + +"How old was the daughter?" + +"I can't say. Why do you ask?" + +"I'll tell you later. Go on, please." + +"Well, then, Mrs. Krill always revenged herself on her husband when he +was sober and timid, so the couple were evenly matched. Krill was master +when drunk, and his wife mistress when he was sober. A kind of see-saw +sort of life they must have led." + +"Where does Lady Rachel come in?" + +"What an impatient chap you are," remonstrated Hurd, in a friendly tone. +"I'm coming to that now. Lady Rachel quarrelled with her father over +some young artist she wanted to marry. He would not allow the lover to +come to the Hall, so Lady Rachel said she would kill herself rather than +give him up." + +"And she did," said Paul, thinking of the suicide theory. + +"There you go again. How am I to tell you all when you interrupt." + +"I beg your pardon. I won't do so again." + +Hurd nodded smilingly and continued. "One night--it was dark and +stormy--Lady Rachel had a row royal with her father. Then she ran out of +the Hall saying her father would never see her alive again. She may have +intended to commit suicide certainly, or she may have intended to join +her lover in London. But whatever she intended to do, the rain cooled +her. She staggered into Christchurch and fell down insensible at the +door of 'The Red Pig.' Mrs. Krill brought her indoors and laid her on a +bed." + +"Did she know who the lady was?" + +Hurd shook his head. "She said in her evidence that she did not, but +living in the neighborhood, she certainly must have seen Lady Rachel +sometimes. Krill was drunk as usual. He had been boozing all the day +with a skipper of some craft at Southampton. He was good for nothing, so +Mrs. Krill did everything. She declares that she went to bed at eleven +leaving Lady Rachel sleeping." + +"Did Lady Rachel recover her senses?" + +"Yes--according to Mrs. Krill--but she refused to say who she was, and +merely stated that she would sleep at 'The Red Pig' that night and would +go on to London next morning. Mrs. Krill swore that Lady Rachel had no +idea of committing suicide. Well, about midnight, Mrs. Krill, who slept +in one room with her daughter, was awakened by loud shouts. She sprang +to her feet and hurried out, her daughter came also, as she had been +awakened and was terrified. Mrs. Krill found that her husband was raving +mad with drink and smashing the furniture in the room below. The +skipper--" + +"What was the skipper's name?" + +"Jessop--Jarvey Jessop. Well, he also, rather drunk, was retiring to bed +and stumbled by chance into Lady Rachel's room. He found her quite dead +and shouted for assistance. The poor lady had a silk handkerchief she +wore tied tightly round her throat and fastened to the bedpost. When +Jessop saw this, he ran out of the inn in dismay. Mrs. Krill descended +to give the alarm to her neighbors, but Krill struck her down, and +struck his daughter also, making her mouth bleed. An opal brooch that +Lady Rachel wore was missing, but Mrs. Krill only knew of that the next +day. She was insensible from the blow given by Krill, and the daughter +ran out to get assistance. When the neighbors entered, Krill was gone, +and notwithstanding all the search made for him he could not be found." + +"And Jessop?" + +"He turned up and explained that he had been frightened on finding the +woman dead. But the police found him on his craft at Southampton, and he +gave evidence. He said that Krill when drunk, and like a demon, as Mrs. +Krill told you, had left the room several times. The last time he came +back, he and the skipper had a final drink, and then Jessop retired to +find--the body. It was supposed by the police that Krill had killed Lady +Rachel for the sake of the brooch, which could not be discovered--" + +"But the brooch--" + +"Hold on. I know what you are about to say. We'll come to that shortly. +Let me finish this yarn first. It was also argued that, from Lady +Rachel's last words to her father, and from the position of the +body--tied by the neck to the bedpost--that she had committed suicide. +Mrs. Krill, as I said, declared the deceased lady never mentioned the +idea of making away with herself. However, Krill's flight and the chance +that, being drunk, he might have strangled the lady for the sake of the +brooch while out of the room, made many think he was the culprit, +especially as Jessop said that Krill had noticed the brooch and +commented on the opals." + +"He was a traveller in jewels once, according to his wife." + +"Yes, and left that to turn innkeeper. Afterwards he vanished, as I say, +and became a pawnbroker in Gwynne Street. Well, the jury at the inquest +could not agree. Some thought Lady Rachel had committed suicide, and +others that Krill had murdered her. Then the family didn't want a +scandal, so in one way and another the matter was hushed up. The jury +brought in a verdict of suicide by a majority of one, so you can see how +equally they were divided. Lady Rachel's body was laid in the family +vault, and nothing more was heard of Lemuel Krill." + +"What did Mrs. Krill do?" + +"She stopped on at the inn, as she told you. People were sorry for her +and helped her, so she did very well. Mother and daughter have lived at +'The Red Pig' all these years, highly respected, until they saw the +hand-bills about Krill. Then the money was claimed, but as the +circumstance of Lady Rachel's fate was so old, nobody thought of +mentioning it till this young lord did so to you, and I--as you +see--have hunted out the details." + +"What is your opinion, Hurd?" asked Paul, deeply interested. + +"Oh, I think Krill murdered the woman and then cut to London. That +accounts for his looking over his shoulder, etc., about which we +talked." + +"But how did he get money to start as a bookseller? Premises are not +leased in Gwynne Street for nothing." + +"Well, he might have got money on the brooch." + +"No. The brooch was pawned by a nautical gentleman." Paul started up. +"Captain Jessop, perhaps. You remember?" he said excitedly. + +"Ah," said Hurd, puffing his pipe with satisfaction, "I see you +understand. I mentioned that about the brooch to hear what you would +say. Yes, Jessop must have pawned the brooch at Stowley, and it must +have been Jessop who came with the note for the jewels to Pash." + +"Ha," said Paul, walking excitedly about the room. "Then it would seem +that Jessop and Krill were in league?" + +"I think so," said Hurd, staring at the fire. "And yet I am not sure. +Jessop may have found that Krill had killed the woman, and then have +made him give up the brooch, which he afterwards pawned at Stowley. +Though why he should go near Mrs. Krill's old home, I can't understand." + +"Is Stowley near her old home?" + +"Yes--in Buckinghamshire. However, after pawning the brooch I expect +Jessop lost sight of Krill till he must have come across him a few days +before the crime. Then he must have made Krill sign the paper ordering +the jewels to be given up by Pash, so that he might get money." + +"A kind of blackmail in fact." + +"Well," said Hurd, doubtfully, "after all, Jessop might have killed +Krill himself." + +"But how did Jessop get the brooch?" + +"Ah, that I can't tell you, unless Norman himself picked it up in the +street. We must find these things out. I'm going to Christchurch to +make inquiries. I'll let you know what I discover," and Hurd rose. + +"One minute," said Paul, hastily. "Do you think Miss Krill is the dead +man's child?" + +"Of course. She's as like her mother as two peas. Why do you ask?" + +Paul detailed what Sylvia and Deborah had said. "So if she is over +thirty," said Beecot, "she can't be Krill's child, or else she must have +been born before Krill married his wife. In either case, she has no +right to the money." + +"It's strange," said Hurd, musingly. "I'll have to look into that. +Meanwhile, I've got plenty to do." + +"There's another thing I have to say." + +"You'll confuse me, Beecot. What is it?" + +"The sugar and that hawker," and Paul related what Sylvia had said about +Thuggism. Hurd sat down and stared. "That must be bosh," he said, +looking at the novel, "and yet it's mighty queer. I say," he took the +three volumes, "will you lend me these?" + +"Yes. Be careful. They are not mine." + +"I'll be careful. But I can't dip into them just yet, nor can I go into +the Hindoo business, let alone this age of Miss Krill. The first thing I +have to do is to go to Christchurch and see--" + +"And see if Mrs. Krill was at home on the night of the sixth of July." + +Hurd started. "Oh," said he, dryly, "the night the crime was committed, +you mean? Well, I didn't intend to look up that point, as I do not see +how Mrs. Krill can be implicated. However, I'll take a note of that," +and this he did, and then continued. "But I'm anxious to find Jessop. I +shouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he committed the double +crime." + +"The double crime?" + +"Yes. He might have strangled Lady Rachel, and twenty years later have +killed Krill. I can't be sure, but I think he is the guilty person." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +AT CHRISTCHURCH, HANTS + + +The next afternoon Hurd was on his way to the former abode of Mrs. +Krill. During the journey he glanced at his notes and arranged what +inquiries he should make. It struck him as strange that Mrs. Krill +should have told Paul of her association with "The Red Pig," considering +the reputation of the place, in connection with Lady Rachel Sandal's +murder--or suicide. It would have been better had Mrs. Krill changed her +name by letters patent and have started a new life on her dead husband's +money. The detective could not understand the reason for this +unnecessary frankness. + +Before leaving town he took the precaution to call on Pash and note down +a description of the sailor--presumably Jessop--who had tried to obtain +possession of the jewels on the morning after the crime had been +committed in Gwynne Street. He learned that the man (who had given no +name) was tall and stout, with the flushed skin of a habitual drinker of +strong waters, and reddish hair mixed with grey. He also had a scar +running from his right temple to his mouth, and although this was partly +concealed by a beard, yet it was distinctly visible. The man was dressed +in blue serge, carried his large hands slightly clenched, and rolled in +his gait. Hurd noted these things down, and had little doubt but what he +would recognize the man if he came across him. Connecting him with the +individual who had pawned the brooch at Stowley, Hurd fancied he might +be Jessop. He resolved to look for him in Southampton, as, judging from +the evidence given at the inquest on Lady Rachel's remains, that was the +port of call for the mariner. + +At the station immediately before that of Christchurch, Hurd glanced at +a telegram which he produced out of his pocket-book, and then leaned out +of the carriage window. A pretty, daintily-dressed little woman saw him +and at once entered the carriage with a gay laugh. She was Miss Aurora +Qian, and Paul would have been considerably astonished had he overheard +her conversation with Mr. Hurd. But the detective and the actress had +the compartment to themselves, and talked freely. + +"It's the safest place to talk in," explained Miss Qian, producing a bag +of chocolate and eating during the conversation. "Of course, I told the +landlady at 'The Red Pig' that my brother was coming down, so we can go +there right enough. But walls have ears. I don't think railway carriages +have, though, and we have much to say, Billy." + +"Have you found out anything, Aurora?" asked Hurd. + +Miss Qian nodded. "A great deal considering I have been in the place +only twenty-four hours. It's a good thing I'm out of an engagement, +Billy, or I shouldn't have time to leave London or to look after that +man Hay. I _am_ a good sister." + +"Well, you are. But there's money in the business also. If I can get +that thousand pounds, you'll have your share." + +"I know you'll treat me straight, Billy," said the actress, with much +satisfaction. "I always say that my brother is as square a man as I +know." + +"The deuce you do," said Hurd, rather vexed. "I hope you don't go +telling everyone that I am your brother, Aurora?" + +"Only one or two special friends--not Hay, you may be sure. Nor does +that nice Mr. Beecot know that we are brother and sister." + +"You'd best keep it dark, and say nothing, Aurora. It's just as well you +left the private detective business and went on the stage. You talk too +much." + +"Oh, no, I don't," retorted Miss Qian, eating a sweet. "Don't be nasty, +Billy, or I'll tell you nothing." + +Her brother shrugged his shoulders. He was very fond of Aurora, but he +saw her many faults, and she certainly had too long a tongue for one +engaged in private matters. "What about Hay?" he asked. + +Aurora raised her eyes. "I thought you wanted to know of my discoveries +at Christchurch," she said, pouting. + +"Well, I do. But Hay?--" + +"Oh, he's all right. He's going to marry Miss Krill and her money, and +is getting cash together by fleecing young Sandal. That fool _will_ +play, and keeps losing his money, although I've warned him." + +"Then don't warn him. I wish to catch Hay red-handed." + +"Ah," Miss Qian nodded, "you may catch him red-handed in a worse matter +than gambling." + +"Aurora, you don't mean to say he has anything to do with the murder of +Aaron Norman?" + +"Well, I don't go so far as to say that, Billy. But when I got settled +in the private sitting-room of 'The Red Pig' on the plea that I had come +down for a change of air, and expected my brother--" + +"Which you do without any lies." + +"Yes, that's all right, Billy," she said impatiently. "Well, the first +thing I clapped eyes on was a portrait of Grexon Hay in a silver frame +on the mantelpiece." + +"Hum," said Hurd, nursing his chin in his hand, "he may have given that +to Miss Krill during the engagement." + +"I daresay," rejoined the actress, tartly, "for he has been engaged for +many a long day--say two years." + +"I thought so," said Hurd, triumphantly. "I always fancied the meeting +at Pash's office was a got-up thing." + +"What made you think so?" + +"Because, when disguised as the Count de la Tour, I overheard Hay +address Miss Krill as Maud, and it was the first time she and her mother +came to his rooms. Sandal was there, and gambling went on as usual. I +lost money myself," said Hurd, with a grimace, "in order to make Hay +think I was another pigeon to pluck. But the mention of the Christian +name on so short an acquaintance showed me that Hay and Miss Krill had +met before. I expect the meeting at Pash's office was a got-up game." + +"You said that before, Billy. How you repeat yourself! Yes. There's an +inscription on the portrait--'From Grexon to Maud with much +love'--sweet, isn't it? when you think what an icicle the man is. There +is also a date--two years ago the photograph was given. I admired the +photograph and asked the landlady who was the swell." + +"What's the landlady's name?" + +"Matilda Junk." + +Hurd almost jumped from his seat. "That's queer," he said, "the woman +who is devoted to Miss Norman and who nursed her since she was a baby is +called Deborah Junk." + +"I know that," said Aurora, "I'm not quite a fool, Billy. I mentioned +Deborah Junk, whom I saw at the inquest on Norman's body. The landlady +said she was her sister, but she had not heard of her for ages. And this +Matilda is just like Deborah in looks--a large Dutch doll with beady +eyes and a badly painted face." + +"Well, that's a point," said Hurd, making a note. "What did she say +about the photograph?" + +"Oh, that it was one of Mr. Hay who was Miss Krill's young man, and that +they had been engaged for two years--" + +"Matilda seems to be a chatterbox." + +"She is. I got a lot out of her." + +"Then there can be nothing to conceal on the part of Mrs. Krill?" + +"Well," said Aurora, throwing the empty sweetmeat bag out of the window +and brushing her lap, "so far as I can discover, Mrs. Krill is a +perfectly respectable person, and has lived for thirty years as the +landlady of 'The Red Pig.' Matilda acknowledged that her mistress had +inherited the money of Lemuel Krill, and Matilda knows all about the +murder." + +"Matilda is wrong," said the detective, dryly; "Miss Krill gets the +money." + +Aurora smiled. "From what I heard, Miss Krill has to do what her mother +tells her. She's nobody and her mother is all the world. Matilda +confessed that her mistress had behaved very well to her. When the money +came, she gave up 'The Red Pig' to Matilda Junk, who is now the +landlady." + +"With a proviso she should hold her tongue." + +"No. Mrs. Krill, so far as I can learn, has nothing to conceal. Even if +it becomes known in London that she was the landlady of a small pub, I +don't think it will matter." + +"Did you ask questions about Lady Rachel's murder?" + +"No. You gave me only a hint when you sent me down. I didn't like to +venture on ground I wasn't sure of. I'm more cautious than you." + +"Well, I'll tell you everything now," said Hurd, and gave a rapid sketch +of what he had learned from the newspapers and the Scotland Yard papers +relative to the Sandal affair. Aurora nodded. + +"But Matilda Junk said nothing of that. She merely stated that Mr. +Lemuel Krill had gone to London over twenty years ago, and that his wife +knew nothing of him until she saw the hand-bills." + +"Hum," said Hurd again, as the train slowed down to the Christchurch +station, "it seems all fair and above board. What about Jessop?" + +"Knowing so little of the Lady Rachel case, I didn't inquire about him," +said Aurora. "I've told you everything." + +"Anyone else stopping at the inn?" + +"No. And it's not a bad little place after all. The rooms are clean and +the food good and the charges low. I'd rather stop at 'The Red Pig,' +small as it is, than at the big hotel. The curries--oh, they are +delightfully hot!" Miss Qian screwed her small face into a smile of +ecstasy. "But, then, a native makes them." + +Hurd started. "Curries--a native?" + +"Yes--a man called Hokar." + +"Aurora, that's the man who left the sugar on the counter of Norman's +shop. I forgot you don't know about that," and Hurd rapidly told her of +the episode. + +"It's strange," said Miss Qian, nodding with a faraway look. "It would +seem that Mrs. Krill knew of the whereabouts of her husband before she +saw the hand-bills." + +"And possibly about the murder also," said Hurd. + +Brother and sister looked at one another; the case was becoming more and +more interesting. Mrs. Krill evidently knew more than she chose to +admit. But at this moment the train stopped, and they got out. Hurd took +his handbag and walked into the town with his pretty sister tripping +beside him. She gave him an additional piece of information before they +arrived at "The Red Pig." "This Hokar is not at all popular," she said; +"they say he eats cats and dogs. Yes. I've talked to several old women, +and they say they lost their animals. One cat was found strangled in the +yard, and--" + +"Strangled!" interrupted the detective. "Hum, and the man's an Indian, +possibly a Thug." + +"What's a Thug?" asked Aurora, staring. + +Hurd explained. "I ran through the book lent by Beecot last night," he +added, "and was so interested I sat up till dawn--" + +"You do look chippy," said his sister, candidly, "but from what you say, +there are no Thugs living." + +"No, the author says so. Still, it's queer, this strangling, and then +the cruel way in which the man was murdered. Just what a Hindoo would +do. The sugar too--" + +"Oh, nonsense! Hokar left the sugar by mistake. If he had intended to +murder Norman he wouldn't have given himself away." + +"I expect he never thought anyone would guess he was a Thug. The novel +is not one usually read nowadays. It was the merest chance that Miss +Norman came across it and told Beecot." + +"I don't believe in such coincidences," said Aurora, dryly; for in spite +of her fluffy, kittenish looks, she was a very practical person. "But +here we are at 'The Red Pig.' Nice and comfy, isn't it?" + +The inn was certainly very pretty. It stood on the very verge of the +town, and beyond stretched fields and hedgerows. The house itself was a +white-washed, thatched, rustic cottage, with a badly painted sign of a +large red sow. Outside were benches, where topers sat, and the windows +were delightfully old-fashioned, diamond-paned casements. Quite a +Dickens inn of the old coaching days was "The Red Pig." + +But Hurd gave the pretty, quaint hostel only a passing glance. He was +staring at a woman who stood in the doorway shading her eyes with the +palm of her hand from the setting sun. In her the detective saw the +image of Deborah Junk, now Tawsey. She was of the same gigantic build, +with the same ruddy face, sharp, black eyes and boisterous manner. But +she had not the kindly look of Deborah, and of the two sisters Hurd +preferred the one he already knew. + +"This is my brother, Miss Junk," said Aurora, marching up to the door; +"he will only stay until to-morrow." + +"You're welcome, sir," said Matilda in a loud and hearty voice, which +reminded the detective more than ever of her sister. "Will you please +walk in and 'ave some tea?" + +Hurd nodded and repaired to the tiny sitting-room, where he saw the +photograph of Hay on the mantelpiece. Aurora, at a hint from her +brother, went to her bedroom to change her dress, and Hurd spoke to +Matilda, when she brought in the tray. "I know your sister," said he. + +Miss Junk nearly dropped the tray. "Lor', now, only think! Why, we ain't +wrote to one another for ten years. And I left London eleven years back. +And how is she, sir? and where is she?" + +"She is well; she has a laundry in Jubileetown near London, and she is +married to a fellow called Bart Tawsey." + +"Married!" cried Matilda, setting down the tray and putting her arms +akimbo, just like Deborah, "lor', and me still single. But now I've got +this 'ouse, and a bit put by, I'll think of gittin' a 'usband. I ain't +a-goin' to let Debby crow over me." + +"Your sister was in the service of Mr. Norman before she took up the +laundry," observed Hurd, pouring out a cup of tea. + +"Was she, now? And why did she leave?" + +The name of Norman apparently was unknown to Matilda, so Hurd tried the +effect of another bombshell. "Her master was murdered under the name of +Lemuel Krill." + +"Mercy," Matilda dropped into a chair, with a thud which shook the room; +"why, that's my ladies' husband and father." + +"What ladies?" asked Hurd, pretending ignorance. + +"My ladies, Mrs. Krill and Miss Maud. They had this 'ouse, and kep' it +for years respectable. I worked for 'em ten, and when my ladies comes in +for a forting, for a forting there is, they gave me the goodwill of 'The +Red Pig.' To think of Debby being the servant of poor Mr. Krill as was +killed. Who killed 'im?" + +"Doesn't your mistress know?" + +"She," cried Matilda, indignantly, and bouncing up. "Why, she was always +a-lookin' for him, not as she loved him over much. And as he is dead, +sir, it's no more as what he oughter be, seeing as he killed a poor lady +in this very 'ouse. You'll sleep in 'er room to-night," added Matilda, +as if that was a pleasure. "Strangled, she was." + +"I think I heard of that. But Lady Rachel Sandal committed suicide." + +Matilda rubbed her nose, after the Deborah fashion. "Well, sir, my +ladies were never sure which it was, and, of course, it was before my +time considerable, being more nor twenty year back. But the man as did +it is dead, and lef' my ladies his money, as he oughter. An' Miss Maud's +a-goin' to marry a real gent"--Matilda glanced at the photograph--"I +allays said he wos a gent, bein' so 'aughty like, and wearing evening +dress at meals, late." + +"Was he ever down here, this gentleman?" + +"He's been comin' and goin' fur months, and Miss Maud loves 'im +somethin' cruel. But they'll marry now an' be 'appy." + +"I suppose your ladies sometimes went to see this gent in town?" + +"Meanin' Mr. Hay," said Matilda, artlessly. "Well, sir, they did, one at +a time and then together. Missis would go and miss would foller, an' +miss an' missus together would take their joy of the Towers an' shops +and Madame Tusord's and sich like, Mr. Hay allays lookin' after 'em." + +"Did they ever visit Mr. Hay in July?" + +"No, they didn't," snapped Matilda, with a change of tone which did not +escape Hurd; "and I don't know, sir, why you arsk them questions." + +"My good woman, I ask no questions. If I do, you need not reply. Let us +change the subject. My sister tells me you make good curries in this +hotel." + +"Hokar do, me bein' but a plain cook." + +"Oh! He's an Indian?" + +"Yes, he is, sir. A pore Indian castaway as missus took up with when he +come here drenched with rain and weary. Ah, missus was allays good and +kind and Christian-like." + +Privately Hurd thought this description did not apply very well to the +lady in question, but he was careful not to arouse Matilda's suspicions +again by contradicting her. He pretended to joke. "I wonder you don't +marry this Indian, and keep him here always to make the curries I have +heard of." + +"Me marry a black!" cried Matilda, tossing her rough head. "Well, sir, I +never," her breath failed her, "an' him goin' about the country." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"What I say," said Miss Junk; "he'll stop here, Christian-like, for +days, and then go orf to sell things as a 'awker. My par was a 'awker, +sir, but a white, white man of the finest." + +Hurd was about to ask another question when a husky voice was heard +singing somewhat out of tune. "What's that?" asked Hurd, irritably. + +"Lor', sir, wot nervses you 'ave. 'Tis only Cap'n Jessop makin' hisself +'appy-like." + +"Captain Jessop," Hurd laughed. He had run down his man at last. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +CAPTAIN JESSOP + + +Apparently Matilda Junk was quite ignorant of anything being wrong about +her ladies, although she did shirk the question regarding their possible +visit to London in July. However, Hurd had learned that Grexon Hay not +only was an old friend, but had been engaged to Maud for many months. +This information made him the more certain that Hay had robbed Beecot of +the opal brooch at the time of the accident, and that it had passed from +Mr. Hay's hands into those of the assassin. + +"I wonder if Mrs. Krill murdered her husband in that cruel way," thought +the detective, sitting over his tea; "but what could have been her +object? She could have gone up on learning from Hay that Aaron Norman +was her husband--as I believe she did--and could then have made him give +her the money, by threatening him with the murder of Lady Rachel. I +daresay Aaron Norman in his Krill days did strangle that lady to get the +opal brooch and his wife could have used what she knew to govern him. +There was no need of murder. Hum! I'll see about getting the truth out +of Hay. Aurora," he cried. "Oh, there you are," he added, as she entered +the room. "I want you to go back to town this night." + +"What for, Billy?" + +"Can you get Hay into trouble?" + +Aurora nodded. "I have proofs of his cheating Lord George and others, +if that's what you mean," she said; "but you didn't want them used." + +"Nor do I. He's such an eel, he may wriggle out of our clutches. But +can't you give a party and invite Lord George and Hay, and then get them +to play cards. Should Hay cheat, denounce him to George Sandal." + +"What good would that do?" asked Miss Qian, with widely open eyes. + +"It will make Hay confess about the brooch to save himself from public +shame. His reputation is his life, remember, and if he is caught +red-handed cheating, he'll have to clear out of town." + +"Pooh, as if that mattered. He's going to marry Miss Krill." + +"If Miss Krill keeps the money, and I doubt if she will." + +"But, Billy--" + +"Never mind. Don't ask me any more questions, but go and pack. This +Captain Jessop is in the bar drinking. I may probably have to arrest +him. I got a warrant on the chance of finding him here. I can arrest him +on suspicion, and won't let him go until I get at the truth. Your +business is to bring Hay to his knees and get the truth out of him about +the opal serpent. You know the case?" + +"Yes," grumbled Aurora, "I know the case. But I don't like this long +journey to-night." + +"Every moment is precious. If I arrest Jessop, Matilda Junk will tell +her ladies, who will speak to Hay, and then he may slip away. As the +brooch evidence is so particular, and, as I believe he can give it, if +forced, you can see the importance of losing no time." + +Miss Qian nodded and went away to pack. She wanted money and knew Billy +would give her a goodly share of the reward. In a few minutes Miss Junk, +of "The Red Pig," learned that Miss Qian was suddenly summoned to town +and would leave in an hour. Quite unsuspectingly she assisted her to +pack, and shortly Aurora was driving in a hired vehicle to the railway +station on her way to trap Grexon Hay. + +When she was safely off the premises, Hurd walked to the telegraph +office, and sent a cipher message to the Yard, asking for a couple of +plain clothes policemen to be sent down. He wanted to have Hokar and +Miss Matilda Junk watched, also the house, in case Mrs. Krill and her +daughter should return. Captain Jessop he proposed to look after +himself. But he was in no hurry to make that gentleman's acquaintance, +as he intended to arrest him quietly in the sitting-room after dinner. +Already he had informed Matilda that he would ask a gentleman to join +him at the meal and taste Hokar's curry. + +The thought of the curry brought the Indian to his mind, and when he got +back to the Red Pig, he strolled round the house, inspecting the place, +but in reality keeping eyes and ears open to talk to the Hindoo. +Thinking he might meet the man some time, Hurd had carefully learned a +few phrases relating to Thuggism--in English of course, since he knew +nothing of the Indian tongues. These he proposed to use in the course of +conversation with Hokar and watch the effect. Soon he found the man +sitting cross-legged under a tree in the yard, smoking. Evidently his +work for the day was over, and he was enjoying himself. Remembering the +description given by Bart, the detective saw that this was the very man +who had entered the shop of Aaron Norman. He wore the same dress and +looked dirty and disreputable--quite a waif and a stray. + +"Hullo," said Hurd, casually, "what are you doing. Talk English, eh?" + +"Yes, sir," said Hokar, calmly. "I spike good Englis. Missionary teach +Hokar Englis." + +"I'm glad of that; we can have a chat," said Hurd, producing his pipe. +He also produced something else with which he had provided himself on +the way back from the post-office. In another minute Hokar was staring +at a small parcel of coarse brown sugar. With all his Oriental phlegm +the man could not keep his countenance. His eyes rolled until they +threatened to drop out of his head, and he looked at Hurd with a certain +amount of fear. "Goor," said that gentleman, pointing to the sugar with +the stem of his pipe, "goor!" + +Hokar turned green under his dark skin, and half-rose to go away, but +his legs failed him, and he sat still trying to recover himself. "So you +worship Bhowanee?" went on his tormentor. + +The Indian's face expressed lively curiosity. "The great goddess." + +"Yes. Kalee, you know. Did you make Tupounee after you used your roomal +on Aaron Norman?" + +Hokar gave a guttural cry and gasped. Tupounee is the sacrifice made by +the Thugs after a successful crime, and roomal the handkerchief with +which they strangled their victims. All this was information culled from +Colonel Meadow Taylor's book by the accomplished detective. "Well," said +Hurd, smoking placidly, "what have you to say, Mr. Hokar?" + +"I know nozzin'," said the man, sullenly, but in deadly fear. + +"Yes, you do. Sit still," said Hurd, with sudden sternness. "If you try +to run away, I'll have you arrested. Eyes are on you, and you can't take +a step without my knowing." + +Some of this was Greek to the Indian, owing to his imperfect knowledge +of English. But he understood that the law would lay hold of him if he +did not obey this Sahib, and so sat still. "I know not anysing," he +repeated, his teeth chattering. + +"Yes, you do. You're a Thug." + +"Zer no Thug." + +"I agree with you," said Hurd; "you are the last of the Mohicans. I want +to know why you offered Aaron Norman to Bhowanee?" + +Hokar made a strange sign on his forehead at the mention of the sacred +name, and muttered something--perhaps a prayer--in his native tongue. +Then he looked up. "I know nozzing." + +"Don't repeat that rubbish," said Hurd, calmly; "you sold boot laces in +the shop in Gwynne Street on the day when its master was killed. And he +was the husband of the lady who helped you--Mrs. Krill." + +"You say dat," said Hokar, stolidly. + +"Yes, and I can prove it. The boy Tray--and I can lay my hands on +him--saw you, also Bart Tawsey, the shopman. You left a handful of +sugar, though why you did so instead of eating it, I can't understand." + +Hokar's face lighted up, and he showed his teeth disdainfully. "Oh, you +Sahibs know nozzin'!" said he, spreading out his lean brown hands. "Ze +shops--ah, yis. I there, yis. But I use no roomal." + +"Not then, but you did later." + +Hokar shook his head. "I use no roomal. Zat Sahib one eye--bad, ver bad. +Bhowanee, no have one eye. No Bhungees, no Bhats, no--" + +"What are you talking about?" said Hurd, angrily. His reading had not +told him that no maimed persons could be offered to the goddess of the +Thugs. Bhungees meant sweepers, and Bhats bards, both of which classes +were spared by the stranglers. "You killed that man. Now, who told you +to kill him?" + +"I know nozzin', I no kill. Bhowanee no take one-eye mans." + +For want of an interpreter Hurd found it difficult to carry on the +conversation. He rose and determined to postpone further examination +till he would get someone who understood the Hindoo tongue. But in the +meantime Hokar might run away, and Hurd rather regretted that he had +been so precipitate. However, he nodded to the man and went off, pretty +sure he would not fly at once. + +Then Hurd went to the village police-office, and told a bucolic +constable to keep his eye on Miss Junk's "fureiner," as he learned Hokar +was called. The policeman, a smooth-faced individual, promised to do so, +after Hurd produced his credentials, and sauntered towards "The Red +Pig," at some distance from the detective's heels. A timely question +about the curry revealed, by the mouth of Miss Junk, that Hokar was +still in the kitchen. "But he do seem alarmed-like," said Matilda, +laying the cloth. + +"Let's hope he won't spoil the curry," remarked Hurd. Then, knowing +Hokar was safe, he went into the bar to make the acquaintance of his +other victim. + +Captain Jarvey Jessop quite answered to the description given by Pash. +He was large and sailor-like, with red hair mixed with grey and a red +beard that scarcely concealed the scar running from temple to mouth. He +had drunk enough to make him cheerful and was quite willing to fall into +conversation with Hurd, who explained himself unnecessarily. "I'm a +commercial gent," said the detective, calling for two rums, plain, "and +I like talking." + +"Me, too," growled the sailor, grasping his glass. "I'm here on what +you'd call a visit, but I go back to my home to-morrow. Then it's ho for +Callao," he shouted in a sing-song voice. + +Hurd knew the fierce old chanty and sized Captain Jarvey up at once. He +was of the buccaneer type, and there was little he would not do to make +money and have a roaring time. Failing Hokar, with his deadly +handkerchief, here was the man who might have killed Aaron Norman. +"Drink up," shouted Hurd in his turn, "we'll have some more. + + "On no condition, is extradition, + Allowed in Callao." + +"Gum," said Captain Jessop, "you know the chanty." + +Hurd winked. "I've bin round about in my time." + +Jessop stretched out a huge hand. "Put it there, mate," said he, with a +roar like a fog-horn, "and drink up along o' me. My treat." + +Hurd nodded and became jovial. "On condition you join me at dinner. They +make good curries here." + +"I've had curry," said Captain Jessop, heavily, "in Colombo and +Hong-Kong frequent, but Hokar's curries are the best." + +"Ah!" said Hurd in a friendly curious way, "so you know this shanty?" + +Jessop looked at him with contempt. "Know this shanty," said he, with a +grin, "why, in coorse, I do. I've been swinging my hammock here time in +and out for the last thirty year." + +"You'll be a Christchurch man, then?" + +"Not me, mate. I'm Buckinghamshire. Stowley born." + +Hurd with difficulty suppressed a start. Stowley was the place where the +all-important brooch had been pawned by a nautical man, and here was the +man in question. "I should have thought you'd lived near the sea," he +said cautiously, "say Southampton." + +"Oh, I used t'go there for my ship," said the captain, draining his +glass, "but I don't go there no more." + +"Retired, eh?" + +Jessop nodded and looked at his friend--as he considered Hurd, since the +invitation to dinner--with a blood-shot pair of eyes. "Come storm, come +calm," he growled, "I've sailed the ocean for forty years. Yes, sir, +you bet. I was a slip of a fifteen cabin-boy on my first cruise, and +then I got on to being skipper. Lord," Jessop smacked his knee, "the +things I've seen!" + +"We'll have them to-night after dinner," said Hurd, nodding; "but now, I +suppose, you've made your fortune." + +"No," said the captain, gloomily, "not what you'd call money. I've got a +stand-by, though," and he winked. + +"Ah! Married to a rich wife?" + +"Not me. I've had enough of marriage, having been the skipper of a +mermaid with a tongue. No, sir," he roared out another line of some song +floating in his muzzy head, "a saucy bachelor am I," then changed to +gruff talk, "and I intends being one all my days. Stand-by, I +have--t'ain't a wife, but I can draw the money regular, and no questions +asked." Again he winked and drank another glass. + +Hurd reflected that perhaps Jessop had killed Aaron Norman for Mrs. +Krill, and she was paying him blood-money. But he did not dare to press +the question, as Jessop was coming perilously near what the Irish call +"the cross drop." He therefore proposed an adjournment to the +sitting-room. Jessop agreed quite unsuspectingly, not guessing he was +being trapped. The man was so large and uncouth that Hurd felt behind +his waist to see that his revolver was loose and could be used should +occasion arise. + +Miss Junk brought in the dinner with her own fair hands, and explained +that Hokar had made the curry, but she didn't think it was as good as +usual. "The man's shakin' like a jelly," said Matilda. "I don't know +why." + +The detective nodded, but did not encourage conversation. He was quite +sure that Hokar was being watched by the smooth-faced policeman, and +could not get away. Besides, he wished to talk to Captain Jessop. Miss +Junk, seeing that she was not needed, retreated, after bringing in the +curry, and left the gentlemen to help themselves. So here was Hurd in a +pleasant room, seated before a well-spread table, and with a roaring +fire at his back, waiting his opportunity to make Captain Jarvey Jessop +confess his share in the dual murders of Lady Rachel Sandal and Aaron +Norman. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +PART OF THE TRUTH + + +Captain Jessop ate as greedily as he drank strong waters, and did full +justice to the curry, which was really excellent. Hurd did not broach +any unpleasant topic immediately, as he wished the man to enjoy his +meal. If Jessop was guilty, this dainty dinner would be the last of its +kind he would have for many a long day. Moreover, Hurd wished to learn +more of the mariner's character, and plied him with questions, which the +unsuspecting sailor answered amiably enough. + +"Me an' you might become mates, as it were," said Jessop, extending his +large hand again and again. "Put it there." + +"Well, we'd want to know something more about one another to become real +mates," laughed Hurd. + +"Oh, you're a commercial traveller, as you say, and I'm the captain of +as fine a barkey as ever sailed under Capricorn. Leastways I was, afore +I gave up deep-sea voyages." + +"You must miss the ocean, living at Stowley." + +"Inland it is," admitted the mariner, pulling out a dirty clay pipe, at +the conclusion of the meal, "and ocean there ain't round about fur +miles. But I've got a shanty there, and live respectable." + +"You are able to, with the stand-by," hinted Hurd. + +Jessop nodded and crammed black tobacco, very strong and rank, into the +bowl of his pipe with a shaking hand. "It ain't much," he admitted; +"folks being stingy. But if I wants more," he struck the table hard, "I +can get it. D'ye see, Mister Commercial?" + +"Yes, I see," replied Hurd, coolly. Jessop was again growing cross, and +the detective had to be careful. He knew well enough that next morning, +when sober, Jessop would not be so disposed to talk, but being muzzy, he +opened his heart freely. Still, it was evident that a trifle more liquor +would make him quarrelsome, so Hurd proposed coffee, a proposition to +which the sailor graciously assented. + +"Cawfee," he observed, lighting his pipe, and filling the room with +evil-smelling smoke, "clears the 'ead, not as mine wants clearing, mind +you. But cawfee ain't bad, when rum ain't t' be 'ad." + +"You'll have more rum later," hinted Hurd. + +"Put it there," said Jessop, and again the detective was forced to wince +at the strong grip of a horny hand. + +Miss Junk appeared in answer to the tinkle of the bell and removed the +food. Afterwards she brought in coffee, hot and strong and black, and +Jessop drank two cups, with the result that he became quieter. Then the +two men settled down for a pleasant conversation. At least, Jessop +thought so, for he frequently expressed the friendliest sentiments +towards his host. Then Matilda appeared with a bottle of rum, a kettle +and two glasses. When she departed, Hurd intimated that he would not +require her services again that night. This he whispered to her at the +door, while Jessop was placing the kettle on the fire, and before +returning to his seat, he quietly turned the key. So he had the mariner +entirely to himself and got to business at once while the kettle boiled. + +"You have known this place for years I believe," said Hurd, taking a +chair opposite to that of Jessop. "Did you ever drop across a man, who +used to live here, called Lemuel Krill?" + +The other man started. "Whatever makes you arsk that?" he inquired in a +husky voice. + +"Well, you see, as a commercial I trade in books, and had to do with a +second-hand bookseller in Gwynne Street, Drury Lane. It seems that he +was murdered," and he eyed Jessop attentively. + +The sailor nodded and composed himself with a violent effort. "Yes," +said he in his husky voice, "so I heard. But what's he got to do with +Lemuel Krill?" + +"Oh," said Hurd, carelessly, "it is said Aaron Norman was Krill." + +"Might ha' bin. I don't know myself," was the gruff reply. + +"Ah! Then you did not know Lemuel Krill?" + +"Well," admitted the captain, reluctantly, "I did. He wos the landlord +of this here pub, and a cuss to drink. Lor', 'ow he could drink, and did +too. But he run away from his wife as used to keep this shanty, and she +never heard no more of him." + +"Until she found he was rich and could leave her five thousand a year," +said Hurd, absently; "so like a woman." + +"You seem to know all about it, mister?" said the sailor, uneasily. + +"Yes, I read the papers. A queer case that of Norman's death. I expect +it was only right he should be strangled seeing he killed Lady Rachel +Sandal in the same way." + +Jessop, resting his hands on the arms of his chair, pushed it back and +stared with a white face. "You know of that?" he gasped. + +"Why not? It was public talk in this place over twenty years ago. I +understand you have been here-abouts for thirty years," went on Hurd, +carelessly, "possibly you may recollect the case." + +Jessop wiped his forehead. "I heard something about it. That there lady +committed suicide they say." + +"I know what they say, but I want to know what you say?" + +"I won't be arsked questions," shouted the captain, angrily. + +"Don't raise your voice," said the detective, smoothly; "we may as well +conduct this conversation pleasantly." + +"I don't converse no more," said Jessop in a shaky voice, and staggered +to his feet, rapidly growing sober under the influence of a deadly fear. +Hurd did not move as the man crossed the room, but felt if the key was +safe in his pocket. The sailor tried to open the door, and then realized +that it was locked. He turned on his host with a volley of bad language, +and found himself facing a levelled revolver. + +"Sit down," said Hurd, quietly; "go back to your chair." + +Jessop, with staring eyes and outspread hands, backed to the wall. "Who +are you anyhow?" he demanded, hardly able to speak. + +"Perhaps that will tell you," said Hurd, and threw the warrant on the +table. Jessop staggered forward and looked at it. One glance was +sufficient to inform him what it was, and he sank back into his chair +with a groan, leaving the warrant on the table. Hurd picked it up and +slipped it into his pocket. He thought Jessop might destroy it; but +there was no fight in the mariner. + +"And now that we understand one another," said Hurd, putting away his +weapon, "I want to talk." + +"Sha'n't talk," said Jessop, savagely. + +"Oh, yes, I think so; otherwise I can make things unpleasant for you." + +"You can't arrest me. I've done nothing." + +"That may be so, but arrest you I can and I have done so now. To-morrow +morning you will go to London in charge of a plain-clothes policeman, +while I go to Stowley." + +"To my crib. No, I'm blest if you do." + +"I sha'n't go immediately to your crib," rejoined Hurd, dryly, "though I +may do so later. My first visit will be to that old pawnbroker. I think +if I describe you--and you are rather a noticeable man, Captain +Jessop--he will recognize the individual who pawned an opal serpent +brooch with him shortly after the death of Lady Rachel Sandal, to whom +the said brooch belonged." + +"It's a lie," said Jessop hoarsely, and sober enough now. + +"Quite so, and perhaps it is also a lie that a man resembling yourself +tried to get certain jewellery from a lawyer called Pash--" + +Jessop lost his self-control, which he was trying desperately to +preserve, and rose to his feet, white-faced and haggard. "Who are you?" +he shouted, "who are you?" + +"Doesn't the warrant tell you," replied his companion, not at all upset. +"My name is Billy Hurd. I am the detective in charge of the Norman +murder case. And I've been looking for you for a long time, Mr. Jessop." + +"I know nothing about it." + +"Yes, you do; so sit down and talk away." + +"I'll break your head," cried the captain, swinging his huge fists. + +"Try," Hurd whipped out his revolver, but did not rise, "at the risk of +getting a bullet through you. Pshaw, man, don't be a fool. I'm making +things as easy for you as possible. Create a disturbance, and I'll hand +you over to the police. A night in the village lock-up may cool your +blood. Sit down I tell you." + +The sailor showed his teeth like those of a snarling dog and made as to +strike the seated detective; but suddenly changing his mind, for he saw +well enough in what danger he stood, he dropped into his chair, and, +covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud. Hurd put away his +revolver. "That's better," said he, pleasantly; "take a tot of rum and +tell me all you know." + +"I'm innocent," groaned Jessop. + +"Every man is innocent until convicted by a jury," said Hurd, calmly. +"Consider me a jury and I'll size up your case, when I hear all. Are you +innocent of both murders?" + +"Lady Rachel committed suicide," said Jessop, raising a haggard face. +"Yes--I stick to that, sir. As to Krill's death in London, I didn't +touch him; I swear I didn't." + +"But you saw him on that night?" + +"How can you prove that?" + +"Very simply. Norman--or Krill if you prefer the old name--took certain +jewellery to Pash for safe keeping shortly before his death. You +presented to Pash a paper, undeniably written and signed by the old man, +saying that the jewellery was to be given up to bearer. Now, before +taking the jewellery to Pash, Krill could not have written that paper, +so you must have seen him during the few hours which elapsed between his +visit to Pash and his death." + +This was clearly argued, and Jessop could not contradict. "I left him +quite well and hearty." + +"In the cellar in Gwynne Street?" + +"Yes, in the cellar," admitted Jessop. + +"At what time?" + +"About half-past eight--say between eight and nine." + +"Well, what happened?" asked Hurd, smoking quietly. + +The sailor twisted his big hands and groaned. Then he laid his head on +the table and began to sob, talking brokenly and huskily. "I'm done +for," he gasped. "I'd know'd it would come--no--I ain't sorry. I've had +a nightmare of a time. Oh--since I pawned that brooch--" + +"Ah. Then you did pawn the brooch at Stowley?" + +Jessop sat up and wiped his eyes. "Yes, I did. But I pulled my cap down +over my eyes and buttoned up my pea-jacket. I never thought old Tinker +would ha' knowed me." + +"Wasn't it rather rash of you to pawn the brooch in a place where you +were well known?" + +"I wasn't well known. I only come at times, and then I went away. Old +Tinker hadn't seen me more nor once or twice, and then I pulled down my +cap and--" Jessop, badly shaken, was beginning to tell the episode over +again, when Hurd stopped him. + +"See here," said the detective. "You say that you are innocent?" + +"I swear that I am," gasped Jessop. + +"Well, then, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. My business is not +to hang innocent people. Take a glass of rum and tell me all you know, +beginning with your first meeting with Krill and running down through +the death of Lady Rachel to your last meeting in the Gwynne Street +cellar." + +"And when you know all?" + +"Then I'll see what is to be done." + +"Will you arrest me?" + +"I have arrested you. Don't make conditions with me, man," said Hurd, +with a stern face. "The night is growing late and I want to get to the +bottom of this business before we go to bed. Take some rum." + +Seeing there was nothing for it but to make a clean breast, Captain +Jarvey Jessop wasted no further time in useless lamentation. He could +have smashed Hurd easily enough, even though there was the risk of being +shot. But the fracas would bring others on the scene, and Jessop knew he +could not deal with the police. Therefore, he took a stiff peg and +became quieter. In fact, when once started on his confession, he +appeared to be rather relieved. + +"It's been a nightmare," said he, wiping his forehead. "I'm glad it's +come to the lawr, that I am. I met Krill, as he wos then, some +twenty-five year back by chance, as you may say"--he cast a strange look +at the detective, which the latter noted--"yes, by chance, Mr. Hurd. I +found he kep' the pub here, and this bein' no distance from Southampton +I took to runnin' down here when the barkey was at anchor. Me an' Krill +became great mates, and I'd what you might call free quarters here--yes, +sir--it's a frozen fact." + +"Very generous of Mr. Krill," remarked Hurd, dryly, and wondering what +the man was keeping back. + +"Oh, he was right enough as a mate when not drunk; but the liquor made a +howling dorg of him. I've seen many drunk in many places," said Jessop, +"but anyone who held his liquor wuss nor Krill I never did see. He'd +knife you as soon as look at you when drunk." + +"But he evidently preferred strangling." + +"Hold on, mate," said Jessop, with another deep pull at the rum. "I'm +comin' to that night. We wos both on the bust, as y'may say, and Mrs. +Krill she didn't like it, so got to bed with the child." + +"How old was the child?" + +"Maud? Oh, you might say she was thirteen or fifteen. I can't be sure of +her age. What's up?" + +For Hurd, seeing in this admission a confirmation that Maud was either +not Krill's child or was illegitimate, and could not inherit the money, +had showed his feelings. However, he made some trivial excuse, not +wishing to be too confidential, and begged Jessop to proceed. + +"Well, mate," said the captain, filling another glass of rum, "y'see +the lady had come earlier and had been put to bed by the missus. I never +saw her myself, being drinking in this very room along o' Krill. But +_he_ saw her," added Jessop, emphatically, "and said as she'd a fine +opal brooch, which he wish he'd had, as he wanted money and the missus +kept him tight." + +"Krill was a judge of jewels?" + +"Travelled in jewels once," said the captain. "Bless you, he could size +up a precious stone in no time. But he sat drinking with me, and every +now and then got out of the room, when he'd stop away for perhaps a +quarter of an hour at the time." + +"Did he mention the opal brooch again?" + +"No," said Jessop, after reflection, "he didn't. But he got so drunk +that he began to show fight, as he always did when boozy, though a timid +chap when sober. I concluded, wishing no row, to git to my hammock, and +cut up stairs. Then I went by mistake into the room of that pore lady, +carrying a candle, and saw her tied to the bedpost stone dead, with a +silk handkerchief round her neck. I shouted out blue murder, and Mrs. +Krill with the kid came tumbling down. I was so feared," added Jessop, +wiping his forehead at the recollection, "that I ran out of doors." + +"What good would that do?" + +"Lor', I dunno," confessed the man, shivering, "but I wos skeered out of +my life. It wos rainin' pitchforks, as y'might say, and I raced on +through the rain for an hour or so. Then I thought, as I wos innocent, +I'd make tracks back, and I did. I found Krill had cut." + +"Did his wife tell you?" + +"Oh, she wos lying on the floor insensible where he'd knocked her down. +And the kid--lor'," Jessop spat, "she was lying in the corner with her +lips fastened together with the brooch." + +"What?" cried Hurd, starting to his feet. "The same as her--the same as +Norman's was?" + +Jessop nodded and drank some rum. "Made me sick it did. I took th' +brooch away and slipped it into my pocket. Then the kid said her father +had fastened her lips together and had knocked her mother flat when she +interfered. I brought Mrs. Krill round and then left her with the kid, +and walked off to Southampton. The police found me there, and I told +them what I tell you." + +"Did you tell about the brooch?" + +"Well, no, I didn't," confessed Jessop, coolly, "an' as the kid and the +mother said nothing, I didn't see why I shouldn't keep it, wantin' +money. So I went to Stowley and pawned it, then took a deep sea voyage +for a year. When I come back, all was over." + +"Do you think Krill murdered the woman?" asked Hurd, passing over for +the moment the fact that Jessop had stolen the brooch. + +"He said he didn't," rejoined the man with emphasis, "but I truly +believe, mister, as he did, one of them times, when mad with drink and +out of the room. He wanted the brooch, d'ye see, though why he should +have lost the loot by sealin' the kid's mouth with it I can't say." + +"When did you come across Krill again?" + +"Ho," said Jessop, drawing his hand across his mouth, "'twas this way, +d'ye see. I come round here lots, and a swell come too, a cold--" + +"Grexon Hay," said Hurd, pointing to the photograph. + +"Yes. That's him," said Jessop, staring, "and I hated him just, with his +eye-glass and his sneerin' ways. He loved the kid, now a growed, fine +gal, as you know, and come here often. In June--at the end of it +anyhow--he comes and I hears him tells Mrs. Krill, who was always +looking for her husband, that a one-eyed bookseller in Gwynne Street, +Drury Lane, had fainted when he saw the very identical brooch showed him +by another cove." + +"Beecot. I know. Didn't you wonder how the brooch had left the +pawnshop?" asked Hurd, very attentive. + +"No, I didn't," snarled Jessop, who was growing cross. "I knew old +Tinker's assistant had sold the brooch and he didn't oughter t' have +done it, as I wanted it back. Mrs. Krill asked me about the brooch, and +wanted it, so I said I'd get it back. Tinker said it was gone, but wrote +to the gent as bought it." + +"Mr. Simon Beecot, of Wargrove, in Essex." + +"That wos him; but the gent wouldn't give it back, so I 'spose he'd +given it to his son. Well, then, when Mrs. Krill heard of the one-eyed +man fainting at sight of the brooch, she knew 'twas her husband, as he'd +one eye, she having knocked the other out when he was sober." + +"Did she go up and see him?" + +"Well," said Jessop, slowly, "I don't rightly know what she did do, but +she went up. I don't think she saw Krill at his shop, but she might have +seen that Pash, who was Mr. Hay's lawyer, and a dirty little ape o' +sorts he is." + +"Ha," said Hurd, to himself, "I thought Pash knew about the women +beforehand. No wonder he stuck to them and gave poor Miss Norman the +go-bye," he rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Well, we'll see what will +come of the matter. Go on, Jessop." + +"There ain't much more to tell," grumbled the captain. "I heard of this, +and I wasn't meant to hear. But I thought I'd go up and see if I could +get money out of Krill by saying I'd tell about the murder of Lady +Rachel." + +"You _are_ a scoundrel," said Hurd, coolly. + +"I wos 'ard up," apologized the captain, "or I wouldn't, not me. I'm +straight enough when in cash. So I went up in July." + +"On the sixth of July?" + +"If that was the day of the murder--yes. I went up and loafed round +until it wos dark, and then slipped through that side passage at eight +o'clock to see Krill." + +"How did you know where to find him?" + +"Why, that Hay knew about the chap, and said as he did business in a +cellar after eight. So Krill let me in, thinking, I 'spose, I wos a +customer. He'd been drinking a little and was bold enough. But when I +said, as I'd say, he'd killed Lady Rachel, he swore he was an innercent +babe, and cried, the drink dyin' out of him." + +"The same as it died out of you lately," said Hurd, smiling. + +"Go slow," grunted the captain, in a surly tone. "I ain't afraid now, as +I ain't done nothing. I said to Krill I'd say nothin' if he'd give me +money. He wouldn't, but said he'd placed a lot of pawned things with +Pash, and I could have them. He then gave me a paper saying I was to +have the things, and I went to Pash the next morning and had trouble. +But I heard by chance," again Jessop cast a strange look at Hurd, "that +Krill had been murdered, so I didn't wait for the lawyer to come back, +but cut down to Southampton and went on a short voyage. Then I come here +and you nabbed me," and Jessop finished his rum. "That's all I know." + +"Do you swear you left Aaron Norman alive?" + +"Meaning Krill? I do. He wasn't no use to me dead, and I made him give +me the jewels Pash had, d'ye see." + +"But who warned you of the death when you were waiting?" + +Jessop seemed unwilling to speak, but when pressed burst out, "'Twas a +measily little kid with ragged clothes and a dirty face." + +"Tray," said Hurd. "Hum! I wonder how he knew of the murder before it +got into the papers?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +MISS QIAN'S PARTY + + +Hurd's sister was a clever young woman who in her time had played many +parts. She began her career along with Hurd as a private detective, but +when her brother joined the official service, Miss Hurd thought she +would better her position by appearing on the stage, and, therefore, +took the rather queer name of Aurora Qian. In her detective capacity she +had often disguised herself when employed in obtaining evidence, and was +remarkably talented in changing her face and figure. This art she used +with great success in her new profession, and speedily made her mark as +an impersonator of various characters out of novels. As Becky Sharp, as +Little Dorrit, she was said to be inimitable, and after playing under +several managements, she started, in the phrase of the profession, "a +show of her own," and rapidly made money. + +But her great faults amongst others were vanity and extravagance, so she +was always in need of money, and when chance offered, through her +brother, to make any, she was not averse to returning to the spy +business. Thus it came about that she watched Mr. Grexon Hay for many a +long day and night, and he never suspected the pretty, fluffy, kittenish +Miss Qian was in reality an emissary of the law. Consequently, when +Aurora asked him to a card-party at her rooms, Hay accepted readily +enough, although he was not in need of money at the time. + +Miss Qian occupied a tiny flat on the top of a huge pile of buildings in +Kensington, and it was furnished in a gimcrack way, with more show than +real value, and with more color than taste. Every room was of a +different hue, with furniture and hangings to match. The drawing-room +was pink, the dining-room green, her bedroom blue, the entrance hall +yellow, and the extra sleeping apartment used by her companion, Miss +Stably, was draped in purple. Some wit called the flat "the paint-box," +and indeed so varied were its hues that it was not a bad title to give +it. + +Like the Becky Sharp whom she impersonated with such success, Miss Qian +possessed a sheep-dog, not because she needed one, being very well able +to look after herself, but because it sounded and looked respectable. +Miss Stably, who filled this necessary office, was a dull old lady who +dressed excessively badly, and devoted her life to knitting shawls. What +she did with these when completed no one ever knew: but she was always +to be found with two large wooden pins rapidly weaving the fabric for +some unknown back. She talked very little, and when she did speak, it +was to agree with her sharp little mistress. To make up for speaking +little, she ate a great deal, and after dinner with her eternal knitting +in her bony hands and a novel on her lap, was entirely happy. She was +one of those neutral-tinted people, who seem not good enough for heaven +and not sufficiently bad for the other place. Aurora often wondered what +would become of Miss Stably when she departed this life, and left her +knitting behind her. The old lady herself never gave the matter a +thought, but lived a respectable life of knitting and eating and novel +reading, with a regular visit to church on Sunday where she worshipped +without much idea of what the service was about. + +This sort of person exactly suited Miss Qian, who wanted a sheep-dog who +could neither bark nor bite, and who could be silent. These +qualifications were possessed by the old lady, and for some years she +had trailed through a rather giddy world at Aurora's heels. In her own +dull way she was fond of the young woman, but was far from suspecting +that Aurora was connected in an underhand manner with the law. That +knowledge would indeed have shaken Miss Stably to the soul, as she had a +holy dread of the law, and always avoided the police-court column when +she read the newspapers. + +This was the old lady who sat in the pink drawing-room to play propriety +for Miss Qian. Lord George Sandal was present, looking rather washed +out, but as gentlemanly as ever. Hay, with his fixed eye-glass and +eternally cold smile was there, and a third young man, who adored Miss +Qian, thinking her to be merely an actress, simpered across the +card-table at his goddess. The four were playing a game which involved +the gaining and losing of much money, and they had been engaged for +about an hour. Miss Stably having eaten a good dinner and commenced a +new shawl was half dosing in the corner, and paying absolutely no +attention to the players. + +"It's a good thing we're hanging on our own hooks in this game," said +Miss Qian, who smoked a dainty cigarette. "Were I your partner, Sandal," +she always addressed her friends in this free-and-easy fashion, "I'd be +losing money. What luck you have!" + +"I never do seem to win," lamented Lord George. "Whenever I think I've +got a good hand, the thing pans out wrong." + +"Hay has got all the money," said the simpering admirer who answered to +the name of Tempest. "He and you, Miss Qian, are the winners." + +"I've made very little," she replied. "Hay's raking in the dollars hand +over fist." + +"Lucky in love, unlucky at cards," said Hay, who did not like his good +fortune to be commented upon, for reasons which Miss Qian knew. "It's +the reverse with me--I'm lucky at cards--" + +"And lucky in love, too," interrupted Aurora, with a grimace, "seeing +you're going to marry that Krill heiress--if she is an heiress." + +"What do you mean?" asked Hay, who was dealing a new round. + +"Go on with the game and don't ask questions," said Miss Qian, in a +saucy manner. "Sandal, don't stare round, but keep your eye on the +cards," and she winked stealthily at the young lord, while Hay was +exchanging a word with Tempest. The young man, who had spoken privately +to her immediately before the dinner, knew well what she meant. Had Hay +been likewise "in the know," he would scarcely have done what he did do, +and which Sandal saw him do in a few minutes. + +Hay was rapidly dealing, and the cards were flying like leaves. A pile +of gold stood beside Hay's elbow, and some silver near Tempest. The game +commenced, and soon the players were engrossed, heedless of the patent +snoring of Miss Stably, who, poor old thing, had succumbed to the +lateness of the hour. Suddenly Lord George, who had been very vigilant, +felt his foot touched under the table by Miss Qian. He rose at once and +snatched up the gold standing near Hay. + +"What's that for?" demanded Hay, angrily. + +"You're cheating," said Sandal, "and I don't play with you any more." + +"That's a lie. I did not cheat." + +"Yes, you did," cried Miss Qian, bending forward and seizing the cards; +"we've been watching you. Tempest--" + +"I saw it all right," said the other. "You took up that king--" + +"And it's marked," said Aurora. "I believe Hay's got cards up his +sleeve. Examine the cards." + +Hay, very pale, but still keeping his countenance, tried to object, but +the two young men seized and held him, while Miss Qian, with a dexterity +acquired in detective circles, rapidly searched his pockets. + +"Here's another pack," she cried, and shook an ace and two kings out of +the detected swindler's sleeve, "and these cards--" + +Sandal took one and went to the lamp. "Marked, by Jove!" he cried, but +with a stronger oath; "here's a pin-prick." + +"You are mistaken," began Hay, quite pale. + +"No," said Tempest, coolly, "we're not. Miss Qian told us you cheated, +and we laid a trap for you. You've been trying this double card and +marked card dodge several times this very evening." + +"And he's tried it lots of times before," said Aurora, quickly. "I have +been at several places where Hay scooped the pool, and it was all +cheating." + +"If it was," said Hay, with quivering lips, "why didn't you denounce me +then and there?" + +"Because I denounce you now," she said; "you're cooked, my man. These +boys will see that the matter is made public." + +"By Jove, yes!" cried Sandal, with a look of abhorrence at Hay, "and +I'll prosecute you to get back those thousands you won off me." + +"I never did--" + +"You've been rooking this boy for months," cried Miss Qian. "Here, +Tempest, get a constable. We'll give him in charge for swindling." + +"No! no!" cried Hay, his nerve giving way under the threatened +exposure; "you'll have your money back, Sandal, I swear." + +"Lord George to you now, you blackguard; and how can you pay me the +money when I know you haven't got a cent?" + +"He intends to get it from the heiress," sniggered Aurora. + +"Oh, dear me!" rose the plaintive voice of the sheep-dog, "what is it, +Aurora? Anything wrong?" + +"We've caught Hay cheating, that's all, and the police--" + +"Oh, Aurora, don't bring up the police." + +"No, don't," said Hay, who was now trembling. "I'll do whatever you +like. Don't show me up--I'm--I'm going to be married soon." + +"No, you sha'n't marry," cried Tempest, sharply; "I'll see this girl +myself and save her from you." + +"You can't prove that I cheated," said Hay, desperately. + +"Yes, we can," said George. "I, and Miss Qian, and Tempest all saw you +cheat, and Miss Qian has the marked cards." + +"But don't expose me. I--I--" Hay broke down and turned away with a look +of despair on his face. He cursed himself inwardly for having ventured +to cheat when things, by the marriage with Maud Krill, would have soon +been all right for him. "Miss Qian," he cried in a tone of agony, "give +me another chance." + +Aurora, playing her own game, of which the two young men were ignorant, +appeared to repent. She beckoned to Miss Stably. "Take Mr. Hay into the +dining-room," she said, "and I'll see what I can do. But you try and +bolt, Hay, and the news will be all over the West End to-morrow." + +"I'll stop," said Hay, whose face was colorless, and, without another +word, he followed the sheep-dog into the dining-room in an agony of mind +better imagined than described. Then Miss Qian turned her attention to +her guests: + +"See here, boys," she said frankly, "this is a dirty business, and I +don't want to be mixed up with it." + +"But Hay should be exposed," insisted Sandal; "he's been rooking me, I +do believe, for months." + +"Serve you jolly well right," said Aurora, heartlessly. "I warned you +again and again against him. But if there's a row, where do I come in?" + +"It won't hurt you," said Tempest, eagerly. + +"Oh, won't it? Gambling in my flat, and all the rest of it. You boys may +think me free and easy but I'm straight. No one can say a word against +me. I'm not going to be made out an adventuress and a bad woman for the +sake of that swindler, Hay. So you boys will just hold your tongues." + +"No," said Sandal, "my money--" + +"Oh, bother your money. One would think you were a Jew. I'll see that +Hay pays it back. He's going to marry this Krill girl, and she's able to +supply the cash." + +"But the girl shouldn't be allowed to marry Hay," said Tempest. + +"Don't you burn your fingers with other people's fire," said Aurora, +sharply. "This girl's in love with him and will marry him in spite of +everything. But I don't care a cent for that. It's myself I'm thinking +of. If I get your money back, Sandal, will you hold your tongue?" + +Lord George, thinking of what his noble father would say were he +involved in a card scandal connected with an actress, thought it just as +well to agree. "Yes," said he, hesitatingly, "I'll not say a word, if +you get the money back. But don't you let Hay speak to me again in +public or I'll kick him." + +"That's your affair and his," said Aurora, delighted at having gained +her point; "but you hold your tongue, and you, Tempest?" + +"I'll not say a word either," said the young man, with a shrug, "though +I don't see why you should save this blackguard's reputation." + +"It's my own I'm thinking of, so don't you make any mistake. And now I +have both your promises?" + +"Yes," said Sandal and Tempest, thinking it best to hush the matter up; +"but Hay--" + +"I'll see to him. You two boys clear out and go home to bed." + +"But we can't leave you alone with Hay," said Tempest. + +"I'll not be alone with him," cried the little woman, imperiously; "my +companion is with me. What do you mean?" + +"He might do you some harm." + +"Oh! might he? You take me for a considerable idiot, I suppose. You get +along, boys, and leave me to fix up things." + +Both young men protested again; but Aurora, anxious for her conversation +with Hay, bundled them out of the flat and banged the door to, when she +heard them whistling below for a hansom. Then she went to the +dining-room. + +"You come along to the drawing-room," she said to Hay. "Miss Stably, +stop here." + +"I haven't got my shawl," bleated the old lady. + +"Oh, bother," Aurora ran to the other room, snatched up the shawl and +saw Miss Stably sitting down to knit, while she led Hay back into the +drawing-room. He looked round when he entered. + +"Where are they?" he asked, sitting down. + +"Gone; but it's all right. I've made them promise not to say--" + +Grexon Hay didn't let her finish. He fell on his knees and kissed her +hand. His face was perfectly white, but his eyes were full of gratitude +as he babbled his thanks. No one could have accused him of being cold +then. But Miss Qian did not approve of this emotion, natural though it +was. + +"Here, get up," she said, snatching her hand away. "I've got to speak +straight to you. I've done a heap for you, now you've got to do a heap +for me." + +"Anything--anything," said Hay, whose face was recovering its normal +color. "You have saved me--you have." + +"And much of a thing you are to save. You'll be cheating again in a week +or so." + +"No," cried Hay, emphatically, "I swear I'll not touch a card again. +I'll marry Maud and turn respectable. Oh, what a lesson I've had! You +are sure those fellows won't speak?" + +"No. That's all right. You can go on swindling as before, only," Miss +Qian raised a finger, "you'll have to pay Sandal back some cash." + +"I'll do that. Maud will lend me the money. Does he want all?" + +"Oh, a couple of thousand will shut his mouth. I'll not see you left. +It's all right, so sit up and don't shake there like a jelly." + +"You're very kind to me," said Hay, faintly. + +"Don't you make any mistake. So far as I am concerned you might stick in +the mud forever. I helped you, because I want you to help me. I'm in +want of money--" + +"I'll give you some." + +"Picked from that girl's pockets," said Aurora, dryly, "no, thank you. +It might dirty my fingers. Listen--there's a reward offered for the +discovery of the murderer of Aaron Norman. I want to get that thousand +pounds, and you can help me to." + +Hay started to his feet with amazement. Of all the requests she was +likely to make he never thought it would be such a one. "Aaron Norman's +murder," he said, "what do you know of that?" + +"Very little, but you know a lot." + +"I don't, I swear I don't." + +"Pish," said Miss Qian, imperiously, "remember I've got the whip-hand, +my boy. Just you tell me how Mrs. Krill came to strangle the--" + +"Mrs. Krill?" Hay turned white again, and his eye-glass fell. "She had +nothing to do with the matter. I swear--" + +"Strikes me you swear too much, Mr. Hay. What about that opal brooch you +stole from Beecot when he had the smash?" + +"I didn't steal it. I never saw it at the time of the accident." + +"Then you got that boy Tray to steal it." + +"I knew nothing about the boy. Besides, why should I steal that opal +serpent brooch?" + +"You wanted to buy it from Beecot, anyhow?" + +Hay looked puzzled. "Yes, for a lady." + +"Mrs. Krill?" + +"I admit that Mrs. Krill wanted it. She had associations connected with +that brooch." + +"I know," interrupted Aurora, glancing at the clock, "don't waste time +in talking of Lady Rachel Sandal's death--" + +"How do you know about that?" stammered Hay, completely nonplussed. + +"I know a mighty lot of things. I may as well tell you," added Miss +Qian, coolly, "since you daren't split, that I've got a lot to do with +the secret detective service business. I'm helping another to hunt out +evidence for this case, and I guess you know a lot." + +The man quailed. He knew that he did not stand well with the police and +dreaded what this little fluffy woman should do. Aurora read his +thoughts. "Yes," she said, "we know a heap about you at the Scotland +Yard Office, and if you don't tell me all you know, I'll make things hot +for you. This cheating to-night is only one thing. I know you are 'a +man on the market,' Mr. Hay." + +"What do you wish to hear?" asked Hay, collapsing. + +"All about Mrs. Krill's connection with this murder." + +"She has nothing to do with it. Really, she hasn't. Aaron Norman was her +husband right enough--" + +"And he ran away from her over twenty years ago. But who told Mrs. Krill +about him?" + +"I did," confessed Hay, volubly and seeing it was best for him to make a +clean breast of it. "I met the Krills three years ago when I was at +Bournemouth. They lived in Christchurch, you know." + +"Yes. Hotel-keepers. Well, what then?" + +"I fell in love with Maud and went to Christchurch to stop at 'The Red +Pig.' She loved me, and in a year we became engaged. But I had no money +to marry her, and she had none either. Then Mrs. Krill told me of her +husband and of the death of Lady Rachel." + +"Murder or suicide?" + +"Suicide, Mrs. Krill said," replied Hay, frankly. "She told me also +about the opal brooch and described it. I met Beecot by chance and +greeted him as an old school-fellow. He took me to his attic and to my +surprise showed me the opal brooch. I wanted to buy it for Mrs. Krill, +but Beecot would not sell it. When next I met him, he told me that Aaron +Norman had fainted when he saw the brooch. I thought this odd, and +informed Mrs. Krill. She described the man to me, and especially said +that he had but one eye. I went with Beecot to the Gwynne Street shop, +and a single glance told me that Aaron Norman was Lemuel Krill. I told +his wife, and she wanted to come up at once. But I knew that Aaron was +reported rich--which I had heard through Pash--and as he was my lawyer, +I suggested that the Krills should go and see him." + +"Which they did, before the murder?" + +"Yes. Pash was astonished, and when he heard that Mrs. Krill was the +real wife, he saw that Aaron Norman, as he called himself, had committed +bigamy, and that Sylvia--" + +"Yes, you needn't say it," said Miss Qian, angrily, "she's worth a dozen +of that girl you are going to marry. But why did you pretend to meet +Mrs. Krill and her daughter for the first time at Pash's?" + +"To blind Beecot. We were standing at the door when the two came out, +and I pretended to see them for the first time. Then I told Beecot that +I had been introduced to Maud at Pash's office. He's a clever chap, +Beecot, and, being engaged to Sylvia Norman, I thought he might find out +too much." + +"About the murder?" + +Hay rose and looked solemn. "I swear I know nothing of that," he said +decidedly, "and the Krills were as astonished as I, when they heard of +the death. They were going to see him by Pash's advice, and Mrs. Krill +was going to prosecute him for bigamy unless he allowed her a good +income. Death put an end to all that, so she made up the story of seeing +the hand-bills, and then of course the will gave the money to Maud, who +was engaged to me." + +"The will or what was called a will, gave the money to Sylvia," said +Aurora, emphatically; "but this brooch--you didn't take it?" + +"No, I swear I didn't. Mrs. Krill wanted it, but I never knew it was of +any particular importance. Certainly, I would never have risked robbing +Beecot, and I never told that boy Tray to rob either." + +"Then who took the brooch." + +"I can't say. I have told you all I know." + +"Hum," said Aurora, just like her brother, "that will do to-night; but +if I ask any more questions you'll have to answer, so now you can go. By +the way, I suppose the brooch made you stick to Beecot?" + +"Yes," said Hay, frankly; "he was of no use to me. But while he had the +brooch I stuck to him to get it for Mrs. Krill." + +"Queer," said Aurora. "I wonder why she wanted it so much!" but this +question Hay was unable to answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +FURTHER EVIDENCE + + +After all, Hurd did not send Jessop to town as he threatened to do. +Evidently the captain had told him all he knew, and appeared to be +innocent of Krill's death. But, in spite of his apparent frankness the +detective had an idea that something was being kept back, and what that +something might be, he determined to find out. However, his thoughts +were turned in another direction by a note from Beecot addressed to him +at "The Red Pig," asking him to come at once to the Jubileetown Laundry. +"I believe we have discovered the person who stole the opal brooch from +me," wrote Paul, "and Deborah has made a discovery connected with Norman +which may prove to be of service." + +Wondering what the discovery might be, and wondering also who had taken +the brooch, Hurd arranged that Jessop and Hokar should remain at +Christchurch under the eyes of two plain-clothes officials. These +managed their duties so dexterously that Matilda Junk was far from +guessing what was going on. Moreover, she informed the detective, who +she thought was a commercial gent, that she intended to pay a visit to +her sister, Mrs. Tawsey, and demanded the address, which Hurd gave +readily enough. He thought that if Matilda knew anything--such as the +absence of Mrs. Krill from the hotel during the early part of +July--Deborah might induce her to talk freely. + +Hokar had proved a difficult subject. Whether he was too grateful to +Mrs. Krill to speak out, or whether he really did not understand what +was asked of him, he certainly showed a talent for holding his tongue. +However, Hurd saw well enough that the man was afraid of the Sahib's +law, and when matters came to a crisis would try and prove his innocence +even at the cost of implicating others. Therefore, with an easy mind the +detective left these two witnesses being watched at Christchurch and +repaired to town, where Aurora informed him of the interview with Hay. +Billy approved of the way in which his sister had managed matters. + +"I guessed that Hay was the man who put Mrs. Krill on the track of her +husband," he said, with satisfaction; "but I wasn't quite sure how he +spotted the man." + +"Oh, the one eye identified him," said Aurora, who was eating chocolate +as usual, "and Norman's fainting at the sight of the brooch confirmed +Hay's belief as to who he was. I wonder he didn't make a bargain with +Norman on his own." + +Hurd shook his head. "It wouldn't have paid so well," said he, wisely. +"Norman would have parted only with a small sum, whereas this murder +will bring in Hay a clear five thousand a year when he marries the girl. +Hay acted cleverly enough." + +"But I tell you Hay has nothing to do with the murder." + +"That may be so, though I don't trust him. But Mrs. Krill might have +strangled her husband so as to get the money." + +"What makes you think she did?" asked Aurora, doubtfully. + +"Well, you see, from what Jessop says, Mrs. Krill is devotedly attached +to Maud, and she may have been anxious to revenge her daughter on Krill. +He acted like a brute and fastened the child's lips together, so Mrs. +Krill treated him in the same way." + +"Hum," said Miss Qian, reflectively, "but can you prove that Mrs. Krill +was in town on the night of the murder?" + +"That's what I'm going to find out," said Hurd. "All you have to do is +to keep your eyes on Hay--" + +"Oh, he won't cut, if that's what you mean. He thinks everything is +square, now that I've got those boys to stop chattering. He'll marry +Maud and annex the money." + +"He may marry Maud," said Hurd, emphatically, "but he certainly won't +get the five thousand a year. Miss Norman will." + +"Hold on," cried Aurora, shrewdly. "Maud may not be Lemuel Krill's +child, or she may have been born before Krill married the mother, but in +any case, Sylvia Norman isn't the child of a legal marriage. Krill +certainly committed bigamy, so his daughter Sylvia can't inherit." + +"Well," said Hurd, "I can't say. I'll see Pash about the matter. After +all, the will left the money to 'my daughter,' and that Sylvia is beyond +doubt, whatever Maud may be. And I say, Aurora, just you go down to +Stowley in Buckinghamshire. I haven't time to look into matters there +myself." + +"What do you want me to do there?" + +"Find out all about the life of Mrs. Krill before she married Krill and +came to Christchurch. She's the daughter of a farmer. You'll find the +name in this." Hurd passed along a copy of the marriage certificate +which Mrs. Krill had given to Pash. "Anne Tyler is her maiden name. Find +out what you can. She was married to Krill at Beechill, Bucks." + +Miss Qian took the copy of the certificate and departed, grumbling at +the amount of work she had to do to earn her share of the reward. Hurd, +on his part, took the underground train to Liverpool Street Station, and +then travelled to Jubileetown. He arrived there at twelve o'clock and +was greeted by Paul. + +"I've been watching for you all the morning," said Beecot, who looked +flushed and eager. "Sylvia and I have made such a discovery." + +Hurd nodded good-humoredly as he entered the house and shook hands with +the girl. + +"Miss Norman has been doing some detective business on her own account," +he said, smiling. "Hullo, who is this?" + +He made this remark, because Mrs. Purr, sitting in a corner of the room +with red eyes, rose and dropped a curtsey. + +"I'm called to tell you what I do tell on my Bible oath," said Mrs. +Purr, with fervor. + +"Mrs. Purr can give some valuable evidence," said Paul, quickly. + +"Oh, can she? Then I'll hear what she has to say later. First, I must +clear the ground by telling you and Miss Norman what I have discovered +at Christchurch." + +So Mrs. Purr, rather unwillingly, for she felt the importance of her +position, was bundled out of the room, and Hurd sat down to relate his +late adventures. This he did clearly and slowly, and was interrupted +frequently by exclamations of astonishment from his two hearers. "So +there," said the detective, when finishing, "you have the beginning of +the end." + +"Then you think that Mrs. Krill killed her husband?" asked Paul, +dubiously. + +"I can't say for certain," was the cautious reply; "but I think so, on +the face of the evidence which you have heard. What do you say?" + +"Don't say anything," said Sylvia, before Paul could reply. "Mr. Hurd +had better read this paper. It was found by Deborah in an old box +belonging to my father, which was brought from Gwynne Street." + +She gave the detective several sheets of blue foolscap pinned together +and closely written in the shaky handwriting of Aaron Norman. Hurd +looked at it rather dubiously. "What is it?" he asked. + +"The paper referred to in that unfinished scrap of writing which was +discovered behind the safe," explained Paul. "Norman evidently wrote it +out, and placed it in his pocket, where he forgot it. Deborah found it +in an old coat, she discovered in a box of clothes brought from Gwynne +Street. They were Norman's clothes and his box, and should have been +left behind." + +"Debby won't hear of that," said Sylvia, laughing. "She says Mrs. Krill +has got quite enough, and she took all she could." + +"What's all this writing about?" asked Hurd, turning over the +closely-written sheets. "To save time you had better give me a precis of +the matter. Is it important?" + +"Very I should say," responded Paul, emphatically. "It contains an +account of Norman's life from the time he left Christchurch." + +"Hum." Hurd's eyes brightened. "I'll read it at my leisure, but at the +present moment you might say what you can." + +"Well, you know a good deal of it," said Paul, who did the talking at a +sign from Sylvia. "It seems that Norman--we'd better stick to the old +name--left Christchurch because he was afraid of being accused of +murdering Lady Rachel." + +"Was she really murdered?" + +"Norman doesn't say. He swears he knows nothing about the matter. The +first intimation he had was when Jessop came down with the news after +blundering into the wrong bedroom. But he hints that Mrs. Krill killed +her." + +"Can he prove that?" + +"No. He can't give any proof, or, at all events, he doesn't. He declares +that when his wife and daughter--" + +"Oh! does he call Maud his daughter?" + +"Yes! We can talk of that later," said Paul, impatiently. "Well, then, +Norman says he went fairly mad. Jessop had bolted, but Norman knew he +would not give the alarm, since he might be accused himself of killing +Lady Rachel. Maud, who had seen the body, wanted to run out and call the +neighbors." + +"How old does Norman say she was?" + +"About fifteen; quite old enough to make things unpleasant." + +"Then she can't inherit the money," said Hurd, decisively. + +"No," cried Beecot, quickly, "both Sylvia and I think so. But to go on +with Norman's confession. He would not let Maud go. She began to scream, +and he feared lest she should alarm the neighbors. He tied a +handkerchief across her lips, but she got free, and again began to +scream. Then he cruelly fastened her lips together with the opal +brooch." + +"Where did he get that, if innocent?" + +"He declared that he spied it on the floor of the sitting-room, near his +wife's feet, and then hints that she strangled Lady Rachel to get it and +turn it into money as she was desperately in need of cash for Maud. Mrs. +Krill idolized the child." + +"I know that," snapped Hurd. "Go on." + +"When Norman fastened the child's lips together, Mrs. Krill threw +herself on him in a rage. He knocked her insensible, and then ran away. +He walked through the night, until, at dawn, he came to a distant +railway station. There he took a ticket and went to London. He +concealed himself until there was no chance of his being discovered, and +besides, saw the verdict of the jury in the newspapers. But he was +determined he would not go back to his wife, because she threatened +him." + +"In what way?" + +"Ah," said Paul, while Sylvia shuddered, "in a strange way. When he +fastened the child's lips together, Mrs. Krill said that she would do +the same to him one day and with the same brooch." + +Hurd uttered an exclamation. "So that was why she wanted the brooch so +much?" he exclaimed eagerly. + +"Yes. And she told Hay she wanted it though she did not reveal her +reason. She said if she got the brooch he would be allowed to marry +Maud, with whom Hay was deeply in love. Hay stumbled across me by +accident, and I happened to have the brooch. The rest you know." + +"No," said Hurd, "I don't know how the brooch came into the possession +of Mrs. Krill again, to use in the cruel way she threatened." + +"Well," said Sylvia, quickly, "we aren't sure if Mrs. Krill _did_ get +the brooch." + +"The evidence is against her," said Hurd; "remember the threat--" + +"Yes, but wait till you hear Mrs. Purr," said Paul, "but just a moment, +Hurd. You must learn how Norman laid the foundations of his fortune." + +"Ah, I forget! Well?" and the detective settled himself to listen +further. + +"He was hard up and almost starving for a long time after he came to +London," explained Paul, "then he got a post in a second-hand bookshop +kept by a man called Garner in the Minories. He had a daughter, +Lillian--" + +"My mother," put in Sylvia, softly. + +"Yes," went on Beecot, quickly, "and this girl being lonely fell in +love with Norman, as he now called himself. He wasn't an attractive man +with his one eye, so it is hard to say how Miss Garner came to love him. +But she married him in the end. You'll find everything explained at +length in the paper we gave you. Then old Garner died, and Lillian +inherited a considerable sum of money, together with the stock. Her +husband removed the books to Gwynne Street and started business. But +with the money he began to trade in jewels, and you know how he got on." + +"That's all plain enough," said Hurd, putting the confession of Norman +into his pocket. "I suppose the man dreaded lest his first wife should +turn up." + +"Yes! And that's why he fainted when he saw the brooch. Not knowing that +Jessop had removed it from Maud's mouth and pawned it--" + +"I'm not so sure of that," said Hurd, quickly. "Bart overheard him +talking of Stowley and the pawnbroker there." + +"Well," said Paul, with a shrug, "he says nothing about it in the +confession. Perhaps he did trace the brooch to the Stowley shop, but if +so, I wonder he did not get it, seeing he wanted it. But when he saw it +in my possession, he thought I might know of Mrs. Krill and might put +her on the track. Hence his fainting. Later, he learned how I became +possessed of it, and tried to buy it. Then came the accident, and I +really believed for a time that Hay had stolen it." + +"Aurora says he swore he did not." + +"And he didn't," said Paul, going to the door. "Mrs. Purr!" + +"You don't mean to say that old woman prigged it?" asked Hurd. + +"No. But she warned me against that boy Tray on the day Deborah was +married. Later, I asked her what she meant, and she then told me that +she had learned from Tray's grandmother, a drunken old thief, how the +boy brought home the opal brooch, and--" + +Here Mrs. Purr, who had entered and was dropping curtseys to the majesty +of the law, as represented by Hurd, thought an undue advantage was being +taken of her position. She wished to talk herself, and interrupted Paul, +in a shrill voice. + +"Granny Clump, she is," said Mrs. Purr, folding her hands under her +apron. "Tray's gran'mother, as 'is name is Tray Clump, I swear on my +Bible oath. A wicked old woman as is famous for drink--" + +"I've heard of her," said the detective, remembering; "she's been up +heaps of times." + +"And grows no better," wailed Mrs. Purr, bibulously, for she had been +strengthening herself for the interview with frequent libations of gin. +"Oh, what a thing strong drink is, sir! But Granny Clump, bein' ill with +the lungses, and me bein' 'elpful in sich cases, 'aving bin a nuss, when +young, as I won't deceive you by denying, called on me to be a good +Smart 'un. And I wos, though she swore awful, saying she wanted gin an' +jellies, an' could 'ave 'ad them, if that limb--so did she name Tray, +gentlemen both--'ad only 'anded to 'er the rich brooch he brought 'ome, +just afore he went to earn a decent livin' at the lawr orfice, which 'is +name is Pash--" + +"Ha," said Hurd, thoughtfully, "I'll see the boy." + +"You can see him now," said Beecot, unexpectedly. "When I learned this +from Mrs. Purr and knew you were coming, I sent a message to Pash's +office for the boy. He came up quite unsuspectingly, but he refused to +speak. I shut him up in a back room, and Deborah has been watching +him--" + +"An' the languige of that blessed limb!" exclaimed Mrs. Purr, raising +her hands. + +"Bring him in," said Hurd. "Miss Norman, if the boy uses bad language, +you needn't stay." + +Sylvia, having heard what Tray could do in this way, needed no further +hint. She left the room gladly, and told Deborah to bring along her +prisoner. Shortly, the noise of kicking and strong language was heard +coming nearer, and Deborah, with a red face and a firm mouth, appeared +at the door, holding aloft a small boy who was black in the face with +rage. "There," said Deborah, flinging Tray in a heap at the detective's +feet, "if me an' Bart 'ave sich a brat, I 'ope he dies in his cradle, +instead of growing to a galler's thief in th' use of words which make me +shudder, let alone my pretty. Ugh!" she shook her fist at Tray. "You Old +Bailey viper, though young at that." + +"Here," said Tray, rising, much dishevelled, but with a white face, "let +me go. I'll 'ave the lawr of you." + +"I'll attend to that, my lad," said Hurd, dryly. "Now, then, where did +you get that brooch?" + +"Sha'n't tell," snapped the boy, and put his tongue out. + +Hurd gave him a smack with an open hand on the side of his face, and +Master Clump began to blubber. + +"Assalting me--oh, won't you ketch it," he raged in his puny wrath. "My +master's a law-cove, and he'll 'ave y' up before the beak." + +"You answer my questions," said Hurd, sternly, "or you'll get another +clout. You know who I am well enough. Make a clean breast of it, you +imp, or I'll lock you up." + +"If I make a clean breast will you let me cut?" asked Tray, beginning to +whimper, but with a cunning gleam in his eyes. + +"I'll see, when I know what you have to say." + +Tray looked round the room to see if there was any way of escape. But +Paul guarded the closed window and Deborah, itching to box his ears, +stood before the door. Before him was the stern-faced detective with +whom Tray knew well enough he dare not trifle. Under these circumstances +he made the best of a bad job, and told what he knew although he +interpolated threats all the time. "Wot d'y want with me?" he demanded +sulkily. + +"Where did you find that brooch?" + +"I prigged it from Mr. Beecot's pocket when he wos smashed." + +"Did Mr. Hay tell you to steal it?" + +"No, he didn't." + +"Then how did you know the brooch was in my pocket?" asked Paul. + +"I was a-dodgin' round the shorp," snapped Tray, "and I 'eard Mr. Norman +an' Mr. Beecot a-talkin' of the brooch; Mr. Beecot said as he 'ad the +brooch in 'is pocket--" + +"Yes, I certainly did," said Paul, remembering the conversation. + +"Well, when the smash come, I dodged in and prigged it. T'wos easy +'nough," grinned Tray, "for I felt it in 'is bres' poket and collared +it. I wanted to guv it t' th' ole man, thinkin' he'd pay fur it, as he +said he would. But arter the smash I went 'ome t' m' grann' and hid the +brooch. W'en I wos a-lookin' at it at night, I sawr 'er a-lookin' at it, +and she grabbed it. I cut away with m'own property, not wishin' to be +robbed by the ole gal." + +"What did you do then?" + +Tray wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "I 'eard that Mr. +Norman wos dead--" + +"Yes, and you told Jessop so in the office. How did you know?" + +"'Cause I went to the shorp in th' mornin' to sell the brooch to th' ole +man. He was a goner, so I cut to Mr. Pash, as wos his lawyer, and said +I'd sell 'im the brooch." + +"What?" cried Hurd, rising. "You gave the brooch to Mr. Pash?" + +"Yuss. He said he'd 'ave me up for stealin', and wouldn't guv me even a +bob fur it. But he said I'd be his noo orfice boy. I thought I'd be +respectable, so I went. And now," ended Master Clump in a sullen manner, +"you knows all, and I ain't done nothin', so I'm orf." + +Deborah caught him by the tail of his jacket as he made a dart at the +door and swung him into the middle of the room. Hurd laid hands on him. +"You come along with me," he said. "I'll confront you with Pash." + +Tray gave a howl of terror. "He'll kill me," he shouted, "as he killed +the old cove. Yuss. _He_ did it. Pash did it," and he howled again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +WHAT PASH SAID + + +In a smoking compartment, which the three had to themselves, Hurd +resumed his examination of Tray. They were now on their way to Liverpool +Street and thence the detective intended to convey the boy to Pash's +office in Chancery Lane. Paul sat in one corner much excited over the +turn events had taken. He began to think that the assassin of Aaron +Norman would be found after all. More, he believed that Sylvia would yet +inherit the five thousand a year she was entitled to, morally, if not +legally. Hurd, in another corner, pulled Tray roughly towards him, and +shook his finger in the lad's face. The boy was sulky and defiant, yet +there was a trace of fear in his eyes, and the reason of this Hurd +wished to learn. + +"You're a young liar," said Hurd, emphatically, "and not a clever one +either. Do you think to play the fool with me?" + +"I've tole you all straight," grumbled Tray. + +"No, you haven't. Anyone can see that you've made a mistake. I leave it +to Mr. Beecot yonder." + +"I was about to draw your attention to the mistake," said Paul; "you +mean the discrepancy in time." + +Master Clump started and became more sulky than ever. He cast down his +cunning eyes and shuffled with his feet while Hurd lectured him. "You +know well enough," said the detective, sharply, "that the brooch was +boned by you on the very evening when the murder took place. It was +then that Mr. Beecot met with his accident. Therefore, you could not +have given the brooch to Mr. Pash the _next_ morning, as it had been +used on the previous night." + +"Sha'n't say anythin' more," retorted Tray, defiantly. + +"Oh, won't you?" cried Hurd, ironically, "we'll see about that. You told +that lie about the time to account for your knowing of the murder before +anyone else did." + +"No," said Tray, decidedly, "I did go to the shorp in th' mornin'." + +"That you may have done, but not to sell the brooch. Mr. Pash had taken +it from you on the previous night." + +"He didn't," denied the boy. + +"Then in that case you've told a lie. Pash never had the brooch, and has +nothing to do with the murder." + +"He _did_ prig the brooch from me, and he _did_ kill the ole cove." + +"Well, we'll see what Mr. Pash will say when you accuse him," said Hurd; +"but I don't believe one word of it. It's my opinion that you gave that +brooch to a third party on the same evening as you stole it. Now, then, +who did you give it to?" + +"Mr. Pash," persisted Tray. + +"On the same evening?" + +There was no reply to this. Tray set his lips firmly and refused to +speak. Hurd shook an admonitory finger again. "You can't play fast and +loose with me, my lad," he said grimly; "if you didn't part with that +brooch, you must be mixed up in the crime yourself. Perhaps you pinned +the poor wretch's mouth together. It's just the sort of cruel thing a +young Cain like you would do." + +"I didn't," said Master Clump, doggedly; "you take me to master, and +I'll tell him what I tells you. He's the one." + +Hurd shook the boy to make him talk more, but Tray simply threw himself +on the floor of the carriage and howled. The detective therefore picked +him up and flung him into a corner. "You stop there, you little +ruffian," he said, seriously annoyed at the boy's recalcitrants; "we'll +speak again when we are in Mr. Pash's office." So Tray curled up on the +cushion, looked savagely at the detective and held his tongue. + +"What do you think will be the end of all this?" asked Paul, when Master +Clump was thus disposed of. + +"Lord knows," replied Hurd, wiping his face. "I never had a harder case +to deal with. I thought Hay had a hand in it, but it seems he hadn't, +bad lot as he is, asking your pardon, Mr. Beecot, since you're his +friend." + +"That I am not," disclaimed Beecot, emphatically; "there's a young +lawyer I know, Ford is his name. I went to see him as to what chances +Sylvia had of getting the money. He was at school with me, and +remembered Hay. He said that Hay was dismissed from Torrington School +for stealing." + +"Didn't you know that yourself." + +"No, I had left the school--I was ill at home with scarlet fever. But +Hay apparently always has been a bad lot. He and that Krill pair are +well matched, for I believe the mother is bad, even if the daughter Maud +isn't. By the way her age--?" + +Hurd nodded. "I believe she was fifteen at the time of the death of Lady +Rachel. If so, she can't be legitimate or may not be the daughter of +Aaron Norman. However, I've asked my sister to look up Mrs. Krill's past +life in Stowley, where she comes from." + +"But she wasn't married to Krill at Stowley?" + +"No. But she lived there as Anne Tyler. From the certificate she was +married to Krill at a small parish church twenty miles from Stowley, so +Aurora will go there. But I want her to stop at Stowley first and learn +all she can about Anne Tyler." + +"Beechill's the name of the parish in which she was married to Krill +before she came to Christchurch," said Paul, musingly, "so I expect they +lived there. Miss Qian might search also for the certificate of Maud +Krill's birth." + +"I told her to, and, failing that, she's to search in Christchurch. We +must get the certificate of birth somehow." + +"Hurd," said Paul, rather diffidently, "I hope you won't be annoyed, but +I have already asked my friend Ford to give notice to Pash to produce +the certificate." + +"Well," replied the detective, "you might have told me; but no great +harm is done. What does Pash say?" + +"I don't know. Ford has not let me know yet. Here we are." + +This remark was caused by the stopping of the train at Liverpool Street +Station. A number of people were returning from their employment in the +city to the country, and the platforms were crowded. Hurd grasped Master +Clump by the arm and marched him along. But in the confusion of finding +his ticket at the barrier, he happened to let go, almost without +thinking. In a moment Tray had darted through the barrier and was lost +in the crowd. Hurd sprang after him, and left Paul to explain. He +hurriedly did so, and then went out to see if the detective had caught +the boy. + +Hurd was nowhere to be seen, neither was Tray. The crowd was increasing +thick, and Beecot was at a loss what to do. After waiting for an hour +without finding the pair, he thought he would go to Pash's office. It +might be that Hurd, having caught Tray, would take him there at once, +leaving Beecot to follow. So Paul got on to the metropolitan railway and +alighted at the Temple Station. Thence he walked up to the office in +Chancery Lane. + +"Where's Tray?" asked Paul, of the one clerk in the outer room, who was +writing for dear life. + +"I don't know, sir," said the clerk; "he went out this morning and +hasn't been back all day. Mr. Pash is very angry with him." + +Apparently Hurd had not caught the boy yet, or if he had, did not intend +to bring him to the office. "Can I see Mr. Pash?" asked Paul, thinking +he might as well make some use of his time. + +The clerk inquired if the solicitor would see Beecot, and presently +ushered him into the inner room, where Pash sat looking more like a +monkey than ever. He did not appear at all pleased to see the young man, +and sucked in his cheek with a crabbed air. + +"Well, Mr. Beecot, what can I do for you?" he snarled. + +"You might be civil in the first place," said Paul quietly, taking a +chair. "You haven't behaved over well to Miss Norman and me." + +"Oh," said Pash, coolly, "have you come to reproach me with that?" + +"I never waste time," rejoined Paul, equally coolly. "I'll leave you to +your conscience." + +Pash shrugged his shoulders and put his feet on the rungs of his chair. +"I think my conscience can stand that," he said; "it's business, Mr. +Beecot, business. By the way, I have received a request from Mr. Ford of +Cheapside to produce the certificate of birth of Miss Krill. What is the +meaning of that?" + +"I think you know very well, Mr. Pash." + +"I profess my ignorance," said Pash, ironically, although he looked +uneasy, and was apparently lying. + +"In that case you had better wait till you hear from Mr. Ford." + +"Are you employing Mr. Ford, may I ask?" + +Paul nodded. "On behalf of Miss Norman," said he, coldly. + +"Ah," sneered the monkey, "you think you'll get the money." + +"Wait till you hear from Mr. Ford," retorted Paul again, and enjoyed the +baffled expression on Mr. Pash's wrinkled face. "By the way, sir, why +did you not tell Hurd that Tray gave you the opal brooch?" + +Pash turned all the colors of the rainbow. "Does that brat I took into +my office out of charity dare to say that he did." + +"He does, and what is more, Mr. Hurd is bringing him here to make the +statement, face to face with you. I am determined to get to the bottom +of this case, sir, for Miss Norman's sake. And the possession of the +brooch forms an important link." + +"How so?" + +"The person who had that brooch on the evening of the sixth of July +murdered Norman," said Paul, calmly. + +Pash jumped up and chattered like a baboon in a rage. "Do you mean to +accuse me?" he demanded. "Take care--take care." + +"I don't accuse you. Tray does." + +"It's a lie--a lie--" + +"Don't excite yourself, Mr. Pash. You'll need all your wits to convince +Hurd. Tray accuses you, and Hurd suspects you. I have nothing to do with +the matter." + +"You put Hurd up to this," foamed Pash, hardly able to speak. + +"Pardon me. Hurd is working for the reward offered by your client. Don't +you think it was rather foolish of her to offer such a large reward, +Mr. Pash, even though she did so to avert suspicion?" + +The solicitor changed color again. "I don't understand you." + +Paul shrugged his shoulders and rose to go. "Perhaps Mr. Hurd will +explain," he said, and made for the door. + +Pash, with his monkey face much perplexed, sat hunched in his chair, +biting his fingers. As Paul laid his hand on the knob, he called him +back. "I can explain," he said nervously. + +"Not to me," said Paul, coldly. + +"I prefer to do so to you," said the lawyer, hurriedly. + +"Why to me particularly." + +"Because I don't think I have acted very well towards Miss Norman, and, +as you are to marry her, you may be able to arrange--" + +"To make peace I suppose you mean," burst out Beecot; "no, Mr. Pash, you +have acted like a scoundrel. You left that poor girl in the lurch as +soon as you found that Miss Krill was--as you thought--legally entitled +to the money." + +"What do you mean by hinting she isn't?" + +"Because you know very well what her age is," retorted Paul. "This +matter will be shifted to the bottom, Mr. Pash, by my friend Ford, and +if things are as I think they are, Miss Krill won't keep that money. You +know very well--" + +"Miss Norman won't get the money either," snarled Pash, "I know that +very well. Leastways," he added, "without my assistance." + +"More of your crooked ways," said Paul, indignantly. "Tell what you like +to Hurd. I refuse to listen." + +As he spoke he opened the door and found himself facing Hurd who was red +and hot. The detective stepped into the office, and as he passed Paul, +whispered, "Hold your tongue about the boy," then he turned to Mr. Pash. +"Well, sir," he puffed, "I have had a job catching up Mr. Beecot. No +doubt you know why I have come?" + +"No," said Pash, dryly; "I don't see Tray." + +"Tray will keep. I've got him safe under lock and key. Before bringing +you face to face with him I thought it best to give you an opportunity +of clearing yourself." + +"Of what?" asked Pash, in a brazen manner. + +Hurd looked at Beecot who spoke. "Mr. Pash knows very well that Tray +accuses him of the crime," he said. "I told him so, and he professed his +readiness to explain to you." + +"Ah," said Hurd, "shut the door, Mr. Beecot. No need to let all London +know the truth." + +"_I_ don't know it," said Pash, as Paul closed the door and returned to +his seat. + +"Very good," rejoined the detective, calmly, "we'll assume for the sake +of argument that you did not strangle Norman." + +"That I certainly did not." + +"Then you know who did. Come, sir," Hurd became stern; "this boy Tray +says he gave the opal brooch to you. And I believe he did. You would not +have taken him into your office--a boy off the streets, and with a bad +character at that--unless you wanted to bribe him to hold his tongue." + +"I had no need to bribe," said Pash, gnawing his finger nails and rather +cowed by this direct attack. "The boy _did_ show me the opal brooch, and +I took it from him to return to Norman." + +"When did you receive it?" asked Hurd, pulling out his book. "Be +careful, Mr. Pash, I'll take down what you say." + +"I have nothing to conceal," said Pash, in quite an unnecessarily +injured manner. "I had employed the boy on several errands, and he knew +I was Norman's lawyer. On the evening of the sixth of July--" + +"And the evening of the murder," said Hurd; "are you sure?" + +"I'll take my oath on it. The boy told me that Mr. Beecot had met with +an accident and that a blue velvet case containing a brooch had fallen +out of his pocket." + +"It was stolen," said Beecot, hastily. + +"Tray was not such a fool as to tell me that," replied the lawyer, +dryly; "he said that he picked the case up out of the mud, and took it +home to his garret. His grandmother, who is a notorious thief, wanted to +get it, and pawn it for drink, but Tray ran away with it and came to me +about five o'clock. He gave me the brooch and asked me to take charge of +it, as he expected to get money for it from Aaron Norman who wanted it." + +"Tray overheard my conversation with Norman," said Paul, angrily, "and +knew the brooch was mine--so did you, Mr. Pash." + +"Well," said the solicitor, coolly, "what of that? Norman was my client +and wanted the brooch. I intended to keep it and then see you, so that a +sale might be arranged. Norman spoke to me about the brooch several +times and wanted it for reasons you may not know." + +"Oh, yes, we know," said Hurd, sardonically; "we know much more than you +give us credit for, Mr. Pash. Well, you saw Norman about the jewel later +that evening. I suppose you intend to tell us you gave him the brooch +then." + +"I intend to tell nothing of the sort," retorted Pash, after a few +moments' thought. "I see that things are coming to a crisis, and I would +like to see Miss Norman reinstated in her rights." + +"Oh," said Paul, indignantly, "and you did your best to give the money +to Maud Krill!" + +"Because I believed she was legally entitled to it," explained Pash, +lamely; "but since--no," he broke off, "I'll say nothing just now. I +alone can put the matter right, and I refuse to do so unless I have Miss +Norman's promise that I shall keep the business." + +Paul would have refused then and there, but Hurd, more astute, +interrupted his angry speech. "We'll see about that later, Mr. Pash," he +said, soothingly; "meanwhile, what did you do with the brooch?" + +"I laid it on the table there. The case was open, as I had been looking +at it. I sent Tray out of the room and attended to my usual business. +Several clients came and went, and I forgot about the opal serpent. Then +I went to see my clerk outside about a deed. I was with him for some +minutes. When I recollected the brooch before I went home--for I +intended to take it with me--" + +"Stop," interrupted Hurd, "you were here till Aaron Norman came along +with the jewels, so you must have missed the brooch before he came or he +would have taken it, seeing it was exposed on the table." + +"My esteemed client did not come till seven," said Pash, annoyed at +being detected in trickery. "He walked about with the bags of jewels for +some time, not being able to make up his mind to give them to me, which +he did for safe keeping." + +"Then he expected a visit from his wife?" + +"I can't say," said the solicitor, with an air of fatigue. "He certainly +hinted that he wanted the jewels placed away safely in case someone +connected with the opal brooch should come." + +"Perhaps Captain Jessop, who did come," said Paul, suddenly. + +"He didn't mention the name of Jessop," snapped Pash. "Had he hinted at +a sailor I would have known who my nautical visitor was." + +"We know all about that," said Hurd, waving his hand; "But if Norman +came to you at seven, how did you manage to prevent him meeting his wife +in this office?" + +"Oh, she was--What do you mean?" asked Pash, breaking off, and conscious +that he was letting slip something he had rather had not been known. + +Hurd saw the slip and Pash's confusion and at once made every use of the +opportunity. In fact, he played a game of bluff. Shaking his finger he +approached the little lawyer. "Do you think I come here unprepared?" he +asked, solemnly; "do you think I have not been to 'The Red Pig' at +Christchurch and learned that Mrs. Krill knew of her husband's +whereabouts, through Hay, long before the day she came to you with the +lying story about the hand-bills? Hay has confessed his share in the +business of a false introduction to throw Mr. Beecot off the scent, +seeing that he was defending Miss Norman's interests. Do you think I +don't know that this woman Krill came to see you, through Hay, whose +lawyer you are? She was here on that fatal evening," said Hurd, making a +bold shot, "how did you prevent her seeing Norman?" + +Pash was completely thrown off his balance by this volley of language +and presumption of knowledge. "Mrs. Krill left at six," he gasped, +backing to the wall. + +"And carried off the brooch?" + +"I'm not sure--I can't say--I _did_ miss the brooch--" + +"After Mrs. Krill left?" + +"No, when Norman came. I intended to show him the brooch and found it +gone." + +"Mrs. Krill left at six. Between six and seven did any other client come +into the office?" + +"Yes--no--I can't say. Well," Pash broke down in despair seeing that his +lies were not believed, "I think Mrs. Krill did steal the brooch." + +"Quite so, and murdered her husband!" Hurd went to the door and took +Beecot's arm. "I only hope you won't be brought up as an accessory +before the fact, Mr. Pash," and disregarding the lawyer's exclamations +he dragged Paul outside. In Chancery Lane he spoke. "I've bluffed him +fine," he said, "that boy is lost. Can't see him anywhere. But we're +getting at the truth at last." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +MRS. KRILL AT BAY + + +Next day Hurd did not go to see Mrs. Krill as he had intended, but spent +his time in hunting for the missing boy. Tray, however, was not to be +found. Being a guttersnipe and accustomed to dealing with the police he +was thoroughly well able to look after himself, and doubtless had +concealed himself in some low den where the officers of the law would +not think of searching for him. However, the fact remained that, in +spite of the detective's search, he could not be caught, and the +authorities were much vexed. To unravel the case completely Tray was a +necessary witness, especially as, even when examined at Jubileetown, +Hurd shrewdly suspected he had not confessed all the truth. However, +what could be done was done, and several plain-clothes detectives were +set to search for the missing boy. + +Pash remained quiet for, at all events, the next four-and-twenty hours. +Whether he saw Mrs. Krill or not during that time Hurd did not know and, +truth to say, he cared very little. The lawyer had undoubtedly acted +dishonestly, and if the matter were made public, there would be every +chance that he would be struck off the rolls. To prevent this Pash was +quite ready to sell Mrs. Krill and anyone else connected with the +mystery. Also, he wished to keep the business of Miss Norman, supposing +the money--as he hinted might be the case through his assistance--came +back to her; and this might be used as a means to make him speak out. +Hurd was now pretty sure that Mrs. Krill was the guilty person. + +"She knew Pash through Hay," argued the detective, while thinking over +the case, "and undoubtedly came to see him before Norman's death, so +that Pash might suggest ways and means of getting the better of the old +man by means of the bigamy business. Mrs. Krill was in the Chancery Lane +office when the brooch left by Tray was on the table, and Mrs. Krill, +anxious to get it, no doubt slipped it into her pocket when Pash was +talking to his clerk in the outer room. Then I expect she decided to +punish her husband by fastening his lips together as he had done those +of her daughter twenty and more years ago. I can't exactly see why she +strangled him," mused Hurd, "as she could have got the money without +proceeding to such an extreme measure. But the man's dead, and she +killed him sure enough. Now, I'll get a warrant out and arrest her +straight away. There's quite enough evidence to justify her being taken +in charge. Hum! I wonder if she made use of that young devil of a Tray +in any way? Well," he rose and stretched himself, "I may force her to +speak now that she is in a corner." + +Having made up his mind Hurd went to work at once, and the next day, +late in the afternoon, he was driving in a cab to No. 32A Hunter Street, +Kensington, with the warrant in his pocket. He also had with him a +letter which he had received from Miss Qian, and written from Beechill +in Buckinghamshire. Aurora had made good use of her time and had learned +a number of facts connected with Mrs. Krill's early life which Hurd +thought would prove of interest to the woman. In one way and another the +case was becoming plain and clear, and the detective made sure that he +would gain the reward. The irony of the thing was, that Mrs. Krill, +with a view to throwing dust in the eyes of the law, had offered a bribe +of one thousand pounds for the discovery of the assassin. She little +thought when doing so that she was weaving a rope for her own neck. + +Hurd had brought a plain-clothes policeman with him, and this man +remained outside in a hansom while Hurd rang the bell. In a few minutes +the door was opened and the detective sent up his card. Mrs. Krill +proved to be at home and consented to receive him, so, shortly, the man +found himself in an elegantly-furnished drawing-room bowing before the +silent and sedate daughter. + +"You wish to see my mother," said Maud, with her eternal smile. "She +will be down in a few minutes." + +"I await her convenience," said Hurd, admiring the handsome looks of the +young woman, although he plainly saw that she was--as he phrased it--"no +chicken." + +After a few words Miss Krill rang the bell. "I want these things taken +away," she said, pointing to a workbasket and some millinery with which +she had been engaged when Hurd was announced, "then I shall leave you to +speak to my mother." + +The detective wondered if she was too fine a lady to remove these things +herself, but his surprise ceased when the door opened and no less a +person than Matilda Junk appeared. He guessed at once that the landlady +of "The Red Pig" had come up to see her sister and had related details +about her visitor. Probably Mrs. Krill guessed that Hurd had been asking +questions, and Matilda had been introduced to see if he was the man. He +became certain of this when Miss Junk threw up her hands. "The +commercial gent," she exclaimed. + +"Oh, no," said Maud, smiling smoothly. "This is Mr. Hurd, the detective, +who is searching for the assassin of my dear father." + +"Lor,'" said Matilda, growing red. "And he's the man as came to ask +questions at the 'otel. I do call it bold of you, Mister Policeman." + +"Well," said Hurd, swinging his hat lazily, and looking from one to the +other, quite taking in the situation, "you answered very few of my +questions, so that is all right." + +"Why did you go down to Christchurch?" asked Miss Krill. + +"If I have to find out who killed your father," said Hurd, with an +accent on the word "father," "it was necessary that I should learn about +his past life as Lemuel Krill." + +"My mother could have informed you, sir." + +"I guessed as much, and, as Miss Junk would not speak, I have come to +question Mrs. Krill. Ah, here she is." Hurd rose and bowed. "I am glad +to see you, madam." + +Mrs. Krill, who was as plump and smiling and smooth-faced and severe as +ever, bowed and rubbed her white hands together. At a sign from Maud, +Matilda gathered up the fancy work and went out of the room with many +backward glances. These were mostly indignant, for she was angry at +Hurd's deception. "Do you wish my daughter to stay?" asked Mrs. Krill, +smoothly. + +"That is as she pleases," said the detective. + +"No, thank you, mother," said Maud, shuddering, "I have heard quite +enough of my poor father's terrible death," and she swept out of the +drawing-room with a gracious smile. + +"The poor child is so sensitive," sighed Mrs. Krill, taking a seat with +her back to the window. Whether this was done to conceal her age, or the +expression of her face during a conversation which could not fail to +prove trying, Hurd was unable to determine. "I trust, Mr. Hurd, you have +come with good news," said the widow. + +"What would you call good news?" asked the detective, dryly. + +"That you had traced the assassin," she replied coolly. + +Hurd was amazed at this brazen assurance, and thought that Mrs. Krill +must be quite convinced that she had covered up every trail likely to +lead to the discovery of her connection with the murder. + +"I'll leave you to judge whether I have been successful," he said +calmly. + +"I shall be pleased to hear," was the equally calm reply. But as Mrs. +Krill spoke she glanced towards a gorgeous tapestry curtain at the end +of the room, and Hurd fancied he saw it shake. It suddenly occurred to +him that Maud was behind. Why she should choose this secret way of +listening when she could have remained it was difficult to say, and he +half thought he was mistaken. However, listening openly or secretly, did +not matter so far as the daughter was concerned, so Hurd addressed +himself to Mrs. Krill in a loud and cheerful voice. She composed herself +to listen with a bland smile, and apparently was quite ignorant that +there was anything wrong. + +"I was lately down at Christchurch, madam--" + +"So my servant, Matilda Junk, said." + +"It was necessary that I should go there to search out your husband's +past life. In that past I fancied, might be found the motive for the +commission of the crime." + +"I could have saved you the journey," said Mrs. Krill, shrugging her +plump shoulders. "I can tell you what you wish to know." + +"In that case I will relate all that I have learned, and perhaps you +will correct me if I am wrong." + +Mrs. Krill bowed but did not commit herself to speech. For the sake of +effect the detective took out a sheaf of notes, but in reality he had +the various points of the case at his finger tips. "You will excuse me +if I talk on very private matters," he said, apologetically, "but as we +are alone," again Mrs. Krill glanced at the curtain and thereby +confirmed Hurd's suspicions of an unseen listener, "you will not mind my +being, perhaps, personal." + +"Personal," echoed Mrs. Krill, a keen look coming into her hard eyes, +and she stopped rubbing her hands together. + +"Well, yes," admitted Hurd, with affected reluctance. "I had to look +into your past as well as into that of your husband's." + +Mrs. Krill's eyes grew harder than ever. She scented danger. "My past is +a most uninteresting one," she said, coldly. "I was born at Stowley, in +Buckinghamshire, and married Mr. Krill at Beechill, which is a few miles +from that town. He was a traveller in jewellery, but as I did not like +his being away from me, I induced him to rent 'The Red Pig' at +Christchurch, to which we removed. Then he left me--" + +"On account of Lady Rachel Sandal's murder?" + +Mrs. Krill controlled herself excellently, although she was startled by +this speech, as was evident from the expression of her eyes. "That poor +lady committed suicide," she said deliberately. "The jury at the inquest +brought in a verdict of suicide--" + +"By a majority of one," added Hurd, quickly. "There seemed to be a +considerable amount of doubt as to the cause of the death." + +"The death was caused by strangulation," said Mrs. Krill, in hard tones. +"Since you know all about the matter, you must be aware that I and my +daughter had retired after seeing Lady Rachel safe and sound for the +night. The death was discovered by a boon companion of my husband's, +with whom he was drinking at the time." + +"I know that. Also that you came down with your daughter when the alarm +was given. I also know that Krill fastened your daughter's lips together +with the opal brooch which was found in the parlor." + +"Who told you that?" asked Mrs. Krill, agitated. + +"Jessop--the boon companion you speak of." + +"Yes," she said, suppressing her agitation with a powerful effort. +"Matilda said you had him to dine with you. What else did he say?" she +asked with some hesitation. + +"Much less than I should have liked to know," retorted Hurd, prepared to +throw off the mask; "but he told me a great deal which interested me +very much. Amongst other things that Grexon Hay had been engaged to your +daughter for two years." + +"Well?" asked Mrs. Krill, coolly, "what of that?" + +"Nothing particular," rejoined Hurd, just as coolly, "only I wonder you +took the trouble to pretend that you met Hay at Pash's office for the +first time." + +"That was some romantic rubbish of my daughter's. There was no reason +why we should not have acknowledged Mr. Hay as an old acquaintance." + +"None in the world that I can see," said Hurd, smoothly. "He told you +that Aaron Norman was your husband." + +"No," said Mrs. Krill, decidedly, "I first heard of my husband by seeing +a chance hand-bill--" + +"Not at all," answered Hurd, just as decidedly, "Hay has confessed." + +"There was nothing to confess," cried Mrs. Krill, loudly and with +emphasis. + +"Oh, I think so," said the detective, noting that she was losing her +temper. "You didn't want it known that you were aware of Norman's +identity before his death. Do you deny that?" + +"I deny everything," gasped Mrs. Krill, her hands trembling. + +"That's a pity, as I want you to corroborate certain facts connected +with Anne Tyler. Do you know the name?" + +"My maiden name," said the widow, and a look of fear crept into her +hard, staring eyes. "How did you come to know of it?" + +"From the marriage certificate supplied by Pash." + +"He had no right to give it to you." + +"He didn't. I possess only a copy. But that copy I sent down in charge +of a certain person to Beechill. This person found that you were married +as Anne Tyler to Lemuel Krill in the parish church, twenty miles from +your birthplace." + +Mrs. Krill drew a long breath of relief. "Well?" she demanded defiantly, +"is there anything wrong about that?" + +"No. But this person also made inquiries at Stowley about you. You are +the daughter of a farmer." + +"I mentioned that fact myself." + +"Yes. But you didn't mention that your mother had been hanged for +poisoning your father." + +Mrs. Krill turned ghastly pale. "No," she said in a suffocating voice, +"such is the case; but can you wonder that I forebore to mention that +fact? My daughter knows nothing of that--nor did my husband--" + +"Which husband do you mean, Krill or Jessop?" asked Hurd. + +Mrs. Krill gasped and rose, swaying. "What do you mean, man?" + +"This," said the detective, on his feet at once; "this person hunted out +the early life of Anne Tyler at Stowley. It was discovered that Anne was +the daughter of a woman who had been hanged, and of a man who had been +murdered. Also this person found that Anne Tyler married a sailor called +Jarvey Jessop some years before she committed bigamy with Lemuel Krill +in Beechill Church--" + +"It's a lie!" screamed Mrs. Krill, losing her self-control. "How dare +you come here with these falsehoods?" + +"They are not falsehoods, Anne Tyler, _alias_ Anne Jessop, _alias_ Anne +Krill, etc.," retorted Hurd, speaking rapidly and emphasizing his +remarks with his finger in his usual fashion when in deadly earnest. +"You were married to Jessop in Stowley Church; you bore him a daughter +who was christened Maud Jessop in Stowley Church. The person I mentioned +sent me copies of the marriage and birth certificates. So your marriage +with Lemuel Krill was false, and his second marriage with Lillian Garner +is a good one in law. Which means, Mrs. Jessop," Hurd hurled the word at +her and she shrank, "that Sylvia Norman or Sylvia Krill, as she +rightfully is, owns that money which you wrongfully withhold from her. +The will gave the five thousand a year to 'my daughter,' and Sylvia is +the only daughter and only child--the legitimate child, mark you--of +Lemuel Krill." + +"Lies--lies--lies!" raged Mrs. Krill, as she may still be called, though +rightfully Jessop, "I'll defend the case on my daughter's behalf." + +"_Your_ daughter, certainly," said Hurd, "but not Krill's." + +"I say yes." + +"And I say no. She was fifteen when Lady Rachel was murdered, as Jessop, +her father, admitted. I knew the man was keeping something back, but I +was far from suspecting that it was this early marriage. No wonder the +man came to you and had free quarters at 'The Red Pig.' He could have +prosecuted you for bigamy, just as you would have prosecuted Krill, had +you not murdered him." + +Mrs. Krill gave a yell and her eyes blazed. "You hound!" she shouted, +"do you accuse me of that?" + +"I do more than accuse you, I arrest you." Hurd produced the warrant. "A +man is waiting in the cab. We'll get a four-wheeler, and you'll come +along with me to gaol, Mrs. Jessop." + +"You can't prove it--you can't prove it," she panted, "and I sha'n't +go--I sha'n't--I sha'n't!" and her eyes sought the tapestry. + +"Miss Jessop can come out," said Hurd, coolly, "and, as to your not +coming, a few policemen will soon put that right." + +"How dare you insult me and my daughter?" + +"Come, come," said the detective, sternly, "I've had quite enough of +this. You offered me one thousand pounds to learn who killed your +so-called husband, Krill. I have earned the reward--" + +"Not one shilling shall you have." + +"Oh, I think so. Miss Sylvia will pay it to me, and you--" + +"I am innocent. I never touched the man." + +"A jury will decide that, Mrs. Jessop." + +"Krill--my name is Krill." + +Hurd laughed and turned towards the tapestry. + +"What do you say, Miss Jessop?" he asked. + +Seeing that further concealment was at an end, Maud lifted the tapestry, +which concealed a small door, through which she had silently stolen to +listen. She advanced calmly. "I have heard all your conversation with my +mother," she declared with flashing eyes, "and not one word of it is +true. I am the daughter of Lemuel Krill." + +"You'll find that hard to prove in the face of your birth certificate +and your mother's marriage to Captain Jessop, your father." + +"It will all be put right." + +"Quite so, and Miss Norman will get the money." + +"That girl--never!" cried Maud, fiercely. She looked very like her +mother at the moment, but the more angry she grew the calmer became Mrs. +Krill, who kept darting anxious glances at her daughter. "And you +sha'n't take my mother away," she cried threateningly. + +"I don't want to make a scandal in the neighborhood," said Hurd, taking +a small whistle from his pocket, "but if I blow this my man out there +will call the nearest policeman, and then--" + +"There is no need," interrupted Mrs. Krill, who had recovered her +self-control. "Maud, come over beside me. On what grounds, Mr. Hurd, do +you accuse me of the crime? I was not in town on--" + +"Oh, yes, you were, Mrs. Jessop. Pash can prove that you were in his +office and took the brooch left by Tray from the table. I don't know +where you stopped on that night--" + +"At Judson's Hotel, Strand," cried Maud, placing herself beside her +mother, "and anyone there can prove that my mother and myself were +within doors after we came from Terry's Theatre, where we spent the +evening. As my father--for Krill _was_ my father--was killed after +twelve, and we were both in bed in one room before then, your accusation +falls to the ground. My mother was with me, and she did not leave the +whole evening. Next day we went to Christchurch." + +Hurd was rather staggered by the positive way in which the young woman +spoke. But the facts were too plain for him to hesitate. "I must trouble +you to come along with me," he said. "No, don't go!" + +"To put on my cloak and hat?" urged Mrs. Krill. "I'll come quietly +enough. I don't want a scandal. I am sure when the magistrate hears what +I have to say he will let me go free." + +"I trust so. But you must not leave the room. Matilda will, no doubt, +bring your things." + +Mrs. Krill touched the electric button of the bell, while Maud walked up +and down, deathly white and fuming. "Mr. Hay shall see to this," she +said in a cold rage. + +"Mr. Hay will have quite enough to do to look after himself," said the +detective, coolly; "you had better let your mother go quietly, and I +won't say anything to Matilda Junk." + +"Yes, do, Maud," urged the mother, placing an imploring hand on her tall +daughter's shoulder; "it's better so. Everything will be put right when +the magistrate hears my story." + +"What will you tell him, mother?" asked Maud. + +"That I am innocent, and that I am, as you are, ignorant of who killed +your unfortunate father." + +Matilda entered the room and heard that Mrs. Krill had to go out on +business with Mr. Hurd. On receiving her orders she departed, and +presently returned with the cloak and hat. Mrs. Krill, who was now quite +cool, put these on. Hurd could not but admire the brave way in which she +faced the terrible situation. Maud seemed to be far more upset, and Hurd +wondered if the young woman knew the truth. Mrs. Krill kept soothing +her. "It will be all right, my love. Don't excite yourself. It will be +all right," she said several times. + +Miss Junk departed, and Mrs. Krill said that she was ready to depart. +Hurd offered her his arm, which she rejected, and walked to the door +with a firm step, although her face was rather white. At the door she +caught her daughter round the neck and kissed her several times, after +which she whispered earnestly in her ear, and then went down the stairs +with the detective in attendance. Maud, with white lips and cheeks, but +with dry eyes, followed. When her mother was safely in the cab, the +plain-clothes policeman alighted, so that Hurd might take his place. +Maud came quietly down the steps and seized the detective by the arm. + +"You have ruined my mother," she said in a cold, hard tone; "you have +robbed me of my money and of the chance of marrying the man I love. I +can't hurt you; but that girl, Sylvia--she shall never get one +penny--so, remember!" + +Hurd shook her off, and, stepping into the cab, drove away. Mrs. Krill +looked apprehensively at him. "What did Maud say?" she asked. Hurd told +her, and Mrs. Krill closed her lips firmly. "Maud is quite right," she +said with a strange smile. "Sylvia will never get the money." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +A CRUEL WOMAN + + +"Jus' say your meanin', my pretty queen," said Mrs. Tawsey, as she stood +at the sitting-room door, and watched Sylvia reading an ill-written +letter. "It's twelve now, and I kin be back by five, arter a long, and +enjiable tork with Matilder." + +"You certainly must go," replied Sylvia, handing back the letter. "I am +sure your sister will be glad to see you, Debby." + +Deborah sniffed and scratched her elbow. "Relatives ain't friends in our +family," she said, shaking her head, "whatever you may say, my +deary-sweet. Father knocked mother int' lunatics arter she'd nagged 'im +to drunk an' police-cells. Three brothers I 'ad, and all of 'em that +'andy with their fistises as they couldn't a-bear to live in 'armony +without black eyes and swolled bumps all over them. As to Matilder, she +an' me never did, what you might call, hit it orf, by reason of 'er not +givin' way to me, as she should ha' done, me bein' the youngest and what +you might call the baby of the lot. We ain't seen each other fur years, +and the meetin' will be cold. She'll not have much forgiveness fur me +bein' a bride, when she's but a lone cross-patch, drat her." + +"Don't quarrel with her, Debby. She has written you a very nice letter, +asking you to go down to Mrs. Krill's house in Kensington, and she +really wants to see you before she goes back to Christchurch to-night." + +"Well, I'll go," said Deborah, suddenly; "but I don't like leavin' you +all by your own very self, my sunflower." + +"I'll be all right, Debby. Paul comes at four o'clock, and you'll be +back at five." + +"Sooner, if me an' Matilder don't hit if orf, or if we hit each other, +which, knowin' 'er 'abits, I do expects. But Bart's out till six, and +there won't be anyone to look arter them as washes--four of 'em," added +Mrs. Tawsey, rubbing her nose, "and as idle as porkpines." + +"Mrs. Purr can look after them." + +"Look arter gin more like," said Deborah, contemptuously. "She's allays +suckin', sly-like, tryin' to purtend as it's water, as if the smell +didn't give it away, whatever the color may be. An' here she is, idling +as usual. An' may I arsk, Mrs. Purr ma'am," demanded Deborah with great +politeness, "wot I pays you fur in the way of ironin'?" + +But Mrs. Purr was too excited to reply. She brushed past her indignant +mistress and faced Sylvia, waving a dirty piece of paper. "Lor', miss," +she almost screamed, "you do say as you want t'know where that limb Tray +'ave got to--" + +"Yes--yes," said Sylvia, rising, "he escaped from Mr. Hurd, and we want +to find him very much." + +"It's a letter from 'im," said Mrs. Purr, thrusting the paper into +Sylvia's hand; "tho' 'ow he writes, not 'avin' bin to a board school, I +dunno. He's in a ken at Lambith, and ill at that. Want's me t'go an' see +'im. But I can't leave the ironin'." + +"Yuss y' can," said Deborah, suddenly; "this erringd is ness'ary, Mrs. +Purr ma'am, so jes' put on your bunnet, an' go to Mr. Hurd as 'as 'is +orfice at Scotlan' Yard, and take 'im with you." + +"Oh! but I couldn't--" + +"You go," advised Mrs. Tawsey. "There's five pounds offered for the +brat's bein' found." + +"Five pun!" gasped Mrs. Purr, trembling. "Lor', and me 'avin' a chanct +of gittin' it. I'll go--I'll go. I knows the Yard, 'avin' 'ad summat to +do with them dirty perlice in my time. Miss Sylvia--" + +"Yes, go, Mrs. Purr, and see Mr. Hurd. He'll give you the five pounds if +you take him to Tray." Sylvia handed back the paper. "Tray seems to be +ill." + +"Ill or well, he sha'n't lose me five pun, if I 'ave to drag 'im to the +lock-up m'self," said Mrs. Purr, resolutely. "Where's my bunnet--my +shawl--oh lor'--five pun! Them is as good allays gits rewards," and she +hurried out, hardly able to walk for excitement. + +"There's a nice ole party fur you, Miss Sylvia?" + +"Debby," said the girl, thoughtfully. "You take her to the Yard to see +Mr. Hurd, and then go to Kensington to speak with your sister." + +"Well, I'll go, as importance it is," said Mrs. Tawsey, rubbing her nose +harder than ever. "But I 'opes you won't be lone, my poppet-dovey." + +"Oh, no," said Sylvia, kissing her, and pushing her towards the door. +"I'll look after those four women in the wash-house, and read this new +book I have. Then I must get tea ready for Paul, who comes at four. The +afternoon will pass quite quickly." + +"I'll be back at five if I can, and earlier if Matilder ain't what she +oughter be," said Mrs. Tawsey, yielding. "So make yourself 'appy, honey, +till you sees me smilin' again." + +In another quarter of an hour Mrs. Tawsey, dressed in her bridal gown +and bonnet so as to crush Matilda with the sight of her splendor, walked +down the garden path attended by Mrs. Purr in a snuffy black shawl, and +a kind of cobweb on her head which she called a "bunnet." As Deborah was +tall and in white and Mrs. Purr small and in black, they looked a +strange pair. Sylvia waved her hand out of the window to Debby, as that +faithful creature turned her head for a final look at the young mistress +she idolized. The large, rough woman was dog-like in her fidelity. + +Sylvia, left alone, proceeded to arrange matters. She went to the +wash-house, which was detached from the cottage, and saw that the four +women, who worked under Deborah, were busy. She found them all +chattering and washing in a cheerful way, so, after a word or two of +commendation, she returned to the sitting-room. Here she played a game +of patience, arranged the tea-things although it was yet early, and +finally settled down to one of Mrs. Henry Wood's interesting novels. She +was quite alone and enjoyed the solitude. The wash-house was so far +away, at the end of the yard, that the loud voices of the workers could +not be heard. The road before Rose Cottage was not a popular +thoroughfare, and it was rarely that anyone passed. Out of the window +Sylvia could see a line of raw, red-brick villas, and sometimes a spurt +of steam, denoting the presence of the railway station. Also, she saw +the green fields and the sere hedges with the red berries, giving +promise of a hard winter. The day was sunny but cold, and there was a +feeling of autumnal dampness in the air. Deborah had lighted a fire +before she went, that her mistress might be comfortable, so Sylvia sat +down before this and read for an hour, frequently stopping to think of +Paul, and wonder if he would come at the appointed hour of four or +earlier. What with the warmth, and the reading, and the dreaming, she +fell into a kind of doze, from which she was awakened by a sharp and +peremptory knock. Wondering if her lover had unexpectedly arrived, +though she did not think he would rap in so decided a manner, Sylvia +rubbed the sleep out of her pretty eyes and hurried to the door. On the +step she came face to face with Miss Maud Krill. + +"Do you know me, Miss Norman?" asked Maud, who was smiling and suave, +though rather white in the face. + +"Yes. You came with your mother to Gwynne Street," replied Sylvia, +wondering why she had been honored with a visit. + +"Quite so. May I have a few minutes' conversation with you?" + +"Certainly." Sylvia saw no reason to deny this request, although she did +not like Miss Krill. But it struck her that something might be learned +from that young woman relative to the murder, and thought she would have +something to tell Paul about when he arrived. "Will you walk in, +please," and she threw open the sitting-room door. + +"Are you quite alone?" asked Maud, entering, and seating herself in the +chair near the fire. + +"Quite," answered Sylvia, stiffly, and wondering why the question was +asked; "that is, the four washerwomen are in the place at the back. But +Mrs. Tawsey went to your house to see her sister." + +"She arrived before I left," said Maud, coolly. "I saw them quarrelling +in a most friendly way. Where is Mr. Beecot?" + +"I expect him later." + +"And Bart Tawsey who married your nurse?" + +"He is absent on his rounds. May I ask why you question me in this way, +Miss Krill?" asked Sylvia, coldly. + +"Because I have much to say to you which no one else must hear," was the +calm reply. "Dear me, how hot this fire is!" and she moved her chair so +that it blocked Sylvia's way to the door. Also, Miss Krill cast a glance +at the window. It was not snibbed, and she made a movement as if to go +to it; but, restraining herself, she turned her calm, cold face to the +girl. "I have much to say to you," she repeated. + +"Indeed," replied Sylvia, politely, "I don't think you have treated me +so well that you should trouble to converse with me. Will you please to +be brief. Mr. Beecot is coming at four, and he will not be at all +pleased to see you." + +Maud glanced at the clock. "We have an hour," she said coldly; "it is +just a few minutes after three. My business will not take long," she +added, with an unpleasant smile. + +"What is your business?" asked Sylvia, uneasily, for she did not like +the smile. + +"If you will sit down, I'll tell you." + +Miss Norman took a chair near the wall, and as far from her visitor as +was possible in so small a room. Maud took from her neck a black silk +handkerchief which she wore, evidently as a protection against the cold, +and folding it lengthways, laid it across her lap. Then she looked at +Sylvia, in a cold, critical way. "You are very pretty, my dear," she +said insolently. + +"Did you come to tell me that?" asked the girl, firing up at the tone. + +"No. I came to tell you that my mother was arrested last night for the +murder of _our_ father." + +"Oh," Sylvia gasped and lay back on her chair, "she killed him, that +cruel woman." + +"She did not," cried Maud, passionately, "my mother is perfectly +innocent. That blackguard Hurd arrested her wrongfully. I overheard all +the conversation he had with her, and know that he told a pack of lies. +My mother did _not_ kill our father." + +"My father, not yours," said Sylvia, firmly. + +"How dare you. Lemuel Krill was my father." + +"No," insisted Sylvia. "I don't know who your father was. But from your +age, I know that you are not--" + +"Leave my age alone," cried the other sharply, and with an uneasy +movement of her hands; "we won't discuss that, or the question of my +father. We have more interesting things to talk about." + +"I won't talk to you at all," said Sylvia, rising. + +"Sit down and listen. You _shall_ hear me. I am not going to let my +mother suffer for a deed she never committed, nor am I going to let you +have the money." + +"It is mine." + +"It is not, and you shall not get it." + +"Paul--Mr. Beecot will assert my rights." + +"Will he indeed," said the other, with a glance at the clock; "we'll see +about that. There's no time to be lost. I have much to say--" + +"Nothing that can interest me." + +"Oh, yes. I think you will find our conversation very interesting. I am +going to be open with you, for what I tell you will never be told by you +to any living soul." + +"If I see fit it shall," cried Sylvia in a rage; "how dare you dictate +to me." + +"Because I am driven into a corner. I wish to save my mother--how it is +to be done I don't know. And I wish to stop you getting the five +thousand a year. I know how _that_ is to be done," ended Miss Krill, +with a cruel smile and a flash of her white, hungry-looking teeth; "you +rat of a girl--" + +"Leave the room." + +"When I please, not before. You listen to me. I'm going to tell you +about the murder--" + +"Oh," said Sylvia, turning pale, "what do you mean?" + +"Listen," said the other, with a taunting laugh, "you'll be white enough +before I've done with you. Do you see this," and she laid her finger on +her lips; "do you see this scar? Krill did that." Sylvia noticed that +she did not speak of Krill as her father this time; "he pinned my lips +together when I was a child with that opal serpent." + +"I know," replied Sylvia, shuddering, "it was cruel. I heard about it +from the detective and--" + +"I don't wish for your sympathy. I was a girl of fifteen when that was +done, and I will carry the scar to my grave. Child as I was then, I +vowed revenge--" + +"On your father," said Sylvia, contemptuously. + +"Krill is not my father," said Maud, changing front all at once; "he is +yours, but not mine. My father is Captain Jessop. I have known this for +years. Captain Jessop told me I was his daughter. My mother thought that +my father was drowned at sea, and so married Krill, who was a traveller +in jewellery. He and my mother rented 'The Red Pig' at Christchurch, and +for years they led an unhappy life." + +"Oh," gasped Sylvia, "you confess. I'll tell Paul." + +"You'll tell no one," retorted the other woman sharply. "Do you think I +would speak so openly in order that you might tell all the world with +your gabbling tongue? Yes, and I'll speak more openly still before I +leave. Lady Rachel Sandal did not commit suicide as my mother said. She +was strangled, and by me." + +Sylvia clapped her hands to her face with a scream. "By you?" + +"Yes. She had a beautiful brooch. I wanted it. I was put to bed by my +mother, and kept thinking of the brooch. My mother was down the stairs +attending to your drunken father. I stole to Lady Rachel's room and +found her asleep. I tried to take the brooch from her breast. She woke +and caught at my hand. But I tore away the brooch and before Lady Rachel +could scream, I twisted the silk handkerchief she wore, which was +already round her throat, tighter. I am strong--I was always strong, +even as a girl of fifteen. She was weak from exhaustion, so she soon +died. My mother came into the room and saw what I had done. She was +terrified, and made me go back to bed. Then she tied Lady Rachel by the +silk handkerchief to the bedpost, so that it might be thought she had +committed suicide. My mother then came back to me and took the brooch, +telling me I might be hanged, if it was found on me. I was afraid, being +only a girl, and gave up the brooch. Then Captain Jessop raised the +alarm. I and my mother went downstairs, and my mother dropped the brooch +on the floor, so that it might be supposed Lady Rachel had lost it +there. Captain Jessop ran out. I wanted to give the alarm, and tell the +neighbors that Krill had done it--for I knew then he was not my father, +and I saw, moreover, how unhappy he made my mother. He caught me," said +Maud, with a fierce look, "and bound a handkerchief across my mouth. I +got free and screamed. Then he bound me hand and foot, and pinned my +lips together with the brooch which he picked off the floor. My mother +fought for me, but he knocked her down. Then he fled, and after a long +time Jessop came in. He removed the brooch from my mouth and unbound me. +I was put to bed, and Jessop revived my mother. Then came the inquest, +and it was thought that Lady Rachel had committed suicide. But she did +not," cried Maud, exultingly, and with a cruel light in her eyes, "I +killed her--I--" + +"Oh," moaned Sylvia, backing against the wall with widely open eyes; +"don't tell me more--what horrors!" + +"Bah, you kitten," sneered Maud, contemptuously, "I have not half done +yet. You have yet to hear how I killed Krill." + +Sylvia shrieked, and sank back in her chair, staring with horrified eyes +at the cruel face before her. + +"Yes," cried Maud, exultingly, "I killed him. My mother suspected me, +but she never knew for certain. Listen. When Hay told me that Krill was +hiding as Norman in Gwynne Street I determined to punish him for his +cruelty to me. I did not say this, but I made Hay promise to get me the +brooch from Beecot--on no other condition would I marry him. I wanted +the brooch to pin Krill's lips together as he had pinned mine, when I +was a helpless child. But your fool of a lover would not part with the +brooch. Tray, the boy, took it from Beecot's pocket when he met with +that accident--" + +"How do you know Tray?" + +"Because I met him at Pash's office several times when I was up. He ran +errands for Pash before he became regularly employed. I saw that Tray +was a devil, of whom I could make use. Oh, I know Tray, and I know also +Hokar the Indian, who placed the sugar on the counter. He went to the +shop to kill your father at my request. I wanted revenge and the money. +Hokar was saved from starvation by my good mother. He came of the race +of Thugs, if you know anything about them--" + +"Oh," moaned Sylvia, covering her face again. + +"Ah, you do. So much the better. It will save my explaining, as there is +not much time left before your fool arrives. Hokar saw that I loved to +hurt living creatures, and he taught me how to strangle cats and dogs +and things. No one knew but Hokar that I killed them, and it was thought +he ate them. But he didn't. I strangled them because I loved to see them +suffer, and because I wished to learn how to strangle in the way the +Thugs did." + +Sylvia was sick with fear and disgust. "For God's sake, don't tell me +any more," she said imploringly. + +But she might as well have spoken to a granite rock. "You shall hear +everything," said Maud, relentlessly. "I asked Hokar to strangle Krill. +He went to the shop, but, when he saw that Krill had only one eye, he +could not offer him to the goddess Bhowanee. He came to me at Judson's +hotel, after he left the sugar on the counter, and told me the goddess +would not accept the offering of a maimed man. I did not know what to +do. I went with my mother to Pash's office, when she was arranging to +prosecute Krill for bigamy. I met Tray there. He told me he had given +the brooch to Pash, and that it was in the inner office. My mother was +talking to Pash within and I chatted to Tray outside. I told Tray I +wanted to kill Krill, and that if he would help me, I would give him a +lot of money. He agreed, for he was a boy such as I was when a girl, +fond of seeing things suffer. You can't wonder at it in me," went on +Miss Krill, coolly; "my grandmother was hanged for poisoning my +grandfather, and I expect I inherit the love of murder from her--" + +"I won't listen," cried Sylvia, shuddering. + +"Oh, yes, you will. I'll soon be done," went on her persecutor, cruelly. +"Well, then, when I found Tray was like myself I determined to get the +brooch and hurt Krill--hurt him as he hurt me," she cried vehemently. +"Tray told me of the cellar and of the side passage. When my mother and +Pash came out of the inner office and went to the door, I ran in and +took the brooch. It was hidden under some papers and had escaped my +mother's eye. But I searched till I got it. Then I made an appointment +with Tray for eleven o'clock at the corner of Gwynne Street. I went back +to Judson's hotel, and my mother and I went to the theatre. We had +supper and retired to bed. That is, my mother did. We had left the +theatre early, as my mother had a headache, and I had plenty of time. +Mother fell asleep almost immediately. I went downstairs veiled, and in +dark clothes. I slipped past the night porter and met Tray. We went by +the side passage to the cellar. Thinking we were customers Krill let us +in. Tray locked the door, and I threw myself on Krill. He had not been +drinking much or I might not have mastered him. As it was, he was too +terrified when he recognized me to struggle. In fact he fainted. With +Tray's assistance I bound his hands behind his back, and then we enjoyed +ourselves," she rubbed her hands together, looking more like a fiend +than a woman. + +Sylvia rose and staggered to the door. "No more--no more." + +Maud pushed her back into her chair. "Stop where you are, you whimpering +fool!" she snarled exultingly, "I have you safe." Then she continued +quickly and with another glance at the clock, the long hand of which now +pointed to a quarter to four, "with Tray's assistance I carried Krill up +to the shop. Tray found an auger and bored a hole in the floor. Then I +picked up a coil of copper wire, which was being used in packing things +for Krill to make his escape. I took it up. We laid Krill's neck over +the hole, and passed the wire round his neck and through the hole. Tray +went down and tied a cross stick on the end of the wire, so that he +could put his weight on it when we strangled--" + +"Oh--great heaven," moaned Sylvia, stopping her ears. + +Maud bent over her and pulled her hands away. "You _shall_ hear you +little beast," she snarled. "All the time Krill was sensible. He +recovered his senses after he was bound. I prolonged his agony as much +as possible. When Tray went down to see after the wire, I knelt beside +Krill and told him that I knew I was not his daughter, that I intended +to strangle him as I had strangled Lady Rachel. He shrieked with horror. +That was the cry you heard, you cat, and which brought you downstairs. I +never expected that," cried Maud, clapping her hands; "that was a treat +for Krill I never intended. I stopped his crying any more for assistance +by pinning his mouth together, as he had done mine over twenty years +before. Then I sat beside him and taunted him. I heard the policeman +pass, and the church clock strike the quarter. Then I heard footsteps, +and guessed you were coming. It occurred to me to give you a treat by +strangling the man before your eyes, and punish him more severely, since +the brooch stopped him calling out--as it stopped me--me," she cried, +striking her breast. + +"Oh, how could you--how could--" + +"You feeble thing," said Maud, contemptuously, and patting the girl's +cheek, "you would not have done it I know. But I loved it--I loved it! +That was living indeed. I went down to the cellar and fastened the door +behind me. Tray was already pressing on the cross stick at the end of +the wire, and laughed as he pressed. But I stopped him. I heard you and +that woman enter the shop, and heard what you said. I prolonged Krill's +agony, and then I pressed the wire down myself for such a time as I +thought it would take to squeeze the life out of the beast. Then with +Tray I locked the cellar door and left by the side passage. We dodged +all the police and got into the Strand. I did not return to the hotel, +but walked about with Tray all the night talking with--joy," cried Maud, +clapping her hands, "with joy, do you hear. When it was eight I went to +Judson's. The porter thought I had been out for an early walk. My +mother--" + +Here Maud broke off, for Sylvia, who was staring over her shoulder out +of the window saw a form she knew well at the gate. "Paul--Paul," she +shrieked, "come--come!" + +Maud whipped the black silk handkerchief round the girl's neck. "You +shall never get that money," she whispered cruelly, "you shall never +tell anyone what I have told you. Now I'll show you how Hokar taught +me," she jerked the handkerchief tight. But Sylvia got her hand under +the cruel bandage and shrieked aloud in despair. At once she heard an +answering shriek. It was the voice of Deborah. + +Maud darted to the door and locked it. Then she returned and, flinging +Sylvia down, tried again to tighten the handkerchief, her face white and +fierce and her eyes glittering like a demon's. + +"Help--help!" cried Sylvia, and her voice grew weaker. But she struggled +and kept her hands between the handkerchief and her throat. Maud tried +to drag them away fiercely. Deborah was battering frantically at the +door. Paul ran round to the window. It was not locked, and Maud, +struggling with Sylvia had no time to close it. With a cry of alarm Paul +threw up the window and jumped into the room. At the same moment +Deborah, putting her sturdy shoulder to the frail door, burst it open. +Beecot flung himself on the woman and dragged her back. But she clung +like a leech to Sylvia with the black handkerchief in her grip. Deborah, +silent and fierce, grabbed at the handkerchief, and tore it from Maud's +grasp. Sylvia, half-strangled, fell back in a faint, white as a corpse, +while Paul struggled with the savage and baffled woman. + +"You've killed her," shouted Deborah, and laid her strong hands on Maud, +"you devil!" She shook her fiercely. "I'll kill you," and she shook her +again. + +Paul threw himself on his knees beside the insensible form of Sylvia and +left Deborah to deal with Maud. That creature was gasping as Mrs. Tawsey +swung her to and fro. Then she began to fight, and the two women crashed +round the little room, upsetting the furniture. Paul took Sylvia in his +arms, and shrank against the wall to protect her. + +A new person suddenly appeared. No less a woman than Matilda. When she +saw Maud in Deborah's grip she flew at her sister like a tigress and +dragged her off. Maud was free for a moment. Seeing her chance she +scrambled out of the window, and ran through the garden down the road +towards the station. Perhaps she had a vague idea of escape. Deborah, +exerting her great strength, threw Matilda aside, and without a cry ran +out of the house and after the assassin who had tried to strangle +Sylvia. Matilda, true to her salt, ran also, to help Maud Krill, and the +two women sped in the wake of the insane creature who was swiftly +running in the direction of the station. People began to look round, a +crowd gathered like magic, and in a few moments Maud was being chased by +quite a mob of people. She ran like a hare. Heaven only knows if she +hoped to escape after her failure to kill Sylvia, but she ran on +blindly. Into the new street of Jubileetown she sped with the roaring +mob at her heels. She darted down a side thoroughfare, but Deborah +gained on her silently and with a savage look in her eyes. Several +policemen joined in the chase, though no one knew what the flying woman +had done. Maud turned suddenly up the slope that led to the station. She +gained the door, darted through it, upset the man at the barrier and +with clenched fists stood at bay, her back to the rails. Deborah darted +forward--Maud gave a wild scream and sprang aside: then she reeled and +fell over the platform. The next moment a train came slowing into the +station, and immediately the wretched woman was under the cruel wheels. +When she was picked up she was dead and almost cut to pieces. Lady +Rachel and Lemuel Krill were revenged. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A FINAL EXPLANATION + + +Sylvia was ill for a long time after that terrible hour. Although Maud +had not succeeded in strangling her, yet the black silk handkerchief +left marks on her neck. Then the struggle, the shock and the remembrance +of the horrors related by the miserable woman, threw her into a nervous +fever, and it was many weeks before she recovered sufficiently to enjoy +life. Deborah never forgave herself for having left Sylvia alone, and +nursed her with a fierce tenderness which was the result of remorse. + +"If that wretch 'ad killed my pretty," she said to Paul, "I'd ha' killed +her, if I wos hanged fur it five times over." + +"God has punished the woman," said Paul, solemnly. "And a terrible death +she met with, being mutilated by the wheels of the train." + +"Serve 'er right," rejoined Deborah, heartlessly. "What kin you expect +fur good folk if wicked ones, as go strangulating people, don't git the +Lord down on 'em. Oh, Mr. Beecot," Deborah broke down into noisy tears, +"the 'orrors that my lovely one 'ave tole me. I tried to stop her, but +she would tork, and was what you might call delirous-like. Sich murders +and gory assassins as wos never 'eard of." + +"I gathered something of this from what Sylvia let drop when we came +back from the station," said Beecot, anxiously. "Tell me exactly what +she said, Deborah." + +"Why that thing as is dead, an' may she rest in a peace, she don't +deserve, tole 'ow she murdered Lady Rachel Sandal an' my ole master." + +"Deborah," cried Beecot, amazed. "You must be mistaken." + +"No, I ain't, sir. That thing guv my lily-queen the 'orrors. Jes you +'ear, Mr. Beecot, and creeps will go up your back. Lor' 'ave mercy on us +as don't know the wickedness of the world." + +"I think we have learned something of it lately, Mrs. Tawsey," was +Paul's grim reply. "But tell me--" + +"Wot my pore angel sunbeam said? I will, and if it gives you nightmares +don't blame me," and Mrs. Tawsey, in her own vigorous, ungrammatical +way, related what she had heard from Sylvia. Paul was struck with horror +and wanted to see Sylvia. But this Deborah would not allow. "She's +sleepin' like a pretty daisy," said Mrs. Tawsey, "so don't you go +a-disturbin' of her nohow, though acrost my corp you may make a try, say +what you like." + +But Paul thought better of it, thinking Sylvia had best be left in the +rough, kindly hands of her old nurse. He went off to find Hurd, and +related all that had taken place. The detective was equally horrified +along with Beecot when he heard of Sylvia's danger, and set to work to +prove the truth of what Maud had told the girl. He succeeded so well +that within a comparatively short space of time, the whole matter was +made clear. Mrs. Jessop, _alias_ Mrs. Krill, was examined, Tray was +found and questioned, Matilda was made to speak out, and both Jessop and +Hokar had to make clean breasts of it. The evidence thus procured proved +the truth of the terrible confession made by Maud Jessop to the girl she +thought to strangle. Hurd was amazed at the revelation. + +"Never call me a detective again," he said to Paul. "For I am an ass. I +thought Jessop might be guilty, or that Hokar might have done it. I +could have taken my Bible oath that Mrs. Krill strangled the man; but I +never for one moment suspected that smiling young woman." + +"Oh," Paul shrugged his shoulders, "she was mad." + +"She must have been," ruminated the detective, "else she wouldn't have +given herself away so completely. Whatever made her tell Miss Norman +what she had done?" + +"Because she never thought that Sylvia would live to tell anyone else. +That was why she spoke, and thought to torture Sylvia--as she did--in +the same way as she tortured that wretched man Lemuel. If I hadn't come +earlier to Rose Cottage than usual, and if Deborah had not met me +unexpectedly at the station, Sylvia would certainly have been killed. +And then Maud might have escaped. She laid her plans well. It was she +who induced Matilda to get her sister to come to Kensington for a chat." + +"But Matilda didn't know what Maud was up to?" + +"No. Matilda never guessed that Maud was guilty of two murders or +designed to strangle Sylvia. But Maud made use of her to get Deborah out +of the house, and it was Maud who made Tray send the letter asking Mrs. +Purr to come to him, so that she also might be out of the way. In fact +Maud arranged so that everyone should be away and Sylvia alone. If she +hadn't wasted time in telling her fearful story, she might have killed +my poor love. Sylvia was quite exhausted with the struggle." + +"Well," said Hurd. "I went with the old woman to the address given in +that letter which Tray got written for him. He wasn't there, however, so +I might have guessed it was a do." + +"But you have caught him?" + +"Yes, in Hunter Street. He was loafing about there at night waiting for +Maud, and quite ignorant of her death. I made him tell me everything of +his connection with the matter. He's as bad a lot as that girl, but she +had some excuse, seeing her grandmother was a murderess; Tray is nothing +but a wicked little imp." + +"Will he be hanged?" + +"No, I think not. His youth will be in his favor, though I'd hang him +myself had I the chance, and so put him beyond the reach of hurting +anyone. But I expect he'll get a long sentence." + +"And Mrs. Krill?" + +"Mrs. Jessop you mean. Hum! I don't know. She apparently was ignorant +that Maud killed Krill, though she might have guessed it, after the way +in which Lady Rachel was murdered. I daresay she'll get off. I'm going +to see her shortly and tell her of the terrible death of her daughter." + +Paul did not pursue the conversation. He was sick with the horror of the +business, and, moreover, was too anxious about Sylvia's health to take +much interest in the winding up of the case. That he left in the hands +of Hurd, and assured him that the thousand pounds reward, which Mrs. +Krill had offered, would be paid to him by Miss Norman. + +Of course, Pash had known for some time that Maud was too old to have +been born of Mrs. Jessop's second marriage with Krill; but he never knew +that the widow had committed bigamy. He counted on keeping her under his +thumb by threatening to prove that Maud was not legally entitled to the +money. But when the discovery was made at Beechill and Stowley Churches +by Miss Qian, the monkey-faced lawyer could do nothing. Beecot could +have exposed him, and for his malpractices have got him struck off the +rolls; but he simply punished him by taking away Sylvia's business and +giving it to Ford. That enterprising young solicitor speedily placed +the monetary affairs on a proper basis and saw that Sylvia was properly +reinstated in her rights. Seeing that she was the only child and legal +heiress of Krill, this was not difficult. The two women who had +illegally secured possession of the money had spent a great deal in a +very wasteful manner, but the dead man's investments were so excellent +and judicious that Sylvia lost comparatively little, and became +possessed of nearly five thousand a year, with a prospect of her income +increasing. But she was too ill to appreciate this good fortune. The +case got into the papers, and everyone was astonished at the strange +sequel to the Gwynne Street mystery. Beecot senior, reading the papers, +learned that Sylvia was once more an heiress, and forthwith held out an +olive branch to Paul. Moreover, the frantic old gentleman, as Deborah +called him, really began to feel his years, and to feel also that he had +treated his only son rather harshly. So he magnanimously offered to +forgive Paul on no conditions whatsoever. For the sake of his mother, +the young man buried the past and went down to be received in a stately +manner by his father, and with joyful tears by his mother. Also he was +most anxious to hear details of the case which had not been made public. +Paul told him everything, and Beecot senior snorted with rage. The +recital proved too much for Mrs. Beecot, who retired as usual to bed and +fortified herself with sal volatile; but Paul and his respected parent +sat up till late discussing the matter. + +"And now, sir," said Beecot senior, grasping the stem of his wine glass, +as though he intended to hurl it at his son, "let us gather up the +threads of this infamous case. This atrocious woman who tried to +strangle your future wife?" + +"She has been buried quietly. Her mother was at the funeral and so was +the father." + +"A pretty pair," gobbled the turkey-cock, growing red. "I suppose the +Government will hang the pair?" + +"No. Captain Jessop can't be touched as he had nothing to do with the +murder, and Sylvia and myself are not going to prosecute him for his +attempt to get the jewels from Pash." + +"Then you ought to. It's a duty you owe to society." + +Paul shook his head. "I think it best to leave things as they are, +father," he said mildly, "especially as Mrs. Jessop, much broken in +health because of her daughter's terrible end, has gone back with her +husband to live at his house in Stowley." + +"What," shouted Beecot senior, "is that she-devil to go free, too?" + +"I don't think she was so bad as we thought," said Paul. "I fancied she +was a thoroughly bad woman, but she really was not. She certainly +committed bigamy, but then she thought Jessop was drowned. When he came +to life she preferred to live with Krill, as he had more money than +Jessop." + +"And, therefore, Jessop, as you say, had free quarters at 'The Red Pig.' +A most immoral woman, sir--most immoral. She ought to be ducked." + +"Poor wretch," said Paul, "her mind has nearly given way under the shock +of her daughter's death. She loved that child and shielded her from the +consequences of killing Lady Rachel. The Sandal family don't want the +case revived, especially as Maud is dead, so Mrs. Jessop--as she is +now--can end her days in peace. The Government decided to let her go +under the circumstances." + +"Tush," said Beecot senior, "sugar-coated pills and idiocy. Nothing will +ever be done properly until this Government goes out. And it will," +striking the table with his fist, "if I have anything to do with the +matter. So Mrs. Krill or Jessop is free to murder, and--" + +"She murdered no one," interposed Paul, quickly; "she knew that her +daughter had killed Lady Rachel, and shielded her. But she was never +sure if Maud had strangled Krill, as she feared to ask her. But as the +girl was out all night at the time of the murder, Mrs. Jessop, I think, +knows more than she choses to admit. However, the Treasury won't +prosecute her, and her mind is now weak. Let the poor creature end her +days with Jessop, father. Is there anything else you wish to know?" + +"That boy Tray?" + +"He was tried for being an accessory before the crime, but his counsel +put forward the plea of his age, and that he had been under the +influence of Maud. He has been sent to a reformatory for a good number +of years. He may improve." + +"Huh!" grunted the old gentleman, "and silk purses may be made out of +sow's ears; but not in our time, my boy. We'll hear more of that +juvenile scoundrel yet. Now that, that blackguard, Hay?" + +"He has gone abroad, and is likely to remain abroad. Sandal and Tempest +kept their word, but I think Hurd put it about that Hay was a cheat and +a scoundrel. Poor Hay," sighed Paul, "he has ruined his career." + +"Bah! he never had one. If you pity scoundrels, Paul, what are you to +think of good people?" + +"Such as Deborah who is nursing my darling? I think she's the best woman +in the world." + +"Except your mother?" + +Paul nearly fell from his seat on hearing this remark. Beecot senior +certainly might have been in earnest, but his good opinion did not +prevent him still continuing to worry Mrs. Beecot, which he did to the +end of her life. + +"I suppose that Matilda Junk creature had nothing to do with the +murder?" asked Beecot, after an embarrassing pause--on his son's part. + +"No. She knew absolutely nothing, and only attacked Deborah because she +fancied Deborah was attacking Maud. However, the two sisters have made +it up, and Matilda has gone back to 'The Red Pig.' She's as decent a +creature as Deborah, in another way, and was absolutely ignorant of +Maud's wickedness. Hurd guessed that when she spoke to him so freely at +Christchurch." + +"And the Thug?" + +"Hokar? Oh, he is not really a Thug, but the descendant of one. However, +they can't prove that he strangled anything beyond a few cats and dogs +when he showed Maud how to use the roomal--that's the handkerchief with +which the Thugs strangled their victims." + +"I'm not absolutely ignorant," growled his father. "I know that. So this +Hokar goes free?" + +"Yes. He would not strangle Aaron Norman because he had but one eye, and +Bhowanee won't accept maimed persons. Failing him, Maud had to attend to +the job herself, with the assistance of Tray." + +"And this detective?" + +"Oh, Ford, with Sylvia's sanction, has paid him the thousand pounds, +which he shares with his sister, Aurora Qian. But for her searching at +Stowley and Beechill, we should never have known about the marriage, you +know." + +"No, I don't know. They're far too highly paid. The marriage would have +come to light in another way. However, waste your own money if you like; +it isn't mine." + +"Nor mine either, father," said Paul, sharply. "Sylvia will keep her own +fortune. I am not a man to live on my wife. I intend to take a house in +town when we are married, and then I'll still continue to write." + +"Without the spur of poverty you'll never make a hit," grinned the old +gentleman. "However, you can live where you please. It's no business of +mine but I demand, as your indulgent father, that you'll bring Sylvia +down here at least three times a year. Whenever she is well I want to +see her." + +"I'll bring her next week," said Paul, thinking of his mother. "But +Deborah must come too. She won't leave Sylvia." + +"The house is big enough. Bring Mrs. Tawsey also--I'm rather anxious to +see her. And Sylvia will be a good companion for your mother." + +So matters were arranged in this way, and when Paul returned to town he +went at once to tell Sylvia of the reconciliation. He found her, propped +up with pillows, seated by the fire, looking much better, although she +was still thin and rather haggard. Deborah hovered round her and spoke +in a cautious whisper, which was more annoying than a loud voice would +have been. Sylvia flushed with joy when she saw Paul, and flushed still +more when she heard the good news. + +"I am so glad, darling," she said, holding Paul's hand in her thin ones. +"I should not have liked our marriage to have kept you from your +father." + +Mrs. Tawsey snorted. "His frantic par," she said, "ah, well, when I meet +'im, if he dares to say a word agin my pretty--" + +"My father is quite ready to welcome her as a daughter," said Paul, +quickly. + +"An' no poor one either," cried Deborah, triumphantly. "Five thousand a +year, as that nice young man Mr. Ford have told us is right. Lor'! my +lovely queen, you'll drive in your chariot and forget Debby." + +"You foolish old thing," said the girl, fondly, "you held to me in my +troubles and you shall share in my joy." + +"Allays purvidin' I don't 'ave to leave the laundry in charge of Bart +an' Mrs. Purr, both bein' infants of silliness, one with gin and t'other +with weakness of brain. It's well I made Bart promise to love, honor and +obey me, Mr. Beecot, the same as you must do to my own lily flower +there." + +"No, _I_ am to love, honor and obey Paul," cried Sylvia. + +"When?" he asked, taking her in his arms. + +"As soon as I can stand at the altar," she replied, blushing, whereat +Deborah clapped her hands. + +"Weddin's an' weddin's an' weddin's agin," cried Mrs. Tawsey, "which my +sister Matilder being weary of 'er spinstering 'ome 'ave made up 'er +mind to marry the fust as offers. An' won't she lead 'im a dance +neither--oh, no, not at all." + +"Well, Deborah," said Beecot, "we have much to be thankful for, all of +us. Let us try and show our gratitude in our lives." + +"Ah, well, you may say that," sighed Mrs. Tawsey, in a devout manner. +"Who'd ha' thought things would have turned out so 'appy-like indeed. +But you go on with your billin', my lovely ones, and I'll git th' +mutting broth to put color int' my pretty's cheeks," and she bustled +out. + +Sylvia's heart was too full to say anything. She lay in Paul's strong +arms, her cheek against his. There she would remain for the rest of her +life, protected from storm and tempest. And as they sat in silence, the +chimes of an ancient grandfather's clock, Deborah's chief treasure, rang +out twice, thrice and again. Paul laughed softly. + +"It's like wedding-bells," he whispered, and his future wife sighed a +sigh of heart-felt joy. + + + THE END + + + + +THE BEST NOVELS BY FERGUS HUME + +The Mystery of a Hansom Cab $1.25 + +The Sealed Message 1.25 + +The Sacred Herb 1.25 + +Claude Duval of Ninety-five 1.25 + +The Rainbow Feather 1.25 + +The Pagan's Cup 1.25 + +A Coin of Edward VII 1.25 + +The Yellow Holly 1.25 + +The Red Window 1.25 + +The Mandarin's Fan 1.25 + +The Secret Passage 1.25 + +The Opal Serpent 1.25 + +Lady Jim of Curzon Street 1.50 + + + + +Transcriber's Note + +In this the ASCII version, accents have been dropped. + +The advert ("The Best Novels by Fergus Hume") was originally at the +front of the book, but has been moved to the end. + +The following typographical corrections have been made: + +(page 8) "furthur" changed to "further" +(page 11) "Notebook" changed to "Note-book" +(page 33) "lookout" changed to "look-out" +(page 49) "eyeglass" changed to "eye-glass" +(page 59) "hand-bag" changed to "handbag" +(pages 71, 85) "agoin'" changed to "a-goin'" +(page 71) "It" changed to "If" in "If we come to" +(page 84) quotation mark added after "look--look--" +(page 109) "Deborrah" changed to "Deborah" +(page 111) quotation mark added before "How dare you" +(page 113) "pou" changed to "you" ("before you became an heiress") +(page 132) "is" changed to "it" ("that is was picked up") +(page 140) "mid-night" changed to "midnight" +(page 163) "schoolfellow" changed to "school-fellow" +(page 173) "non-plussed" changed to "nonplussed" +(page 180) "handbills" changed to "hand-bills" +(page 188) "beliving" changed to "believing" +(pages 203, 204) "bed-post" changed to "bedpost" +(page 214) "sipte" changed to "spite" +(page 211) used single quotation marks for the inscription +(page 225) quotation mark added before "On no condition" +(page 243) quotation mark added after "seem to win," +(page 264) quotation mark added before "for I" +(page 269) quotation mark added after "certificate." +(page 276) question mark added after "lawyer you are" +(page 303) "pining" changed to "pinning" +(page 315) "slience" changed to "silence" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Opal Serpent, by Fergus Hume + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPAL SERPENT *** + +***** This file should be named 24769.txt or 24769.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/6/24769/ + +Produced by Andrew Wainwright, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |